Garrett Bravo's Runaway Bride

“Any time. You want one of my shirts to sleep in?”

Her smile turned radiant. “Yes, please.”

He got a faded Pearl Jam T-shirt from the dresser and handed it over.

“Thank you. Again.” She disappeared into the bathroom, emerging in the shirt that covered her to midthigh.

There was another awkward moment and it came sharply home to him that he didn’t know this woman at all. They were two strangers about to share the same sleeping space.

“I’ll just take my turn in the bathroom.” He eased around her, went in and shut the bathroom door. Hanging on the back of it next to his sweats was that sexy corset thingy of hers. It struck him all over again how bizarre this whole situation was.

When he came back out wearing the sweats, she’d already stretched out on the couch. She was settling his old afghan over herself.

He moved a few steps closer. “Cami, take the bed.”

“No way.” She wiggled her toes under the blanket and adjusted the thin throw pillow under her head. “This couch isn’t big enough for you and we both know it. Your feet would be hanging off the end.” Munch made himself comfortable in the space between the rickety coffee table and the sofa. She put her hand down and stroked his spotted coat. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not budging.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Oh, yes, I will. From this day forward, I will be suiting the hell out of myself, just you watch me.”

He got the extra pillow from the bed and gave it to her. “You’re allowed to change your mind. If you can’t sleep on those lumpy cushions, I’ll trade with you.”

She yawned hugely. “’Night.” Pulling the afghan up under her chin, she shut her good eye.

* * *

In the morning, her black eye had opened to a slit and she refused a fresh ice pack for it. “It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’m a fast healer.”

He put a couple of logs in the woodstove to get the coals going again and made coffee and scrambled eggs. She shoveled it in like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, and he felt ridiculously pleased with himself to be taking good care of her.

But then he said, “After breakfast, I’ll drive you down the mountain.”

She guzzled some coffee. “You said you were staying for three more days.”

“Cami, you really need to—”

“Uh-uh.” She showed him the hand. “Don’t say it. Don’t tell me what I need. For the rest of my life, I decide what I need. And what I need is to stay here with you and Munch until you have to go.”

“But you—”

“Not going. Forget it. I need a few more days up here in the peace and the quiet before facing civilization and calling my parents to say I’m all right.”

“They’re probably really worried about you.”

“I know.” She chewed on her plump lower lip and looked away. “And I feel bad about that. But right now, I need this—you and me and Munch up on this mountain with nothing to do but breathe the fresh air and appreciate the big trees.” He marshaled his arguments, but then she leaned across the rough surface of the table and begged him, “Please, Garrett. Please.”

And he could not do it—could not tell her no. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” she replied, extra sweet and so sincere.

He got up to pour them more coffee. “So then, what do you want to do today—besides breathing and staring at trees?”

She dimpled adorably. “I’m so glad you asked. See, I left the church without my suitcases, but I did have my purse, with my credit cards and my driver’s license. I don’t know what I was thinking when I finally got my car door open and started climbing up to the road. I left my purse behind. I was hoping we might go back for it.”

* * *

Garrett gave her his flip-flops, another shirt and a pair of his jeans to wear, with an old belt to keep them up. She wore that corset thing under the shirt for a bra. He knew this because he was a man and thus way too aware of what went on beneath a woman’s shirt.

They piled in the Jeep, with her riding shotgun and Munch in his favorite spot all the way in back. More than halfway to the state road at the base of the mountain, she said she thought they’d passed the place where she went into the ravine. He turned around the next chance he got.

She found it on the way back up, recognizing a Forest Service fire danger sign a few yards from where she’d gone off the edge. There was enough of a shoulder to park by the sign.

Before he could tell her to leave the dog in the Jeep, she let him out. Panting happily, Munch followed her to the edge.

“This is definitely the place,” Garrett said, taking in the skid marks. He came up beside her and peered over the edge. Her car had flattened everything in its path as it went down. It seemed impossible that she’d survived the crash and the tumble into the ravine. “You were lucky to be driving that Beemer.”

She made a sound of agreement. “Handles like a dream and one of the safest cars around. I’m going to miss it.”

“I can see the car.” The vehicle was half-buried in underbrush, but twisted metal and shiny red paint gave it away. “What’s that?” He pointed at something white and poufy halfway down.

“My slip. It was hard enough climbing with the dress. I kept tripping, so I took it off and left it.”

“You want it?”

She looked at him, her expression severe. “No, I do not.”

The incline was close to eighty percent. It would be steep going, but there were lots of trees and bushes to hold on to. He figured he could make it down there, get whatever she wanted from the car and get back up without too much trouble. “Anything else you want besides your purse?”

“There’s a notebook and some pens in the glove compartment. I would really like to have those—oh, and my engagement ring should be in there, too. I should give it back to Charles.”

“Anything else?”

“My old red hoodie might be in the trunk. I could use that, if we can get it open—oh, and there’s a hatch through to the trunk in the back seat, so maybe...” She let her voice trail off on a hopeful note.

“I’ll try. Take Munch and wait in the Jeep.”

“What?” She set her stubborn chin. “I’m going with you.”

Had he expected that? Yeah, pretty much. “Not in my flip-flops that don’t even fit you. Your poor feet are cut up enough already.”

“But I—”

“Stop, Cami. It’s not a good idea and I think you know it’s not.”

“It just seems wrong to make you go alone.”

“I’m dressed for the job and you’re not. It’ll be simpler and safer if I do this myself.”