Fugitive Fiancée (6 page)

She headed gratefully to the mud porch located at the back of the house. Not even bothering to hide her limp, she willed herself to take one step after another despite the pain in her feet. Once inside, she hung up her slicker, wiped her muddy boots on the mat. Then she looked into the small round mirror above the porch sink. The face looking back at her resembled something dragged out of a swamp.

One thing was for certain. Garrett Lord wouldn't be tempted to kiss her again.

 

G
ARRETT STOOD
outside the mud porch, letting the rain wash down on him while he tried to get his body under control. He'd never been so aroused by a woman before. Especially not one who looked like a dirty, drowned kitten. But the way she'd pressed up
against him in the saddle had sent his blood racing south. Her arms had been wrapped tightly around his waist, those slender, dainty hands only inches from the fly of his jeans.

He groaned under his breath and leaned against the back door of the house. When he'd made the deal with Mimi, he'd expected her to be the one to suffer. Not him. Granted, he knew he was attracted to her, but that kiss last night had ignited a fire inside him that refused to be quenched.

How the hell would he survive the next two days?

The answer was obvious. He wouldn't. Which meant he had to make her see what she was really in for as a ranch hand. He'd been going easy on her, expecting her to fold. She had gumption—he'd give her that.

He turned abruptly and stepped inside the mud porch, almost tripping over Mimi. She sat on an old rag rug, tugging hard on one of her muddy boots.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Having problems?”

“You could say that,” she snapped, dropping her foot on the floor with a loud thud. “What took you so long?”

“I rode back to the pasture to get Pooh.” He knelt beside her. “I take it you need some help.”

She waved in frustration at her boots. “They're stuck.”

“You should have told me they were too tight.”

“They weren't until it started to rain,” she retorted, as if the weather were his doing. Then she sighed. “All right, they were a little snug this morning when I put them on. My feet were swollen.”

He frowned. “Why the hell didn't you tell me?”

“Because you'd think I was just making up an excuse to get out of working.”

“You won't be any good to me at all if you're hobbled up.” Guilt nibbled at him. He should have realized this might happen. Her feet had been torn up after walking barefoot to his ranch. And yesterday she'd broken in a new pair of boots. New to her, anyway.

“Just get them off,” she whispered. Her muddy face was etched in misery, and her wet hair had come undone from its ponytail and hung in stringy tendrils around her cheeks.

He ran his fingers over the wet leather, then gripped the heel of one boot with both hands. She groaned low in her throat as he tugged hard, but the boot didn't move.

He rose to his feet. “We're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

She looked at him warily. “I don't think I like the sound of that.”

He smiled. “It's not as bad as it sounds. In fact, you might enjoy it.” While she sat on the floor, he straddled her outstretched legs, his back to her. “Okay, give me a foot.”

She held up one foot between his legs and he grasped it with both hands. “Now what?”

“Now you need to apply some leverage. Put your other foot on my butt and push as hard as you can.”

“You're right,” she said as she followed his instructions, “I might enjoy this, after all.”

He pulled while she pushed, and after several long seconds, the boot came off with a loud whoosh.

“We did it!” She held out her other booted foot and placed her stocking foot on his backside.

Garrett began pulling again, trying to ignore the way her slender foot molded to him. After what seemed an eternity, the second boot came off, as well.

Mimi slumped back on her bent elbows with a blissful sigh. “I think this is the happiest moment of my life.”

“Sounds like you've had a pretty boring life.” He held out a hand and hoisted her to her feet, noting how she winced as she walked into the kitchen.

“I've sure never appreciated the little things before,” she said over her shoulder. “Like dry clothes and a warm house.”

“Don't forget lunch.”

She moved slowly toward the refrigerator. “I'll make us some sandwiches.”

“You go change clothes,” he ordered, moving toward the refrigerator. “I'll take care of lunch.”

 

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER
she'd washed all the mud off her body and changed into a pair of clean denim jeans and a blue T-shirt. She left her sore feet bare, then padded to the laundry room to deposit her wet, mud-soaked clothes in the washing machine. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Garrett had set the table.

“Sit down,” he ordered, placing a loaf of fragrant garlic bread on the table.

“This isn't fair,” she said, reluctantly taking a seat in the nearest kitchen chair. “I'm willing to do my part. I'll bet you don't normally serve your ranch hands lunch.”

“Actually, we take turns. When I hire on a cowboy, all I expect him to do is to help take care of the ranch, not take care of me. Sharing the cooking duties just saves us both time in the long run.”

“So you'll let me make lunch tomorrow?”

“Definitely.” He sat opposite her. “As long as you don't make meat loaf. I've never been partial to meat loaf.”

“You've got it, cowboy.” She rested her chin on her hands. “So what are we having today?”

He took a sip of his iced tea. “Lasagna.”

She blinked. “Lasagna? When exactly did you find the time to make lasagna?”

“I do a lot of cooking and freezing before calving season. It's a busy time, so it's either prepare ahead or get used to a lot of peanut butter sandwiches.”

“I'm very impressed.”

“Wait until you taste it,” he said, setting down his glass. “You might change your mind.”

“At the moment, I could eat a horse.” She grinned. “No, make that a cow. Specifically, the one who wanted to play tag with me today.”

“The important thing is that you won,” he said, then laughed. “That poor cow never had a chance once you started flinging those cow patties. You've got a good arm.”

“Cow patties?” she said weakly. “You mean…”

His grin widened. “Are you telling me you didn't know what they were?”

“I thought they were dirt clods.” She licked her lips, feeling a hot blush crawl up her cheeks. “I mean, I know they were a little flat, but I figured that was from the cows stepping on them.”

“Welcome to life on the range, Mimi. We call them cow pies.” Then he held up both hands. “But please don't cook those for lunch tomorrow, either.”

“Very funny,” she muttered, feeling like a complete fool. “I can't believe I touched cow…”

“Turds. Manure. Shi—”

“I get it.” She bit the words out, her cheeks aflame.

“You should see your face.” His deep laughter filled the room.

She liked the sound of it, even though she wasn't thrilled at the reason for it. “It's not that funny.”

“Don't worry, Mimi. It may be the first time you touch cow manure, but it sure won't be the last.” He arched a brow. “Unless you've had enough?”

She was almost tempted to tell him yes. But he looked too damn confident. Even though she'd just experienced the most miserable morning of her life, she wasn't ready to give up yet. “I'm here to stay, Garrett. At least, for the next few weeks.”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his broad chest. His face was ruggedly handsome, from his chiseled square jaw to the small scar above his left eyebrow. Mimi realized she could look at him all day. He was an endangered species—a real cowboy.

“You don't believe me?” she asked at last.

He shrugged. “You've got two days left, Mimi. And it's not going to get any easier.”

She tipped up her chin. “I can handle it.”

He rose and walked to the stove, picking up a hot pad before opening the oven door and pulling out the steaming casserole dish.

Her mouth watered at the fragrant aroma. Lunch at
the Casville house usually meant watercress sandwiches or simple fruit salad. Something light and not too filling. She looked at the savory lasagna steaming in the eight-inch-square casserole dish and hoped it would be enough for both of them.

He'd barely set it on the trivet when she picked up the serving spoon and helped herself to a man-size portion.

Garrett moved to the sink and began filling an old tin kettle with water.

Mimi picked up her fork and held it poised over her plate. But the impeccable table manners her mother had taught her forbade her from taking that first bite until Garrett was seated at the table. “Aren't you going to eat?”

“In a minute,” he said, carrying the kettle over to her. He set it on the floor by her chair. “Put your feet in here and let them soak while you eat.”

“You like to give orders, don't you?” she said, touched and more than a little surprised that a man like Garrett could be so thoughtful. She did as he instructed, swallowing a moan of pleasure as the warmth of the water penetrated her sore, tired feet.

“I should order you in bed for the rest of the day,” he grumbled, sitting down and helping himself to lasagna.

“No way,” she countered, forking up her first bite of the gooey pasta. “I'm fine.”

“Like hell.” He reached for a slice of garlic bread. “I never should have agreed to this deal. You aren't cut out for this kind of work.”

Mimi's heart skipped a beat. What if he backed out of their deal? What if he insisted on taking her to
Austin this afternoon? She needed to change the subject. Fast.

She looked at him. “Tell me about the teddy bear in your room.”

“T
HE TEDDY BEAR
?”
A muscle ticked in Garrett's jaw. “What about it?”

Mimi instinctively knew she'd hit a nerve. Which made her even more curious. “It looks very old. How long have you had it?”

“About four months.”

“Then you must be a collector. I'm not an expert, but that bear is quite unusual.”

“You can say that again,” he muttered, then turned his attention to his lunch. She watched him fork up his lasagna in big chunks. Neither one of them said anything for several long minutes, the only sound that of forks scraping against plates.

At last, he looked at her. “It's no big deal. That teddy bear supposedly belonged to me when I was a baby.”

“Supposedly?”

He set down his fork. “If you want to know the whole sordid story, my mother abandoned us when I was two and a half years old and my brother and sisters were just babies. She left us on the steps of the Maitland Maternity Clinic and took off.”

Mimi had heard of the renowned clinic. It had been founded in Austin over two and a half decades ago,
and its sterling reputation brought in clients from all over the country, including many celebrities.

Garrett crumpled his paper napkin and tossed it on his plate. “She threw us away like yesterday's garbage, with nothing more than our first names pinned to our clothes.”

Mimi flinched at his harsh words. They pricked her more than she wanted to admit. For reasons she didn't want to remember. “Did you ever see your birth mother again?”

He shook his head. “No. And that was twenty-five years ago. If it wasn't for Megan Maitland, I don't know what would have happened to us.”

Mimi had heard a lot about Megan Maitland, but she'd never met the matriarch of the Maitland clan. “Is she the one who found you?”

He nodded. “She took us in, then contacted the Lords. They desperately wanted children but couldn't have any of their own.”

“So your mother's sacrifice was their blessing,” Mimi said softly.

“Sacrifice?” Garrett snorted. “Try selfishness. She abandoned us on that step and never looked back. We hadn't heard one word from her until a few months ago. That's when she sent that damn bear to Aunt Megan, along with three tiny baby sweaters that had belonged to Michael, Shelby and Lana.”

So that explained the raw emotion in his voice. His birth mother had reopened an old wound. For a man of few words, his hurt had poured out of him. She'd never heard him talk so much as he had in the last few moments. But then, Garrett didn't strike her as a man who kept secrets.

Mimi had kept a secret of her own locked in her heart for over ten years. A secret she'd never told anyone, not even her father. Sometimes secrets were for the best.

But a man like Garrett wouldn't understand that. He had simple values. Hard work. Loyalty. Honesty.

Her conscience pricked when she remembered how she'd lied to him about her name. She hadn't told him about her family or her background, either, although that was more a lie of omission. His deep voice penetrated her musings, and to her chagrin, she realized she'd missed some of his story.

“So we decided to look for her,” he said, pushing his plate away. “Only it seems we've hit a dead end.”

“Your mother didn't leave any clues when she sent the teddy bear and the sweaters? No address or phone number?”

“Nope.”

“Have you thought about hiring a private detective?”

He nodded. “We had one for a while. But he was better at racking up his bill than finding our mother. Although through a process of elimination we were able to discover her name, LeeAnn Larrimore.”

She hesitated, hoping he wouldn't find her suggestion intrusive. “Maybe I could help.”

One corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. “Are you a better detective than you are a cowgirl?”

“No, but I'm a damn good archivist.”

For the first time since she'd met him, Garrett looked perplexed. “What exactly is an archivist?”

She smiled, quite used to that question. Her father had asked it when she'd announced her career inten
tions. Paul had found her job choice amusing. “An archivist collects and organizes historical records and artifacts.”

“So you work in a museum.”

“I used to, but right now I'm working in the private sector. I'm putting together an extensive genealogy and historical archives for…a prominent Austin family.” Another lie by omission. But for some reason she couldn't bring herself to tell him that family was her own—the rich and powerful Casvilles.

“Sounds impressive. But how could you help me?”

Mimi leaned forward. “You've been searching for your mother in the present, during her lifetime. I'll look for her by searching the past. If we can find her family roots, we have a good chance of locating her. I'll start by checking out birth records, marriage licenses and obituaries for matches to the name Larrimore. Then there are historical societies, genealogy clubs, old newspapers. The possibilities are almost endless.”

“So part of your job is tracking down missing persons?”

“Well, not exactly. I've never done anything like this before. I sure couldn't make you any promises.”

He picked up his glass of iced tea and drained it. Then he stood up. “Thanks for the offer, Mimi, but it sounds like a lot of work to me. And you'll only be here for another day or two.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him, but he didn't give her a chance.

“I need to run into Austin and buy some parts for the tractor.” He walked toward the back door. “I'm expecting a call from a man who's interested in buy
ing one of the bulls. So I'd like you to stay inside this afternoon in case he phones. Tell him I've got five premium Texas longhorn bulls ready for service. I'll call him back tonight if he's interested.”

“All right.” Mimi's feet hurt too much to argue, even though she suspected the important phone call was just an excuse to make her rest. Despite his gruff exterior, she was slowly discovering, Garrett Lord had a tender heart.

“I'll see you around six,” he said, grabbing his cowboy hat off the peg by the door. “And I'll bring supper home with me. I can't go into town without bringing back a big bucket of crispy fried chicken.”

She smiled as he walked out the door, then her smile faded. Despite his matter-of-fact attitude, she'd seen the hurt in his eyes when he'd talked about his mother. And she
could
help him find her. In fact, she suspected Garrett had the key that would unlock the door to his past right here in this house.

That key was his old teddy bear.

 

P
AUL
R
ENQUIST
checked his watch for the third time in ten minutes. Harper was late. Rain drummed against the windowpanes of one of the trendiest restaurants in Austin. He matched the beat with his manicured fingers against the tabletop, growing more irritated with each passing minute. Nobody was ever late for a meeting with Rupert Casville. Yet people always kept Paul waiting.

No one gave him the respect he deserved.

Like Mimi. The more he thought about her defection, the angrier he got. How dare she leave him stranded at the altar. How dare she make him look
like an idiot in front of Austin's elite. A bunch of stuffed shirts who were probably laughing at him behind his back.

Damn, he needed a drink.

He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck, wishing he knew what Mimi was thinking right now. What if she showed up, but refused to marry him? He'd been confident in his ability to woo her into rational thinking, but the longer she stayed away, the more his confidence ebbed.

Harper finally appeared, hailing him from across the room while he handed his wet leather bomber jacket to the coat-check woman.

Paul ground his teeth, wishing like hell he could order a whiskey from the bar. He liked them straight up. His tongue tingled just thinking about it.

“Sorry I'm late,” Harper said as he approached the table. He sat down, raking his damp blond hair with one hand. “Traffic is backed up because of that damn construction on Lamar Boulevard.”

Paul didn't like excuses. “Don't let it happen again.”

Amusement flashed in Harper's green eyes as he gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

A waitress appeared at the table, giving Paul her best smile. She was pretty, in a generic sort of way. But he didn't have time to waste with her. Besides, once he had his hands on some of that Casville money, he could have any woman he wanted.

“I'll have a bourbon and water,” Harper ordered.

“And you, sir?” she asked, turning to Paul with a seductive swing of her hips.

But the only seduction that enticed him at the mo
ment came out of a liquor bottle. Why the hell had he picked a restaurant that served alcohol? He took a deep breath.

“Nothing for me.”

Her smile dimmed a few watts, then she nodded and walked away.

“Well?” Paul asked, tired of playing the waiting game. “What's the latest on Mimi?”

Harper shook his head. “That lady knows how to disappear. There's no sign of her. I mean nothing. She hasn't touched her credit cards or her bank account. None of her friends have heard a word from her. It's like she disappeared into thin air.”

“She's got to be somewhere,” Paul countered. “Did you check the car lots? Maybe she traded in her convertible for something more anonymous.”

Harper shrugged. “I suppose it's possible. We could make her disappearance public and ask for anyone with information to come forward. If we offered a reward, we'd probably have eyewitnesses popping out of the woodwork.”

“No,” Paul said quickly. A little too quickly. He took a deep breath. “Her father thinks we should keep this quiet. You know how the media will eat up this story if they get a sniff of it.”

Harper nodded. “Then I say we just sit back and wait. My guess is that she'll show up eventually. A rich, spoiled princess won't last long in the real world. As soon as she needs a manicure, she'll come running back home.”

“I'm not willing to wait that long.” He lowered his voice. “I want her found, Harper. And I don't care if you have to break a few laws to do it.”

The waitress arrived with Harper's drink. “Will there be anything else?”

“No,” Paul said shortly, holding out his hand for the bill.

She gave it to him, then walked away.

“One more thing,” Paul said, his gaze drifting to the beautiful amber-colored whiskey. “I want you to delve into Mimi's background. See if you can dig up any dirt.”

“No problem.” Harper sat back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “I do have some methods I haven't employed yet. But they're expensive, Paul. Very expensive.”

“To hell with the cost,” Paul said, struggling to maintain his composure. He took a deep, calming breath. “I'm not sure you understand the seriousness of this situation. Rupert Casville is not a well man. And the stress caused by his daughter's disappearance hasn't helped him any.”

Harper nodded, his mouth curved in a wry smile. “So this is a medical emergency?”

Paul leaned back in his chair, calmer. “You could say that. He's put me in charge, by the way, so if you come up with any information, or better yet, actually find her, you come to me. Leave Rupert completely out of the loop. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Harper picked up his drink. “Of course, you get what you pay for. The more
incentive
you give me to find her, the quicker I can get the job done.”

Hell.
Paul reached inside his suit coat for his checkbook. The temptation to fire Harper for his insolence was almost overwhelming. But what choice did he
have? He might need a man short on ethics to see this job through to the end.

“How much do you need?”

 

M
IMI HUNG UP
the telephone, excitement zinging through her veins. After two hours, she'd finally reached Dr. Hawkins, an associate professor at Texas A&M University. He taught Texas history, and collecting local antique toys was one of his hobbies. On weekends, he traveled to antique road shows to give his expert opinion on family heirlooms. He shared his experiences with his classes, telling them many people had a small fortune in their attic and didn't even know it.

She knew as soon as she'd seen Garrett's teddy bear that it was unusual. She hadn't realized how unusual until she'd described it in detail to Dr. Hawkins.

He'd told her to give him three days before she called him again. By then, he should have the information she wanted. Three days. That seemed to be the magic number lately. Unfortunately, she only had one day left to prove herself to Garrett. What if she thought she could do the job, but he didn't agree? They hadn't stipulated exactly how she could win the job.

She looked around the cozy living room as rain pattered on the roof. It was starkly neat, but she could see a fine layer of dust on the end tables and the fireplace mantel. If Garrett expected a ranch hand to pitch in with the cooking, maybe he expected one to pitch in with the dusting, as well.

It wasn't until Mimi was kneeling in front of the cupboard under the kitchen sink that she realized how
complicated this dusting business could be. Growing up in her father's house, she'd taken the more mundane upkeep of a home for granted. The maids kept the Casville mansion spotless almost as if by magic.

Or was it by lemon Pledge? She picked up the can and read the label. Then she picked up the bottle of Murphy's Oil Soap and compared the two. At last she decided to wash everything down with the soap first, then follow with the furniture polish. She grabbed an empty bucket out of the cupboard, filled it with warm water, then added two capfuls of the soap.

With washcloth in hand, she carried it to the living room and got to work. An hour later, she looked around with pride. Every surface glistened. Except one.