The Runaway Bridesmaid

Isabel squinted at him, thinking he’d changed since their first meeting. She explained again in more detail, about Angie’s mother’s surprise announcement that she was remarrying, and the argument that had followed between Roger and his ex about what to do with Angie while all of the adults in her life followed other pursuits.

“I didn’t want Angie to feel as if she was nothing but a bother, so I brought her with me,” Isabel finished, shrugging. “Darla knew I might have to bring her. She suggested it, actually.”

“And you said Roger was…who?”

“My neighbor,” Isabel said, feeling deceptive. But her status with Roger confused even her. Her sisters had convinced her to break up with him for the summer. Josie had advised her to talk to every man she met so she could find out exactly how wrong their mother had been about the entire male population.

Flexing her flirt muscles, she’d called it.

Big sister Callie had said almost the opposite—that Isabel should discover what it felt like to be on her own for a while.

Recognizing the wisdom in both of her sisters’ advice, Isabel had declared a summer of independence from Roger.

His response? “Do what you have to do. I’ll be here when you get home.”

So she wasn’t with Roger, exactly, even though she still hoped he’d propose when she returned from this trip.

Angie hollered that she couldn’t see any birds, so Isabel and Trevor started toward the path. “I’d forgotten you had a kid in the car at all,” Trevor said on the way. “Aren’t you staying until Sam and Darla’s wedding?”

“Yes, I am.”

They reached Angie, and Trevor bent down near the child to point out a couple of fluttering shapes. “Those are hummingbirds,” he said. “You have to stand real still, and watch them a few minutes. Then you’ll see.”

“Oh, those! They look like big ol’ bugs!”

“I know they do at first. But keep watching them.”

He stood up and scowled at Isabel. “She’s staying all summer, too?”

She studied the tiny row of dimples that had formed above his eyebrows. “No. When Angie’s mom returns from her honeymoon in a few weeks, she’ll fly through Denver. We’ve already planned to meet at the airport, and she’ll take Angie home.”

Trevor kept staring at her. The man might be moody, but he had great eyes. She hadn’t figured out their color yet. Gray? Green? And despite his efforts to hide it, his gaze held a reluctant interest in her that was enticing.

She’d have to be careful around him. He seemed…dangerous.

“I called Darla at her mother’s house early yesterday morning to tell her about it,” Isabel said. “Guess she got busy and didn’t pass along the message.”

“But starting next Monday, we’ll be running an orienteering camp up here,” Trevor said. “The boys are older, between twelve and eighteen, and expect to learn real wilderness skills. We explore offsite part of the time, but when we’re on property we attempt some dangerous things. We work with gear—fish hooks and climbing apparatus. Fire. Surely you realize a younger child will be in the way.”

Angie moved closer to Isabel, pressing her face into the side of her waist. After glaring a warning at Trevor, Isabel rubbed the girl’s arm. “It’s all right, hon,” she said. “Darla and I really did discuss this yesterday. She assured me that we’d work out any problems.”

Angie came out from hiding and put her hands on her hips. “Is he jist an ee-bil ol’ Grinch?” she asked in a normal voice.

Isabel stifled a smile. He’d deserved that. Though Trevor had valid concerns, he shouldn’t voice them in front of Angie. “I think the word you’re looking for is grouch,” she corrected, without bothering to lower her voice, either.

He deserved that, too.

Trevor shifted his gaze between Angie and Isabel, then shrugged. “Okay, then. Leave the luggage where it is and come inside.”

Chapter Three

Isabel and Angie followed Trevor through a large office, then into one of several smaller rooms off to the side. He waved toward a bench that ran along a long, windowless wall. “Have a seat,” he said.

“Wow, look at that tree chair!” Angie exclaimed, eyeing the bench constructed from a rough log. She ran the length of it twice, then plopped down in its middle and ran her hand along the smoothed seat.

Isabel remained near the doorway, watching as Trevor strode behind a cluttered desk, sat down and picked up a large map.

She sat on the bench near Angie, feeling confused. “Why are we here?” she asked. “Didn’t Sam mention the Ripple River room?”

“Yes, and I started to tell you bef—”

The bench squeaked loudly, drawing their attention. Angie was bouncing on her bottom. Isabel knew why. She lifted her brows and turned to Trevor. “Rest room?”

“Out in the main office.” After a subtle sigh, he dropped the map and got up to point out the way to Angie.

When he returned, he explained, “The Ripple River room is small, and really meant for one person.” He sat in his chair, then leaned back, dropping his elbows on the armrests and linking his fingers. He stared at Isabel, his expression sober. “I’m not sure where to put you, considering this change. We’ll have to wait for Sam.”

Although he didn’t say she’d caused trouble by bringing Angie, he implied it.

Oh, man, did he imply it.

“I explained that Angie is only here because of special circumstances.”

“I know.”

A minute later, Angie hopped back into the room on one foot. Kids that age could amuse themselves so easily, Isabel thought. Taking an extra notebook and pen from her purse, she handed them to the little girl.

He’d see. Angie would be no trouble at all.

Trevor returned his attention to his map, and the office grew quiet again. Isabel heard only the occasional rattle of his map, the scratch of Angie’s pen against the paper and the tick of the clock.

She perused the Lonely Stars quilt tacked to the wall behind Trevor’s head. All of her quilts were her own unique designs. She’d done this one in rich indigo blues and deep forest greens, with stars in a silvery white.

“I sold your quilt to Darla last year,” Isabel said to break the uncomfortable silence. “She said it was your Christmas present.”

Trevor looked up at her, then turned in his chair to scrutinize the quilt, seeming almost surprised to discover it there against his office wall. “That’s right, you have some sort of crafts business, don’t you?” he said. “I’d forgotten how Darla knew you.”

Success! He’d sounded halfway friendly again.

She’d keep talking to see if it helped. “Actually, my mother started Blumecrafts when I was a baby, and built it up in catalog sales. She died four years ago, but I kept the business going.”

She gazed at the quilt, wondering if he would appreciate the artistry and work she’d put into it.

He turned back around and leveled a sober stare at her. “You make a decent living, selling these quilts?”

“I do fine, especially since we’ve put the catalogs on the Internet. I also sell handmade baskets and some accessories—my hand-pieced leather handbags were a hit on the West Coast last year.” She lifted her chin. “You can’t buy Blumecrafts items at your average retail store.”

He’d nodded all the way through her explanation, but as soon as she quieted he said, “I expected you to be older.”