The Wedding Bargain

“Hell,” he muttered, then fell silent.

Taking that as an agreement, Olivia relaxed…a little.

The waitress glanced at both of them. “Who’s buying?”

“I am,” Olivia spoke up brightly. Thanks to a difficult childhood, she’d learned to take care of herself. Adapting to any new situation was lesson number one.

With a trail of unhappy children and broken marriages left behind, Olivia’s mother had spent her life trying to find herself—usually through some man.

Sadly she never had.

For the most part, Olivia avoided the male half of the species. It wasn’t that she didn’t like men; she simply didn’t want one of her own.

However, she’d learned to rely on her intuition when all else failed her. Some basic instinct told her that her rescuer—no matter how reluctant, aloof and unsociable—would do her no harm.

Under the dim lights, his face appeared shadowed; his hair was dark, clipped short. His clothes looked as if they belonged to someone else—someone stockier. He looked down on his luck. Olivia could identify with that. In less than six months, she’d be homeless.

Putting the dismal reality aside, she glanced at his drink, surprised to see it was nonalcoholic.

“I’ll have a Coke,” she said to the waitress, while ignoring the stranger’s lack of enthusiasm about her company. “I’m starved. Can I have some chips with that? I’ve been on the road all day. The weather’s awful! Then, to top it off, my car’s been acting funny since I left Bangor.” Olivia stopped just long enough to take a much-needed breath. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone here who can fix it?”

“Not until morning, I’m afraid.” The waitress took a swipe at the counter with a damp sponge. “A mechanic usually comes on duty at the garage next door at eight. There’s a motel out back. It’s nothing special,” she added.

Olivia could just imagine a seedy motel. They probably charged by the hour. “I was hoping to get home tonight.”

She jumped when the stranger at her side spoke up.

“Where’s home?” he asked.

“Henderson. It’s not far, less than two hours away.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I know where it is.”

“Oh?” When he said nothing more, she spoke again, “By the way, my name’s Olivia DeAngelis. And you are?”

“Drew Pierce.” He seemed to wait for a reaction—obviously assuming she recognized the name.

Returning with Olivia’s order, the waitress provided a distraction. She looked at Drew with interest.

“My husband used to do some logging. You related to them Pierces?”

“Yes,” he responded.

Amused by the terse reply, Olivia raised her glass to her lips, hiding her surprise at his identity. So this was the infamous Drew Pierce. Of course, she’d heard of him.

The Pierce family had once controlled Henderson’s logging and farming economy, before an explosion destroyed the migrant camp. Olivia frowned, trying to recall the details of the trial that followed—something about safety violations. There were also charges of mismanagement. Despite some high-powered lawyers, Drew Pierce was found guilty and sentenced, after which his family had cut their losses and left Henderson. The town hadn’t been the same since.

Olivia glanced at him, taking in the square chin, the full sensuous mouth, the dark hair and eyes. Funny, he didn’t look like pond scum, or any other of the unflattering terms she’d heard used around town to describe him. In fact, he looked disturbingly handsome in a reckless, edgy sort of way.

Then she remembered something else.

His family might have left town, but their house, Oakridge, was still standing. They were practically neighbors! She almost said as much, but his closed expression suggested he wouldn’t welcome that piece of information.

Olivia opened the bag of chips and offered him some.

“No thanks.” Drew tried to ignore her.

He really did try.

Might as well try to ignore a fly buzzing around his ear, he decided. But with her laughter and lightness, she seemed so feminine, so new, reminding him of all the female company he’d missed. If he stayed here one moment longer, he’d be demanding a key to that motel room and trying to lure her out there. But he didn’t do that sort of thing anymore! He was reformed, determined to go straight and avoid any entanglements, even if it killed him. Which meant he needed to rescue her—if only from himself.

With that thought uppermost, he said, “I know something about cars. Let me take a look.”

“Thanks.” She sounded breathless, as if he’d surprised her.

He probably had—he’d shocked himself. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to help her. Maybe it was that vulnerable mouth or the determined cheerfulness…or the way she filled out her jeans. In any case, the sooner he fixed her car and sent her on her way, the better he would feel.

He held out his hand. “Can I have the keys?”

She started to hand them to him, then stopped. “I think I’ll come with you.”

So she wasn’t all that trusting.

Smart woman.

With a tight smile, Drew took the keys from her, got up, then walked out, not surprised when she hastened after him. He didn’t slow down until he reached the parking lot.

The truck stop was all lit up with glittering red and blue neon lights. Rain bounced off the pavement. Within seconds, he was drenched.

Great.

With a grimace of discomfort, Drew turned up the collar of his denim jacket. It wasn’t waterproof.

Through the downpour, he looked around the parking lot. “Which car is yours?”

She pointed to a sedan sandwiched between two eighteen-wheel trucks. “That one.” Her car was small, like her, and a pale powder-blue.

With Olivia looking on, Drew climbed into the driver’s seat, then turned the ignition. Nothing happened.

“When did you first notice something was wrong?” he asked.

In response, she spared him none of the details. “It was running fine when I left Bangor after dropping off my brother and his family at the airport. Then I had lunch and did a couple of errands. It all took longer than I hoped. The car was still fine when I started driving home. Then it got dark.”

“Then what?”

“When I turned on the lights, they were dim. And they got dimmer. I’m lucky I got this far.”

Lucky for whom?