There Goes the Bride

His conscience slapped him upside the skull. Pardon me, but aren’t you the hardhead who’s been running from problems for most of your life?

Yup, he said to himself. That’s me.

So practice what you preach, lazy boy.

Great. Now his inner voice was starting to sound like Lacey. After his real mom’s death, and ever since Lacey had moved into the household with her own mom, Rick’s stepsister had been a know-it-all. It was a terrible joke on him that she was usually right about things, too.

Even though she’d spent some of her childhood in a “home for disturbed girls,” as her mother politely described it, Lacey had a better grip on reality than Rick did.

He shook his head, stuffing his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He’d get by on his own judgment now, even if it killed him.

He returned to the cabin, hardly surprised that Lacey had arrived with a suitcase full of new clothes and toiletries for Daisy. The former bride was dressing in the bathroom, her wedding gown and veil abandoned on his dinner table.

Lacey met him at the door. “Okay. Daisy has called her contact in St. Louis, Harry Redd, and he’s given the go-ahead for a job. One down. She also got ahold of an old pageant friend who’s out of town until next week. That’ll eventually take care of living arrangements. Two down. And, until then—”

“—Drive to Blue Grass for take off, etcetera, etcetera. It’s all in a day’s work for us mercenaries.”

At Lacey’s jaded stare, Rick tweaked his sister’s nose. “I know what to do.”

She shooed his finger away. “I’m just covering all the bases.”

“As usual. Don’t you have a business to run or something?”

She sighed, evidently put out by his lazy attitude. “I’m worried, Rick. We’re dealing with a man who has connections. And he threatened her.”

He didn’t want to stress out his stepsister. She’d gone through too much in her short life to deal with that. In fact, during their younger years, Rick had made it a priority to shield her from insults and teasing. “Hey, don’t think twice about us. We’re big kids, Lacey.”

Her gray-blue eyes twinkled. “Okay, wiseacre.”

The bathroom door opened, and they both turned to find Daisy dressed in flats, roomy jeans and a baggy sweater. She’d washed away her makeup, her skin glowing, her baby-innocent eyes shining with the reflection from the blue sweater. Lastly, she’d pulled back her ringlets into a loose ponytail, curls framing her face.

Even in her modest clothes, Rick thought she was just as gorgeous as a bride. Her curves looked soft, feminine. He wanted to feel her beneath him, pliant and willing, just like she’d been during that kiss.

His body tightened. That kiss.

Lacey swept by him, clucking over Daisy. The other woman merely shot an irritated glance at him—not that he blamed her. He’d been damned forward this afternoon, and he’d liked it.

Seemed as if she did, too.

As Lacey grabbed the suitcase and led Daisy outside to his Jeep, Rick grinned to himself. Damn, he thought. I must be a real jerk for taking advantage of a princess in need of rescue.

He also knew he wasn’t about to change, either.

As the women’s voices faded, Rick wandered over to Daisy’s forgotten gown and veil. He grabbed the items, tossing the satin over the couch. He worked the filmy netting from the tiara and threw it away from him, as well.

He stared at the crown, at the sun sparkling over the jewels. Then, his jaw tightening, he walked to a chest of drawers and pulled open the first compartment.

There it was, gleaming in the light. His past. His shame.

He settled the tiara next to his Silver Star medal and slowly shut the drawer, burying another memory.

Chapter Three

T hat night, on a lone stretch of small, remote Illinois airfield, Daisy stood outside the plane and pulled her sweater over her mouth, biting into the material. It was the only way to stop herself from using every cuss word she knew.

Rick supplied the language for her as he let loose a stream of curses. He clicked his radio handset back into place and glanced at her. “We’re grounded for the night with that approaching thunderstorm. I’m not about to fly into poor visibility.”

He stepped out of the Cessna, misted moonlight revealing mightily ruffled hair, spiked from the constant rake of his fingers. His aviator glasses, which had shielded his eyes while they flew out of Lexington, hung precariously from a shirt pocket.

As he spoke, steam from the chilly night mingled with the shaded air. “This place is a ghost town.”

Daisy peered at their surroundings. Cornstalks lined the airfield, and an old road branched into the dismal horizon.

“We were almost there,” she said, tugging her sweater’s neckline away from her mouth and shrugging farther into her down jacket.

Rick wiped his hands together, staring at his silver-painted aircraft. Blue lines raced over the Cessna’s curves, making the sleek high-winged plane a thing of grace. Daisy knew Rick doted on this machine; she could tell by the way he gently worked the controls, by the way he’d carefully touched down on this lonely airstrip.

He rested his hands on his lean hips. “You’ll get to your new life soon enough.”

Daisy bit the inside of her lip, holding back any complaints. Even if she was about to freeze her chilled cheeks off she wouldn’t be an ingrate.

“Is your plane going to be okay here?” she asked, shifting back and forth from the cold.

“Don’t worry.” Rick grinned, giving the Cessna a fond pat. “She’ll make it through the night.”

Boys and their toys. Daisy wanted to roll her eyes except for the fact that this certain toy was her ticket to freedom.

Rick started to secure the plane and unload their baggage. “In the meantime, we need a place to stay. What’s your pleasure? The Marriott? The Four Seasons?”

Once again, Daisy noted the bucolic landscape. “I’d settle for Mammy Yokum’s shack, if it had a warm stove to take off the chill.”

He chuckled. “It might just come to that, here in Armpit, U.S.A.”

When he liberated her wheeled suitcase from the plane, Daisy clicked out the handle, ready to roll. Rick was traveling lighter than she was. All he had was a tattered duffel bag to throw over his shoulder. That and the equally worn bomber jacket he’d slipped into.

With one last glance at the Cessna, Rick jerked his head toward the mist-shrouded highway. “Ready for a walk?”

She would jog the rest of the way to St. Louis if she needed to. “Ready.”

“Let me get that suitcase.” He held out a hand for her to surrender it.

Once again, she felt the need to refuse his outstretched palm. “No, thank you.”

Rick considered her for a moment, his gaze running over her body, providing a heated trail that warmed her through and through.

“It’s your party,” he said, shrugging.

They moved out, and when they reached the road, her suitcase wheels droned on the asphalt and popped over gravel. After their unexpected landing, Rick had run across the old highway to a farmhouse to inquire about food and lodgings. The residents had told him about the nearby town of Broken Wing, less than one mile down the way.