The Rancher and the Runaway Bride

That wasn’t true, she thought, eyeing his broad shoulders and muscular thighs. She would bet he could be pretty dangerous when he chose to be. What he really meant was he wasn’t interested in her so she wouldn’t have to worry. It was no more than she expected. While children didn’t run in horror when they saw her walking down the street, no man had ever lost control because of her beauty, either.

“I appreciate the concern,” she said. “It won’t be a problem.”

“It better not be. I don’t want you making trouble with the men.”

Rita grinned. “Brady, don’t let that thought keep you up nights. I swear, if you catch me having my way with one of your cowboys, you won’t have to fire me. I’ll quit. As tempting as all that testosterone sounds, I’m going to do my best to resist.”

His answering smile caught her unaware. His eyes got all scrunchy, and there was a dimple in his left cheek. Until this moment she hadn’t noticed he was handsome, in a rugged cowboy kind of way.

Don’t be stupid, Randi told herself. The last thing she needed was to start thinking of Brady as anything but her employer. Hadn’t she learned anything in the past few weeks? She’d nearly married a man she didn’t love, and running out on the wedding had almost cost her her life.

“Fair enough,” he said, and led the way to the house.

Once inside, he quickly showed her around. She had brief impressions of worn but well-made furniture, lots of light and more room than a single man could possibly need.

“Is there a Mrs. Jones?” she asked as Brady headed for the stairs.

He glanced back at her. “My mom?”

“No. Are you married? Will your wife mind me being here?”

He turned away. “I told you that you were the only female here. My parents are away traveling.”

“Then, I won’t bother introducing myself to them.”

As he walked down the hallway, he pointed to partially open doors and identified which belonged to whom. His room was at the top of the stairs, a guest room stood across the hall. His parents’ bedroom was next to that and hers was down at the end.

The twelve-by-fourteen room had big windows that overlooked the barn and the bunkhouse beyond. She could see the leafy trees, the backyard and out into the open pastures. A tall dresser stood opposite the window. A desk sat in the corner. Like the rest of the furniture, the four-poster bed was light oak. The comforter and throw pillows were a neutral beige and light blue, and someone had draped a hand-crocheted throw on the foot of the bed.

“There’s a bathroom in there,” Brady said, pointing to the door on the right. “Closet’s on the other side. There’s towels, soap, I’m not sure what else. Let me know if you need anything.”

She moved past him, into the room. Sunlight spilled onto the hardwood floor. Oval rugs sat next to the bed and in front of the dresser.

“It’s great,” she said. “Thanks.”

“It’s not fancy, but it’s clean. A couple of ladies come in from town every couple of weeks and go over the place. They were here last week.”

She touched the smooth surface of the dresser. “They seem to do a great job.”

Brady stepped into the hallway. “Make yourself at home. You can use the television in the living room if you want. There’s a stereo in the study. I know it’s tough being in a strange place, so feel free to look around. Dinner’s at five. We eat early so we can go to bed early.”

At the mention of food, her stomach growled. No doubt the cook served simple food in large portions. She couldn’t wait.

Brady hovered for a couple of seconds, then nodded. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“I’ll be there.”

He left. She stayed by the dresser until his footsteps had faded. A minute later she caught sight of him leaving the house and heading back to the barn. She crossed the floor and watched him.

If this were a movie from the fifties, Randi had a feeling John Wayne would be playing the role of Brady Jones. The rancher appeared to be honest, hardworking and trustworthy. There was something solid about him. Maybe it wasn’t a romantic description, but it was one that made her feel safe. In the past few weeks, being safe had become a priority.

She folded her arms over her chest and curled her fingers into her palms. The action reminded her of Brady’s touch when he’d taken her hand in his. His strong fingers could have crushed her easily, yet she hadn’t been afraid. There’d been nothing threatening about his gesture, nothing sexual. He’d checked on her the way he would check on one of his horses—impersonally.

Except for a couple of pats on her butt when she’d worked in the truck stop, his was the first physical contact she’d had with a man in weeks. If things were different…

But they weren’t, she reminded herself briskly. She was a runaway bride with no plan. A man had tried to kill her and she didn’t know why. For now, all she wanted to do was survive and think. Eventually she was going to have to figure out what to do.

“Eventually,” she said softly. “But not today.”

She unpacked. As all she had were a spare pair of jeans, three T-shirts, one long-sleeved shirt and some underwear, it didn’t take long. The bathroom vanity had double sinks and lots of drawers and cupboards. Her brush, toothbrush and toothpaste barely filled two shelves in the medicine cabinet. A quick glance showed her the shower was clean and there was bar soap as well as shampoo. She opened the bottle and sniffed the expensive liquid. It was a far cry from the cheap stuff she’d been using. Amazing what she’d gotten used to in such a short period of time.

As she crossed the bedroom and headed for the hallway, she realized that except for feeling safe and talking to a few friends, there was little she missed of her old life. She didn’t even mind not belonging, maybe because she’d never belonged.

Briefly she allowed herself to wonder what her mother must be thinking. Assuming the older woman was over her fury. Randi shuddered at the thought of what her mother was going to say to her. So far, she’d avoided having that conversation.

“You’re a chicken,” she told herself. “A smart chicken, but a chicken all the same.”

She’d wanted to tell everyone she was all right so they wouldn’t worry, but she hadn’t wanted to talk to her mother. Instead, she’d phoned her brother Noah.

She didn’t want to think about that phone call she’d made the morning after she ran off, about the worry in his voice as he’d tried to talk to her through the static on the line. Eventually, they’d been cut off—by the stormy weather, she supposed. But in all these weeks, she’d never gotten the nerve up to call again. She liked to think she would have already gone back to face everyone—if it hadn’t been for those men with guns.

But she hadn’t mentioned them in her too brief conversation with Noah. Instinctively she’d guessed that he wouldn’t believe her. Why would he? It was such an insane story, she barely believed it herself. In the light of day it was easy to laugh off what had happened as some bizarre misunderstanding. But at night, when she was alone, the fear returned, and she knew that those few seconds when she’d faced death had been very, very real.

At least she’d recognized her brother had been right with his assessment of her character before the wedding. It was time for her to grow up. And that was what she was going to do while she was on the road. Grow up. Take responsibility for her actions and stop expecting other people to rescue her.

Maybe she should call again. It had been too many weeks since they’d tried to talk. But she didn’t really have anything to tell Noah, or anyone.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around at the large main room. Long sofas and overstuffed chairs filled the floor space. The homey prints, brass floor lamps and magazine-covered tables were so different from the cool elegance of her mother’s house. There wasn’t a nonfunctional antique in sight. Randi figured she should have been appalled or at least contemptuous. But she wasn’t. If anything, the room drew her in, invited her to stay awhile, to be comfortable. To be safe.

This room felt like home.

She crossed to the fireplace and stared at the pictures on the mantel. They showed an attractive couple, first as newlyweds, then in different stages of their lives. Randi picked up one that featured the parents and an eight- or nine-year-old Brady standing next to a horse. He proudly showed off a blue first-place ribbon.

The couple stood close, their arms brushing in a way that was intimate yet comfortable. The man beamed with pride as he rested his right hand on his son’s shoulder. Brady had his father’s size and strength, and his mother’s winning smile.

Randi touched the glass covering the picture and ignored the stab of longing. Someday she would find a place to belong and someone to love. Someday she would figure out what she wanted and be grown up enough to make it work.

Brady Jones was a lucky man. She hoped he was smart enough to appreciate all he had.

Chapter Two

Brady stood in the entrance to the dining room and watched his men talk about their day. They were an interesting group, these cowboys he’d hired. Some had spent years on the rodeo circuit, some had grown up on nearby ranches, some hired on to escape a present or a past they couldn’t handle. He was used to strays, but telling himself Rita was no different from anyone else wasn’t going to cut it. She was a woman and that made her different.

Had he made a mistake? Maybe he should have turned her away, despite the fact she had nowhere else to go. There were cities with shelters. Not around here, but in the bigger towns.

He didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to have to care about a stranger’s fate. Yet he could no more escape that than he could change the color of his eyes or his height. He was his father’s son, and he’d learned early to look out for people.

He heard footsteps on the concrete path and grimaced. He didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know it was her. Her step was lighter and quicker, her stride shorter. He’d hired a woman—what on earth had he been thinking?