Runaway Groom (13 page)

* * *

There hadn’t been many moments in Ben’s life when he loathed himself, but this morning was one of them. On his early morning walk along the lake trail, he’d rationalized that if he hadn’t have been stuck in Whitetail, if Amy hadn’t decked him with that bloody torch, if he hadn’t been ambushed by that bride, if he could have ridden Red or chopped wood, he would never have behaved so appallingly as he had last night.

Only you can take responsibility for your actions
,
son.

“Gee, thanks, Dad,” he’d said out loud, frightening a chipmunk who’d scurried away. He might be ten thousand miles away from home but he could never outrun the wisdom of his father.

Which was why he was now in the kitchen setting a tray complete with a pretty daisy he’d found on his walk. His arm was coping with some light duties and he’d managed to oven-bake Canadian bacon, make pancakes and cut up some fruit. The gurgle and beep of the coffee machine said the latte was ready and he placed it on the tray. Now he just had to get it all upstairs without dropping it. Amy was going to eat breakfast in bed and he was going to eat humble pie.

Despite the blow to his shoulder, he made it up the stairs without mishap and knocked on Amy’s door. “Are you decent?”

He heard a groan and took that as a yes. Walking into the darkened room, he set the tray down on the dressing table and then threw open the curtains. “Good morning.”

“Go away,” Amy’s muffled voice sounded from under the covers. “I’m not going on an early morning walk with you.”

“I brought you breakfast.”

The bump under the quilt moved and then auburn curls, springing at crazy angles, appeared and then her round face and sleep-flushed cheeks followed. She sat up and her face had a pillow crease down one cheek. She looked warm and soft and delectable, except for the scowl that marred her face.

A streak of remorse reminded him why he was here. “I’ll grab you another pillow,” he said as he placed the breakfast tray across her lap.

She stared at him nonplussed. “You made me breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

Her scowl got deeper. “Put your arm back in the sling. The doctor said three weeks.”

“It’s allowed to be out for short periods as long as I don’t overuse it.” Her bossy tone didn’t bother him like it would have a week ago. He’d slowly worked out that Amy was at her most tart and organizing when she was nervous.

Good. He was nervous too.

She surveyed the contents of the tray. “You’ve made me unhealthy stuff like pancakes and bacon?”

He gave what he hoped was a self-deprecating smile. “There’s fruit salad too.”

“Of course there is,” she said waspishly. She flipped out the napkin and cut into the maple-syrup-covered pancakes.

He watched her carefully as she slowly chewed and he caught the fleeting look of delight cross her face when the combination of the light pancakes and the decadent syrup hit her tongue. At least he’d got that right.

Finally, she raised her gray eyes to his. “Guilt-induced cooking, is it, Ben?”

He opened his hands in supplication. “Peace offering.”

She blinked as if she didn’t quite believe him. “
Why
is it a peace offering, Ben?”

He ran his right hand through his hair and then winced as a shot of pain reminded him that lifting his arm wasn’t on the agenda yet. He slid it back into the sling. He might have made the decision to tell her the less-complicated version of the story that was Lexie, but that didn’t make it easier.

He blew out a breath. “I should never have kissed you.”

She slumped for a moment as if he’d hit her and then storm clouds scudded across her eyes complete with flashes of lightning. “Well, you’re not the first guy who’s said that to me, and I doubt you’ll be the last. I’d throw breakfast at you but then I’d only have to clean up the mess.”

Her words lashed him. “No. Shit, Amy, that’s not what I meant. I shouldn’t have kissed you the way I did.”

She savagely speared a piece of bacon. “Would that be the first or the second time you kissed me?”

He understood her anger at him. He’d anticipated it, but it was her unexpected well of hurt which confused him. Every part of him wanted to leave the room, run from this sort of emotional angst which he didn’t deal with well, but he’d caused part of this and he had to fix it. She didn’t deserve what he’d done.

He sat down next to her on the bed, careful not to touch her, partly because he didn’t want to upset her any more and because he didn’t trust himself. When she looked at him with those enormous gray eyes, all he wanted was to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. “Amy, I don’t want to sound like one of those wanky self-help books but in this situation, what happened both times I kissed you, was way more about me than it was about you.”

She stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup, disbelief clear in her eyes. “Now that’s a new excuse. Usually the guy says, ‘it’s you, not me.’”

He frowned. “What sort of morons do you date?”

She flinched. “You’re apologizing to me, remember?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He sighed. “Yesterday when you said I looked shocked after seeing that woman in her wedding dress—”

“Actually, it was the mock-up of the gown.”

“Jeez, Amy, now isn’t the time for semantics. It looked like a bloody wedding dress to me.”

“Sorry.” She sucked in her lips as if to say she would remain silent until he’d finished.

“The last time I saw a woman in a wedding dress...” he scrubbed his face with his hand, “...it was at my wedding. A wedding that didn’t happen.”

Amy didn’t know what she’d been expecting to hear but it wasn’t that. “She left you at the altar?” she asked, stunned. “But—” She bit off the words,
you’re gorgeous.
You’re sex-on-a-stick.

“Yeah,” he said wearily, “she did.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, hating whoever-she-was on principle. “This woman, was she the one who was fitter than you?”
And a hell of a lot fitter than me.

He nodded. “Lexie.”

Lexie.
Things fell into place. “So that’s why you’re on this road trip and traveling for so long? You’re running away.”

“I am not running away.”

She raised her brows at his curt tone.

His green eyes narrowed. “If I’m running away, then so are you.”

“No, I’m not,” she said vehemently, immediately justifying to herself that she’d made calls to try to set up interviews.

“Amy, you’re a long way from Chicago where all the big law jobs are. Meanwhile, you’re here making some woman’s wedding dress.”

“Gown,” she corrected, hating how succinctly he’d just articulated her current situation. Instantly, she realized what she’d done. “Sorry.”

He shook his head at her but his expression was oddly indulgent. “So you’re not hiding out in Whitetail?”

Her stomach rolled as she thought about how she hadn’t told her parents about losing her job or how she’d left Chicago. She immediately defended why it was necessary that she not tell them. “No, I’m not hiding. I’m regrouping.”

He raised his brows, the action saying,
I
do not believe you one little bit.
He looked gorgeous, even with the stubble on his cheeks, which made him look just a little bit bad boy. He was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Sexy and unavailable. Not that he’d ever really been available to her. Exactly why he’d kissed her twice still wasn’t clear to her at all, but asking him about it was too much of a risk. He might just tell her the truth and she didn’t need to hear in words what she knew already.

It’s not you
,
it’s me.

The kisses were all about his ex-fiancée and nothing to do with her.

“I’m guessing the fact you flipped out yesterday means you still love her?”

He shrugged, his face twisting. “Not really. It’s complicated.”

She supposed it must be, although how he could still love someone who obviously didn’t want him was beyond her. She couldn’t get her head around the fact that a woman wouldn’t want Ben. Apart from last night and when he’d got all bent out of shape about being lied to—and now all of that made sense—he was a good guy. A bit anal about eating healthy all of the time but then again, everyone had their quirks. And if Lexie had been in better shape than him then she would have been just as obsessive about exercise.

The more she thought about it, the less sense it made that Lexie could jilt him.

“So here we both are,” Ben said, breaking into her thoughts.

“Excuse me?”

“You and me. Not hiding out in Whitetail,” he said, winking at her.

“That’s right,” she said, crossing her arms against the tingles that danced inside her. “I have a job.”

“So do I.”

Surprise whipped her. “Really? Doing what?”

“Helping out Al a few hours a day with mostly one-handed tasks. It helps pass the time and make the days shorter. I’m not very good at standing still.”

She knew all about that. “You really miss your motorcycle, don’t you?”

“You have no idea.” He picked up her tray. “So are we going for that walk before we both go to work?”

She groaned and sank back onto the pillows, every part of her rebelling at the thought.

“Come on, you know you want to.”

His words sounded almost like a caress and she fought the dizzy feeling, knowing that she was imagining something that didn’t exist. “Why are you badgering me?”

He looked offended. “I’m not. You said the other day you wanted to get in shape. I’m just trying to be a good house mate and friend, and give you some support.”

She studied his face for some hidden agenda but could only see genuineness. “You said the other day we were strangers.”

“We were, but given we’ve both seen each other naked and we’ve traded sorry stories about our current life situations, I think we’re a step up from strangers.”

“I’ve never had a friend who was a guy,” she said, hearing doubt in her voice.

His laugh sounded strained. “There’s a first time for everything. I’ll meet you downstairs in five.”

He left with the tray and she got up, going directly to the bathroom. After splashing her face with water, she looked into the mirror and swallowed. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest. She had a zit coming up on her face from the chocolate brownie binge the other day and her pajama top hung like a sack, making her look like a marshmallow. No wonder Ben was suggesting friendship. She was totally resistible.

Chapter Eleven

Melissa met Amy at the Udder Bar on Saturday night, pleased to have some company. Once again, Emily had gone to Madison to visit friends. She’d been very cagey about the visit so Melissa was wondering if she’d met someone, although if she had, she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t told her about it. They usually shared all their guy stories—the good, the bad and, sadly, on occasions, the ugly.

“Did you and Janey manage to find the material for the gown?” she asked, surreptitiously checking out the nearest tables for possible male talent.

“We did,” Amy said, her curls bouncing and her face wreathed in a wide smile. “Actually it took a lot less time than I imagined, which is why I got back in time for supper. I’d thought I might have to stay over in Minneapolis.” She picked up the menu. “So what’s good?”

“Everything. The chef here is great.”

While Amy studied the menu, Melissa was able to scan the room more widely but once again, now the height of wedding season was over, not every Saturday was a wedding day. The only men she could see were locals. As she swung her head back toward Amy, her gaze met Scott’s serious one framed by his glasses. Glasses that gave him a sexy gravitas.

No they do not.

But her body disagreed with her, tingling deliciously as the brown in his hazel eyes reminded her of hot caramel sauce.

She crossed her legs, giving herself a lecture of all the reasons why Scott Knapp was not for her. He was, however, her piano teacher and seeing him reminded her that she really needed to practice before her next class.

“Hello, ladies.”

Melissa looked up to see Ben standing by their table with dusty boots and a streak of grease on his sling.

“Sorry I haven’t dressed for dinner, but my ride stopped in here for a beer and now Al looks pretty settled in that bar stool. May I join you both?”

“Sure,” Amy said, pulling out a chair and giving his dirty sling a disapproving glance. “Have you been breaking doctor’s orders again and working on Red?”

“Would I do that?” he said with a look of a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar.

“Beyond all reasonable doubt, yes,” Amy said briskly, sounding as if she was a grandmother rather than Ben’s contemporary. “You do realize the more you try to rush things, the longer it’s going to take to heal.”

“She’s a bossy housemate,” he said to Melissa, only he didn’t sound at all ticked off. If anything there was a hint of affection in his voice.

“So how are you two getting along sharing that house?” she asked.

“It’s interesting.”

Their identical words rolled over each other and then they both laughed. Melissa swore the sound held a private joke. She was about to ask when the waitress arrived to take their order.

Ben and Amy argued about what constituted the healthiest meal on the menu and gave the most complicated order Melissa had heard in a long time. It included them sharing wedges and asking for the salad dressing to be served on the side.

Amy rolled her eyes. “For a biker, Ben is boringly healthy.”

Ben raised his brows. “Amy’s palate is adjusting to the subtle but unadorned flavors of an organic salad.”

Were they flirting? “If you want organic food, I’ll introduce you to Keith and Lindsay after supper,” she offered. “All the vegetables they grow on their farm are organic and they have a bunch of great recipes.”

“Oh, recipes. Now Amy, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Ben said with a grin.

Amy gave him a sweet smile. “I would, although perhaps not quite as much as you’ll enjoy visiting with Ella Norell tomorrow. Sadly I can’t come to lunch because I have to work, so she’s going to pick you up. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely chat about all sorts of things.”

The sexual spark flaring between the two of them was so hot it scorched and Melissa wondered why Amy hadn’t acted on it. In the past, if a good-looking guy like Ben had been flirting with her like that, no way would she be holding out.

Ben said he’d “shout them a round,” which Melissa worked out meant he was paying for their drinks. Scott arrived with two beer sampler trays, which he set down in front of Ben and Amy. Then he placed a single glass in front of her.

His gaze sought hers. “I thought you might like to be one of the first to enjoy Johan’s newest brew, the Kaiser’s Kiss.”

Surprise and excitement flowed through her. Johan had been talking about this new beer for weeks. “I thought it wasn’t going to be available until next Saturday?”

“It’s a sneak peek.” He smiled at her, his face creasing into well-worn lines that made him look younger and slightly less serious. Then he winked at her. “I have connections, you know.”

Not even crossed legs and pressed thighs could stop the blitz of unwanted arousal that hummed through her as if she was an animal in heat.

I
am not missing sex.
I
am not missing sex.
I
am no
—

Oh, God, who was she kidding? She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed the weekend sex with those potential Mr. Rights until she’d stopped.

Scott was so
not
Mr. Right but her body didn’t seem to care.

“Thanks,” she finally managed to say.

“You’re welcome.” Tucking the tray under his arm, he returned to the bar.

Just as their meals arrived, the band started playing, making conversation difficult so they ate in relative silence. Her eyes kept straying to Scott. He moved around the room with unhurried grace, collecting dirty glasses and pausing now and then to chat with people when the bar was quiet. “Attention, everyone,” Keith’s voice boomed down the microphone. “Just a reminder that old-time movie night’s coming up. This time the theme’s the 1920s so girls, get out your flapper dresses and guys, it’s your turn to go gangster.”

Woots and catcalls bounced around the room and Melissa leaned toward Amy and Ben. “It’s lots of fun. You two should come.”

“What’s the movie?” someone called out.

“It’s the silent movie
Gold Rush
, staring Charlie Chaplin,” Keith said. “And...drumroll please.”

Lance obliged and then finished with a
boom-tish
on the cymbal.

“Scott’s going to play the score on the piano for us.”

Cheers ensured and Scott gave a flourishing bow from the bar, complete with the flick of a bar towel.

“And now back to regular programming,” Keith said, stepping off the stage and picking up Lindsay’s hand. They walked over to the table.

Melissa introduced them to Amy and Ben and the conversation instantly turned to vegetables. It wasn’t that Melissa had anything against produce, it’s just she’d rather talk about fashion or just about anything else. That and she’d been feeling a bit like a third wheel with Ben and Amy all evening. Excusing herself, she walked over to the bar with her now-empty beer glass.

“So what did you think?” Scott asked without preamble.

She slid onto a bar stool. “It’s a stout, right?”

“It sure is. And?” His expression was expectant.

“And it seems wrong but I can taste coffee and a hint of chocolate.”

“You’re absolutely correct, Ms. Bergeron.” He raised his hand for a high five. “Who knew you had the beer taster’s tongue?”

She met his gaze. “Are you saying I spend too much time here?”

“I’m the bartender so I wouldn’t dare.”

By the way his baritone voice rolled over the words in that low, rumbling way, it sounded like it was a one hundred percent dare.

Unasked, he poured her another beer and she sat watching people drift onto the dance floor as the band cranked out the tunes. It was another Saturday night and she was alone in a crowded room.

“Penny for them?” Scott asked.

She swung back to him, not having heard his question. “Excuse me?”

“You seemed far away watching the dancers. Do you like to dance?”

“I do.” She smiled, remembering all the way back to her prom where she and her friends had ditched the guys and just danced until they were wet with sweat.

“So do I.” Scott’s expression became thoughtful. “It’s been a while though.”

“Me too.” She studied him, seeking clues, but he didn’t give away much. She found herself wondering why he was so serious most of the time and yet humor and fun broke out when she least expected it. “Do you want to dance?”

One brow rose. “Are you asking me, Missy?”

Was she?
“Only if you want to dance for the joy of dancing and you don’t read anything else into it.”

“Like dating?”

She remembered what she’d said the other day. “Exactly.”

He paused in his wiping down of the bar. “You coming out of a nasty breakup?”

“No, it’s just there’s no one in Whitetail who...” She let her voice trail off, not wanting to say anything else and offend him. Yet again, she wished she hadn’t even started answering his question.

“No one who meets your high expectations?” he said mildly, quirking one brow and giving her a look that said,
I
can read you like a book.

Irritation meshed with embarrassment and she tilted her chin. “Is there something wrong with having standards and expectations?”

“Technically, no. In real life, you sometimes have to be more flexible.” He set down the bar towel and winked at her. “This conversation is getting far too deep and meaningful and you wanted to dance so come on. Let’s dance for the joy of it.”

He hauled her to her feet and led her out onto the compact dance floor where people were paying homage to John Travolta and the Bee Gees in a retro set. He spun her out into a partnered hustle, moving to the music with a style and fluidity she should have expected given his musicality.

As the song came to an end, Henry Letterman called out, “Enid and I want to waltz.” The band obligingly changed tempo.

Melissa turned to thank Scott before leaving the floor but he pulled her into the perfect waltz position with the regulation amount of space between them and with his right hand resting on her left shoulder blade. He steered her with ease around the floor and she didn’t need to worry for her toes or her new shoes.

Lost in the movement and the music, she was suddenly bumped from behind and found herself splayed against Scott’s chest, her face buried just under his shoulder.

The firmness of his chest against hers was like a spark to gunpowder and her body exploded. Her breath dropped to short, ragged jerks and she had the overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless.

Holy crap.

“You okay?” he said, looking down at her, his eyes darkening into honey-caramel again. “You look like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you.”

She stepped back quickly, trying to slow her racing heart and to sound like her normal self. “I’m fine. Thanks, that was fun. I’ll see you around.”

“You’ll see me on Monday, Missy.”

His quiet voice washed over her, setting off another round of delicious shimmers she didn’t want to be feeling. She slapped a hand on her hip and shot him a killer look. “Where I’ll be paying you so you’ll have to call me Melissa.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said seriously.

It should have given her some relief. Instead she just felt prickly and uncomfortable and hellishly confused.

* * *

As Amy crawled around on the floor, carefully cutting out the pattern for Janey’s gown, almost every muscle in her body ached. This was an improvement on how she’d felt four days ago when she’d just ached, period. Once a taunting, burning ache, which reminded her of how unfit she’d allowed herself to become, now it was slowly changing to a “things are improving” ache. She was gradually getting in better shape, although most of her gave thanks that Ben was forced to walk, because if his power walking—her jogging speed—was him going slow, there was no way she’d be able to keep up if he was able to run.

She couldn’t say that she loved getting up early to jog or that she didn’t roll over with a groan when the alarm went off. In fact, the sound of the alarm set off one hundred excuses in her head as to why she should delay or just not do the run but then Ben would pound on the door. If she was slow to appear he wasn’t above coming in and pulling the quilt off her. So despite her innate dislike of exercise, she knew she was better off for it.

You enjoy that time with Ben.

She did. She’d stopped trying to tell herself she didn’t. He was good company. He made her laugh and he did genuinely seem to want her to get fit. She’d never experienced a supportive relationship with a guy. Not that this was a relationship but being friends with Ben was one of the easiest and hardest things she’d ever done. She knew neither of them was in a place in their lives where a relationship was wise but her body still craved him. On Saturday night, sitting next to him in the Udder Bar, she’d gone hot and cold so often she thought she’d caught a cold.

Her phone started ringing, the vibrations sending it spinning on the table. She reached up, grabbed it and saw who was calling, prevaricating for a moment on whether or not to answer it.
Avoiding it only delays the inevitable.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Amy, honey, how are you?”

Her mom’s voice sounded strained and Amy bit on her knuckle before replying. “Great. Busy, you know, the usual.”

“How was Ohio?”

“Ohio?”

“Your
business
trip.”

Her heart took off faster than when she was jogging.
Shit
,
shit
,
shit.
She remembered too late that she’d told her mom she couldn’t meet her last week because she was going to Ohio.

If you’re going to lie
,
at least learn how.

She tried for a joke. “What can anyone say about Ohio?”

“I believe they’re very proud of their Rock and Roll Hall of Fame,” her mom said with a trace of reproach.

“I didn’t see much outside of my hotel room and the business center,” she said, rushing over the words.
Change the topic now.
“How are you and Daddy?” She walked outside onto the veranda, needing to see the lake for a shot of much-needed tranquility to slow her heart rate.