Mystery Bride

“You’re safe here, Zack,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” he said.

Well, I am, Will thought.

“Come on,” she said, opening her car door. “There should be food in the house.” She started to climb out.

The rattle of handcuffs seemed to stop her. Will felt her gaze finally slide to his. Her look said she didn’t know what to do with him.

He jangled the cuffs and glared at her, more angry with himself than with her. He was the one who’d foolhardily gotten into her car, the one who’d been determined to get a date with her at any cost. Little had he known.

“Sorry.” She dug into the glove box, came up with the key and handed it to him. Why hadn’t he thought to look in there? Because he’d been too engrossed in this woman’s outlandish activities. Awkwardly, he unlocked the cuffs, not looking at her.

“I hate to tell you, but we need to stay here for the night,” she said. “In the morning, I’ll take you to town and rent you a car. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do. I have my reasons.”

He was sure she did. And he didn’t want to know them. Under normal circumstances, he’d have called a taxi. Or demanded she take him now to the nearest town.

But he doubted it was as simple as demanding she take him anywhere. Or calling a taxi. He wasn’t even sure where they were or how far it was to the next town.

And he had gotten himself into this.

“Fine,” he said. “But I can rent my own car.” He handed her the cuffs and key, and she and the boy got out. What was one night? But as she opened the Firebird’s trunk and took out her overnight bag, he reminded himself to watch her more closely should she ever kiss him again.

She put an arm around the boy as she opened the door to the house and ushered him in.

Will followed, not surprised to find the house compact, the decor simple, practical and very male. The air inside was cold and a little musty, as if whoever lived here hadn’t been around for a while.

“Would you mind building a fire while I change, and then I’ll scare us up some food?” she asked as she headed for what appeared to be the smaller of the bedrooms. “There’re split logs out back. I’m sure Zack will help you.”

SAMANTHA DIDN’T WAIT for an answer, just hurried off to get into less revealing clothing. From her bag, she took out jeans and a cable-knit Irish wool sweater. She caught her reflection in the mirror on the back wall and froze. Most of her hair had come out of the ponytail and now hung around her face in curls. She pulled out the scrunchie and ran her fingers through her hair, not wanting to take the time to find a brush.

The truth was, she didn’t want to look as if she’d been primping. Or that she might be interested in Will Sheridan. It was obvious he wouldn’t be asking her for a date when she dropped him off at the first town in the morning. This time, she knew she wouldn’t be seeing him again. Once more she couldn’t help feeling disappointed—and relieved. He was all wrong for her, anyway.

She headed for the kitchen and quickly busied herself making dinner, as she listened to Zack and Will bring in wood.

Moments later, Zack appeared in the doorway. “Can I play a game on the computer?” he asked.

She glanced down at him, shocked suddenly by how small and vulnerable he looked. She wanted to take him in her arms and reassure him. But she could feel the wall the little boy had built around him, and knew that sometimes such walls were all that kept a person standing.

She knelt down and gently touched his shoulder. “Of course, you can. Do you need help?”

He shook his head.

“Zack, I knew your mom and dad in college,” she said. “Your mom’s the one who hired me to find you.”

He nodded as if none of that mattered. “Can I play the games now?”

“Sure.”

A few minutes later she heard the distinct sound of a computer game coming from the other room. She’d never been much of a computer-game person, but her cousin Charley who lived out on the West Coast could play for hours.

She peeked around the doorjamb. Will crouched in front of the woodstove. Not far away, Zack was on his knees in the chair in front of the computer, his small dark head silhouetted against the screen, reminding her of his father. A wave of regret washed over her, weighing down her heart. She hurriedly turned back to her cooking.

Soon the sound of the crackling fire in the woodstove and the faint hint of pine smoke drifted into the kitchen—along with Will.

He seemed to set the air around her in motion as he leaned against the wall beside the stove and watched, his arms folded across his chest, a frown on his handsome face.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She’d been expecting this. And dreading it. Obviously he’d gotten the wrong impression at his sister’s party. She hated to disappoint him further.

“My name is Samantha. Samantha—” she shot him a sheepish look “—Murphy.”

He nodded as if not surprised that she’d lied to him. She could see herself drop another notch in his eyes. At this rate she’d reach bottom in no time.

“I’m a private investigator.”

He sighed. That obviously wasn’t what he’d been hoping for, either. “You have some ID, I assume?”

She retrieved her purse from the bedroom and handed him both her driver’s license and private investigator’s ID.

He glanced at them, then at her, then handed them back. “Butte?”

She nodded, biting her tongue not to add, Want to make something of it? Butte wasn’t exactly considered scenic Montana, but she liked the old mining city, even with its open pit and its reputation as the “butte” of jokes.

“And the party?” he asked simply.

“I was on a job.” She waited for him to put two and two together. But he didn’t seem interested in what she’d been doing there.

“And the kiss?” he asked, getting to the heart of it.

She took a breath, reluctant to tell him that she’d used him as cover. “I liked it,” she said, unconsciously licking her upper lip. “A lot.”

His chuckle was short on humor. “I wasn’t asking for a rating.”

She turned away to dump a can of broth into the pot on the stove. Just get it over with, once and for all. “Okay, I used you. You came along at just the right time. You were cover.”

“COVER?” His ego went down to the mat for a ten-count.

She mugged an apologetic face over her shoulder. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Obviously. “Well, I think that covers that.” It just kept getting better. He stared at her, her back straight, shoulders tensed as if she were anticipating a blow.

She’d taken her hair out of the ponytail. It fell around her shoulders in golden waves, the same color as the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

He reminded himself that this woman had fooled him. True, the only real lie she’d told him was her name the night of the party. He wasn’t sure a “kiss for cover” constituted a lie. Possibly.

Everything else about her he’d made up himself. Because he’d wanted her to be the woman he thought she was. What a fool.