Runaway Groom (25 page)

His vitriol rained down on her unprotected heart. How could he not see the stark differences? “I’m not Lexie.” Desperation clung to her words.

“You’re hiding from your problems just like she did. Lexie pursued me, convinced herself she loved me because if she did and if she stood up in front of one hundred and fifty people and married me, then surely she wasn’t a desperately unhappy and confused woman struggling with her sexuality. But it was only ever going to end in disaster. Instead of facing up to her reality she tried to hide behind me. I’m finding it really hard to forgive her for putting me into the middle of the chaos of her life.” His resolute gaze bored into her. “I let one woman bring me down with her problems and I’m never letting that happen again.”

Was she using him to hide?
No.

May be just a little bit.
The idea of going back to M.M. and demanding her job back had fear coalescing in her belly. No one at work really knew how insecure she was about her life outside of work and fighting Jonathon would bring all that to light.

Your job is the one area in your life where you’re confident.
Are you going to let that prick steal that from you?

If she had the support of the man she loved, had him by her side, it might not be as bad as she imagined. “If I go back to Chicago and fight this will you come with me for moral support?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His pragmatic rejection of her sucked the air from her lungs, leaving her cramping and empty. Desolate. She’d thought he cared for her.

You’re hopeless
,
Amy.
You get it wrong every time.

Anger burst into flames, leaping in her veins and scorching her. At that moment she hated him.

“So you want me to go back to Chicago and sacrifice myself, my career and my reputation, risk hurting my family and do it all on my own to prove that I really do love you?”

“No,” he said, his face filling with a mixture of sympathy and regret. “You have to do it so you can live with yourself. You have to start loving yourself. I’m not looking for love. Yours or anyone else’s.”

Her heart shuddered, immobilized for the briefest moment by grief. Grief for both of them. “Are you not looking for love or are you running scared from it?”

His face twisted with regret. “I really like you, Amy, and I know you like me but what we have together isn’t love. I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you but you can’t take refuge in me.”

She shook her head, her curls bouncing wildly and her gray eyes despairing. “It’s love but you don’t want to acknowledge it because it terrifies you too much. I’m sorry Lexie hurt you, Ben, but I’m sorrier still that you think closing yourself off to love is going to protect you from ever being hurt again.”

He ran his hand abruptly through his hair. “That’s bullshit.”

“You wish it was.”

His face blanched but his eyes smoldered with anger. “And you’re in such a stable emotional place to make a judgment call like that. This wasn’t how I wanted us to end, Amy. We were supposed to have a great day out on Red tomorrow and part as friends but you’ve totally stuffed that.”

She sucked in a breath, hauling it from a place deep down in her soul as her knees threatened to buckle. Her hands gripped the counter. “I’m sorry for ruining your plans. I guess I could have withheld the truth and not told you that I love you but I know how much you hate that.”

He flinched. “I’m sorry, Amy. I truly am.”

Her mouth dried and she tried to swallow against the lump that obstructed her throat. It felt like she was experiencing everything in slow motion—Ben moving forward and closing the gap between them, the brief touch of his lips on her cheek and his agonizingly slow walk toward the door and out of her life.

The man she loved would very soon get on his bike and with a thunderous roar, ride away from her, taking a piece of her heart with him. Her legs collapsed out from under her and she slid down the kitchen wall as racking sobs consumed her.

* * *

Ella heard the familiar rumble of a motorcycle but she knew instantly it wasn’t the chopper. First off, it wasn’t loud enough and second, Al had gone to Minneapolis and the bike was in the garage covered in a soft cloth until spring. This motorcycle engine lacked the distinct thunder of a Harley and she sighed, sad that it wasn’t Ben’s bike, Red, either. She and Al had waved goodbye to him a few weeks ago and she knew Al missed his company.

The throbbing sound ceased. Intrigued, she set down her cake-decorating bag with a clatter and reached for her coat. Pulling it over her apron, she hurried outside and stopped short.

“Al, what is that?”

He was standing in front of an enormous metallic-blue-and-chrome motorbike with a pillion seat that looked like an armchair rather than the tiny box on the chopper. He grinned. “This, Ella, is a luxury touring bike. She’s beautiful, eh?”

She was used to Al waxing lyrical about machines. She ran her hand along the soft leather. “Whose is it?”

“Mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yup.” He stroked the sleek bodywork reverently.

Ella got a ridiculous zap of jealously and immediately crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with the chopper?”

“Nothing at all but as you so often point out, Ella, I’m not thirty anymore and a man needs his comforts when he’s on a road trip.”

She was still trying to shift the shock of feeling jealous of a machine when the next wave of surprise hit her. “What road trip?”

Al pulled at his beard. “Got a postcard from Ben last week. He’s in New Orleans and eating gumbo and something called beignets. Got me thinking that there’s something wrong when an Australian’s seen more of this wonderful country than I have.”

“You do realize the first snow is predicted for Friday? You’ll slide into the first drift and break your leg or worse,” she said sharply, her anxiety rising fast that he was about to depart. “I’m telling you, I’m not spending my winter looking after you.”

He smiled at her. “Relax, Ella. I might be looking for adventure, but I’m not stupid. No, this road trip’s gonna take some planning. Where do you think I should go first?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” She pulled her coat tightly around her, feeling jumpy, out of sorts and upset that she’d missed him.

“Aw come on, Ella, don’t be like that,” he said, looking let down. “Where would you go if you had the chance?”

She thought about the places Ron had always talked about them visiting when he got better, even though at the time they’d both known he was dying. “I want to see Old Faithful.”

“Yellowstone National Park, eh?” Al tugged at his beard. “If you went there, you’d have to visit the Grand Tetons.”

She visualized the maps Ron had pored over as distraction from his death sentence. “And see the bison in Custer State Park.”

“There’re a lot of long, straight roads across those prairies for sure.” His hand caressed the armrest of the pillion seat and he winked at her. “Just as well I got you the world’s most comfortable seat. It’s even heated for those cold spring mornings.”

Shock made her gasp. “You expect me to come along with you on this crazy road trip?”

His gaze, so often teasing, suddenly took on a serious look. “Not expecting, no. Hoping, yes.”

His quiet words made her heart jump. “Why?”

“Why do I want you to come along?” He picked up her hand. “I think we’d enjoy it.”

His warmth trickled through her just like it had every time they’d ridden together on the chopper. It scared and excited her but she didn’t want to love or need a man in her life again. Not now in her sixties when health was a lottery. She pulled away. “We’d argue over directions.”

He grinned and pointed to the GPS. “Got that excuse covered.”

She huffed out a breath. “We can’t just abandon Whitetail. What about the garage and wedding season?”

Al’s large shoulders rose and fell. “My nephew in St. Cloud’s eager to come run the business and Carol’s going to bring the grandkiddies up and vacation. She’ll keep an eye on things, eh?”

Thankfully, her brain finally threw up a cast-iron excuse as to why she couldn’t go. “That’s all well and good for you, but who’s going to make the wedding cakes, hmm? I’m needed here for that.”

He raised his gray brows. “If you really want to come on this trip, Ella, you’ll find someone no problem. It’s why I’m giving you six months’ notice.”

His reasonable answers didn’t reassure her. “And if you get sick while we’re away, what then?”

He frowned at her. “I haven’t had more than a cold in four years. Besides, that’s what insurance is for. If
you
get real sick, it would get us and the bike home.”

“I’m not going to get sick,” she said indignantly. “My mother lived until she was ninety.”

“Oh, right, so you’ve got me in wooden box already but you’re gonna be fine.”

“No,” she whispered. “I’ll be the one taking care of you.”

“Oh, Ellie.” He sighed, understanding filling his face. “You’ve had a tough few years especially the last one with Ron.”

“He was my husband and I loved him and I wouldn’t have had it any other way, but I don’t want to have to do it again.”

He nodded. “I’m not expecting you to give up your freedom, Ella. All I’m wanting is for us to have some well-earned fun and adventure while we’re both fit and healthy. It seems a shame to waste our prime, eh?”

“Our prime?” She laughed but then she remembered how alive she’d felt riding the chopper with him.

This was a chance to do something she’d never done before. She was sixty-five years old with a possible thirty years of life left and Al was offering her the chance to have fun. It felt wicked and wild and wonderful. “Where would we sleep?”

“All sorts of places,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Under the stars, in B and Bs and cabins, but preferably together.”

She tilted her head. “Are you suggesting we live in sin, Al Swenson?”

He grinned at her. “We’re bikers, Ellie. We’re going to grow old disgracefully and spend our children’s inheritance.”

“The kids are going to be embarrassed that their parents are gallivanting around the country on this beautiful machine.”

“And that’s the best part.” He put his arms around her, his pale blue eyes caressing her with their tender gaze. “I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather be spending time with than you.”

A zip of need shot through her and she marveled at the fact her body might be sixty-five but inside she was still that bright-eyed eighteen-year-old with an eye for a handsome man. As Al lowered his head to kiss her, she rose on her tiptoes and met his lips with hers.

He kissed her slowly and thoroughly and she reveled in every moment of it. When he lifted his head, his expression was sober. “Of course, I’ll happily make an honest woman of you, Ellie, if that’s what you want.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, laughing. “I’ve been respectable and responsible for years. This time’s for us.” And she kissed him again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Amy sneezed as she tied off the thread on the wedding gown she was supposedly altering. It had been so badly made in the first place that really, she was virtually making it from scratch. She felt sorry for the young bride whose dreams of a feathery gown like the one worn by Sleeping Beauty had arrived from China looking more like a half-plucked chicken.

Melissa stuck her head into the workroom behind the store. “I’ve brought coffee.”

“Thank you. I’ve got feathers clogging my nose and mouth.”

Amy had moved out of the lake house and into Melissa’s spare room because she couldn’t stand staying at the Rasmussens’ on her own. Every room reminded her of Ben so on the night he’d left, she’d slept in the carriage house only to be reminded of her parents. She’d accepted Melissa’s offer the next day. She had a tiny window of time to pull herself together before her mom was on the phone, expecting her to be back in Chicago. A tiny window of time to work out what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

Melissa sipped her stretch latte. “Are you sure you really want to go back to boring and stuffy law when you can stay in Whitetail and create glorious gowns and make people happy?”

Amy blew a feather out of her hair, not sure about anything. When Melissa had arrived at the lake house and found her sobbing, she’d known Ben had broken her heart, but Amy hadn’t told her the Jonathon part of the story. She didn’t plan on telling her or anyone else for that matter. She may have been naive once but she wasn’t any longer. No man was ever going to use her again.

Ben didn’t use you.

Her heart throbbed with the pain of rejection.

You have to love yourself.
The painful irony of his words whipped her. Telling him she loved him had been her first step in that journey and look how that turned out.

She played with the idea of staying in Whitetail. It was true that she got a great deal of satisfaction from sewing, and working with brides wasn’t fraught with the nightmares of the corporate world she used to inhabit. “It’s tempting, Melissa, but I’d be living on air for a while.”

“When you give up your Chicago apartment you’ll save a fortune and rents are pretty low here.”

“That’s true.” There wasn’t much point having an apartment in Chicago when she couldn’t work there.

“Besides, I need you to make my wedding gown.”

Amy’s hands stilled on the fabric in her lap. “I thought you had one all picked out?”

Melissa smiled a secretive smile. “That was a gown for a make-believe wedding. Now I need one for a real wedding.”

Amy didn’t really understand but she smiled anyway. “In that case, I better stay.”

“Stay and make my gown or stay and join Weddings That Wow?”

Make people happy.
Her life was far from that but if she was able to make brides happy then surely that would rub off onto her. After all, there wasn’t anything wrong in exchanging a high-powered career for a quieter one. There were books and magazine articles about people doing that sort of thing all the time. “I’m going to join Weddings That Wow,” she said, hearing the emphatic words and totally surprising herself.

“Yes!” Melissa high-fived her. “That’s so neat.”

Was it?
At least it was a decision and an attempt to start the rest of her life. A mild buzz of excitement rippled through her at Melissa’s enthusiasm and she tried to harness it. “I guess it is.”

“Of course it is,” Melissa said firmly. “I’ll go get the wedding diary so you can mark down the dates of our next Meet the Bride sessions and then we have to tell Nicole. Oh, Amy, I’m so excited. This is going to be so great.”

As she left the workroom, Amy returned to her feather stitching, happy that she’d made a decision.

You’re hiding from your life
, Ben’s accented voice accused her loudly.

“If I am then so are you, buddy,” she said to the empty room.

As Ben’s voice faded and she plunged the needle into the material, she heard her father’s voice.
It’s just a vacation thing
,
right?

She was going to have to tell her parents about her change of career. As hard as that would be, at least it didn’t involve a scandal that would have their neighbors and work colleagues sniggering behind their backs that the Sagars’ talented daughter, whose successes they’d had to hear about for years, had finally spectacularly failed. She could save them that hurt and she’d find a way to live with their disappointment in her.

Her phone rang and her heart jumped.
Ben.

She picked up the phone, irrational hope rushing her and then plunging her into despair when his name didn’t come up on the display. She hated that this happened to her every time her phone rang or a text buzzed in, because she knew in her heart and soul that he was gone and he was never coming back. She just wished her body would catch on.

She didn’t recognize the number but she took the call anyway. “Amy Sagar.”

“Miz Sagar?” a female voice came down the line. “It’s Hannah Bryant, Jasmine’s mama.”

It took Amy a moment to remember the mother of the little girl with cerebral palsy. “Hannah. How lovely to hear from you. How’s Jasmine enjoying the new electric wheelchair?”

“That’s the thing, Miz Sagar. She don’t got it.”

Three days before Amy lost her job, she’d approved the Bryants’ application to the Kids Plus Foundation for the wheelchair. It should have been delivered by now. She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Hannah. You may have heard that I’m no longer working at M.M. Enterprises and Mr.—” she could barely say his name, “—Wiseman has taken over the running of Kids Plus. Have you spoken to him?”

A long sigh shuddered down the phone—one borne of the constant toll of having to fight by inches for her child. “I got a letter saying there’s no wheelchair coming and he don’t return my calls. Without that wheelchair, Jasmine can’t go to school.”

Amy had met with the Bryants twice; heck, she’d even gone with Hannah and Jasmine to the wheelchair fitting and seen the order placed. They’d had a celebratory coffee afterward. What the hell was Jonathon up to?

And then it hit her. Fury like she’d never known sizzled in her veins so hot and hard she thought she’d burst into flames. It was one thing to screw her over, but it was another entirely to disadvantage a family just because of their association with her.

Your job is the one area in your life where you’re confident.

Oh, God, Ben was right. For weeks she’d been feeling sorry for herself, ashamed, timid and scared, and that’s what Jonathon had been depending on. He’d attacked her on her weak spot and expected her to slink away. Well he’d just made a tactical error by attacking someone she cared about. Someone who needed her to fight for them.

“Hannah, I’ll be back in Chicago tomorrow and I’ll fix this.”

Jonathon Wiseman wouldn’t know what hit him.

But first she had to tell her parents and warn them of the nastiness that was about to engulf her and, by default, them.

* * *

Ben was in Key West, Florida, and discovering that even though he was only ninety-four miles from Cuba it might have been a million. His vague plans of taking Red to the island country had hit a massive brick wall of bureaucracy. It didn’t matter that he was Australian—he and Red weren’t going to get to Cuba by boat from here.

He’d had glorious sunshine and blue skies on his ride along the Overseas Highway and the impressive seven-mile bridge, and he’d taken a moment to salute the engineers. The Keys reminded him a lot of Queensland with their turquoise green seas, white, sandy beaches, swaying coconut palms and coral reefs. After diving off Islamorada, he’d found himself wanting to tell Amy all about the Great Barrier Reef. It wasn’t the first time he’d automatically gone to tell her something only to realize that wasn’t possible.

You could call her.

But there was no point. She wanted more than he could give and he was done being anyone’s crutch.

Just like Queensland, the Keys had the colorful and laid-back lifestyle that comes with a warm climate. There were no early morning frosts or snow down here. Just vacationers out for a good time and had he wished for it, he wasn’t short on bikini-clad women for company. As it was, he’d taken to reading a book on the beach so he wasn’t constantly making polite chitchat with women who clearly wanted more than conversation.

He wasn’t interested in any of the beautiful women, who with their golden tans and straight up and down bodies, presented themselves to him like models on display. They had a fake perfection to them and they made him think of Amy’s real body of creamy skin and lush, toned curves. That in turn made him ache and feel restless all at the same time. He missed the sex.

You did without sex for months.
You miss Amy.

“I don’t,” he said out loud, his voice carrying on the sea breeze.

“Dude, chill,” said a passing Rastafarian with solemnity.

Shit.
He was losing it. He left the beach and opened up the app on his phone and video-called his parents. Talking to them would bump him out of this odd mood. Dad would tell him about his latest modification to his four-wheel drive and his mum would fill him in on news of his brothers.

Toward the end of the call, they made quiet murmurings about the length of time he’d been away and asked if he had any plans to come home.

“Ben, they’re advertising for engineers for the new ring road. It’d make a change from mining,” said his father.

“I’ll think about it.” The words surprised him but despite the spectacular scenery, the lure of the road wasn’t as appealing as it had been before he’d got stuck in Whitetail.

“Darling, soak up Key West,” his mother encouraged. “All that literary history.”

They blew him kisses and signed off but the lift in his mood didn’t come. He felt edgy and disconnected and it had been a long time since he’d felt that way. Had the road trip done its job? Was it time to go home? He thought about Australia, picturing Melbourne, but even before he’d come on this trip, he hadn’t lived there for a long time and it didn’t feel like home.

His mind slid to the lake house and he hauled it away fast. No way was that home.

He took his mother’s advice and went and did the touristy thing of visiting Hemingway’s house. He saw the famous typewriter, the six-toed cats, shook his head at the idea of four wives—how much drama had the man wanted in his life?—and then he bought his mother a book of poems. He walked out into the gardens, planning to stay awhile but a wedding was taking place and that was his cue to leave. He rode down to Fort Zachary Taylor to glimpse where the Atlantic met the Gulf of Mexico and to catch the sunset.

He parked Red and wandered down to the beach.
Bloody hell.
A wedding party was having their photos taken with the setting sun behind them. Key West was worse than Whitetail for weddings and happy couples. He stomped back to Red, his thoughts full of Amy.

Amy.

It stopped him cold. Not Lexie but Amy. He shook his head at the irony. Weddings still made him break out in a cold sweat but for a different reason. He’d ridden two thousand miles from Whitetail but Amy was still making him mad. Why was she letting that asshole railroad her life? Hell, if the sabotage had happened to him, he would have fought the bastard physically and legally. At least she had something to fight for.

When Lexie had come out, he couldn’t fight because there was nothing to fight for. All he’d been left with was the shattered illusion of a relationship he’d thought he’d understood, only to find that all of it was fake. He hated that. He’d have given anything to have had something to fight for. To feel justified. To feel less used.

And then Amy, who he’d thought he understood, had tried to use him too. Did he have a fucking tattoo on his forehead that read, Sucker?

Not wanting to let his mind go there, he rode back to a bar that hugged the Atlantic. Its kitchen not only served up grouper, snapper and swordfish hooked that morning, but had spectacular views and sea breezes. He reminded himself he was in paradise, not a war zone, and he should be a hell of a lot happier.

He took his beer to a table by the window and watched the sky’s fingers of orange and red vanish and take the last of the light of day with them. The game on the big-screen TV came to an end and then the news started. “Sex, texts and missing charity funds have rocked a Chicago Fortune 500 company,” said the female newsreader.

The glass in Ben’s hand stalled halfway to his lips as the footage showed a group of suits surrounding a short man with thinning hair before it cut away to a woman walking on her own. With distinctive red curls blowing wildly in the Chicago wind, she was trying to make her way through a media mob to a taxi.

Amy.

Seeing her made his heart pump harder and he raised his glass to her in salute.
Good for you.
He really hadn’t expected her to fight but it looked like she’d actually listened to him and was taking control of her life. He truly hoped the process would prove to her that she didn’t love him or need him.

“It’s lawyers representing lawyers,” the newsreader continued, “as two former employees of M.M. Enterprises slug it out with accusations of sexual harassment and theft.”

Theft?
Amy hadn’t mentioned anything about theft.

A reporter stuck her microphone into Amy’s face. “Do you regret sending those texts?”

Her chin tilted up. “I regret Jasmine Bryant’s suffering and that the Kids Plus Foundation, which I started, has been compromised. That’s the important issue here. Disability may not be as exciting to report on but don’t let yourself be sidetracked by the smoke screen of sexting and office affairs.”

Before the reporter could ask another question, Amy got into the cab and closed the door.

The camera swung back to the group of suits and Ben would stake his life that the short guy was the sleazy bastard Jonathon. Why did he have so many lawyers around him while Amy was on her own? Did the guilty need a show of strength?