Patricia Johns – The Runaway Bride (страница 10)

“So you’ve started,” she said.

“Yep. I’ve figured out what the problem is, but I’ll need to order parts. We don’t carry Rolls-Royce parts in Runt River.”

“Hmm.” She nodded. “How long will it take?”

“To get the parts—a week, maybe ten days,” he said. “Then I’ll have to work on it, which will take a few more days.”

“Hmm.”

She wasn’t giving much away, and he waited to see if she’d say anything more. She didn’t.

“I’ve drawn up an estimate for parts and labor as it stands now,” he went on. “Then you can decide if you want me to continue or not.”

He grabbed a paper from the workbench and handed it to her. She scanned it, then shrugged. “That looks fine to me. I honestly don’t know much about cars, but if I get back to New York and find out you took advantage of me—”

“I’m not that kind of guy,” he said. “I’ll give you fair prices and honest work.”

She met his eyes for a moment, then smiled wanly. “I believe you.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Truth is, I’m kind of relieved to be stuck here for a little while. I’m not ready to go back.”

“Yeah?” He eyed her cautiously. Would she still feel that way when they were waiting for late parts? These things happened in his business. The last thing he needed was a car in pieces and his client raging mad that she couldn’t leave town fast enough once the novelty had worn off. He headed over to the sink and turned on the water to wash his hands. She was silent for a moment while he lathered up, scrubbing around his nails with a brush.

“There are two sides to every story,” she said, turning toward him. “I heard one side for my entire life, and meeting my aunt is giving me a glimpse at the other side. This is an opportunity I never realized I wanted before.”

He turned off the water and reached for a towel. It was a strangely sensitive comment, and her expression made her look almost ordinary—if that was the right word for it. For a moment, she was no longer the wealthy heiress. She could have been any woman born and raised on these plains.

When he turned back, Bernadette was looking at his shop more closely, her gaze moving over the tools hanging on the walls, then across the floor and up the opposite wall.

“You said you’re the only garage in Runt River, right?” she said.

“That’s right.”

She nodded slowly. “Did you ever consider moving to a larger area?”

“You sound like Leanne.” He smiled wanly. “She wanted to move somewhere bigger. I didn’t.”

“Why not?” she asked, her gaze on him.

Liam shook his head. “She was really having a hard time with not being able to have a baby,” he confessed. “And I think she wanted to move in order to get away from all her friends who were pregnant and growing their families. I was too practical for that. Like you said, it’s a local monopoly. I couldn’t have done better somewhere bigger.”

“That seems logical.” Her expression softened. “You seem to have a solid business sense.”

He could hear the compliment in those words. He didn’t know Bernie, obviously, but she struck him as a rather straightforward kind of person.

“Thanks,” Liam said. “Call me old-fashioned, but in my books, a man provides. And I might not have been able to give her a baby the old-fashioned way, but I could provide a decent income. I was just sticking to my strengths.”

He’d also been stubbornly holding out on the one thing that would have soothed his wife’s grief.

Why was he talking so openly with this woman? It had started the night before when she’d helped him with Ike, and it seemed like that hadn’t turned off. He’d probably regret this later.

She glanced at her watch. “I’m hungry.”

He could use a bite, too.

“Want to go get some lunch?” Ordinarily he wouldn’t have dreamed of asking her to a meal, but she was different inside this garage, somehow. More accessible.

“Sure,” she said. “My treat.”

Liam laughed softly. “Bernie, that’s not how it works around here. I’m taking you to lunch. After what you’ve been through, I think you could use it.”

She eyed him for a moment, then shrugged weakly. “Thanks.”

She might be the heiress in New York, and she might bomb around in a Rolls-Royce without much thought, but here in Runt River she was a client, and he was a man. Men provided, and sometimes that was all a guy had left. Simple as that.

* * *

BERNADETTE STOLE A glance at Liam walking down the sidewalk next to her. He wore cowboy boots that clunked against the pavement, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt—the same casual dress he’d sported the day before, too. She estimated him to be late thirties, so about ten years older than she was, but there was something about him that felt oddly reassuring, and it wasn’t just the fact that he’d been friendly when she needed it. Maybe it was the slow way he had of looking around himself, as if he had all the time in the world.

The road was webbed with cracks, and trees grew large and stretched leafy limbs between buildings. Her first impression of this town had been that it was so empty it was almost eerie, but now that she was walking down the road toward Main Street, the quiet was soothing. No traffic, honking or sirens. She hadn’t been given the bird once by a passing cabbie since she’d arrived.

She’d been serious about wanting to stay in Runt River for the time being, and she certainly had a good excuse. If her car were fixed, she’d feel obliged to head out—it was something in her nature that didn’t stand still very easily. She liked to be moving forward, achieving something. If it weren’t for her vehicle being in the shop, she wouldn’t feel comfortable staying here without some actual business. She was looking for privacy to lick her wounds and think through her next step, not somewhere she’d draw constant notice, and Runt River wasn’t the anonymous bastion she’d hoped it would be—she stood out here.

A truck rumbled past them, and the driver gave her a curious once-over. Liam waved absently. That wasn’t the first time she’d been scrutinized since arriving. This town was small enough that a single newcomer could cause a whole lot of double takes. That was nothing like New York. She’d been able to drive a classic Rolls through the city in full bridal regalia and not draw a second look.

“Does anyone know you’re here yet?” Liam asked.

“I told my dad where I was,” she said. “And warned him to give me space.”

“They’d probably be worried sick, otherwise,” he conceded.

“It’s damage control.” She pulled her dark hair out of her eyes. “They need a family story to stand behind for the media, and they’re afraid I’ll leak the secret.”

“Which is?” he asked with a small smile.

“That Calvin is a cheating louse.” She shot him a smile. “That makes him less electable, you see. And they have plans for him.”

“Even after he cheated on you?”

“It isn’t personal,” she quipped, quoting a line she’d heard a hundred times from her father. “It’s politics.”

“Hmm.” He put a hand on the small of her back and nudged her. “Let’s cross here.”

His touch was firm and warm, and she found the gesture oddly comforting. Calvin hadn’t been the demonstrative type in private. When they went out into public, he’d hold her hand, brush her hair out of her eyes, smile down into her eyes—and the photographers got some great shots. But once they were alone, he was distant and wanted his space. “I’m used up,” he’d say. “I just need to unwind.” So Liam’s casual gesture felt more intimate to her than he’d probably intended, especially since no one was watching.

They crossed the road just as they came to Main Street and stepped up onto the first sidewalk she’d seen in this town.

“You say it isn’t personal, it’s just politics. Well, it can be very personal for the people who get tilled under,” Liam said once they were on the other side.

“You know, this is the first time I can identify with that,” she admitted. “But my family expects me to have ‘broader vision,’ as my dad puts it.” She used air quotes. “I might be humiliated, heartbroken, angry, unfairly treated, but I’m supposed to think about what’s best for the family.”

“Namely, your father,” he clarified.

Yes, he was the patriarch, and he called the shots. He held the majority of the family assets. Even her cousin Vince had to make nice to Uncle Milhouse to keep any kind of financial backing. Vince was a placeholder for the family’s political ambition, but Calvin was the future, and his image could not, under any circumstances, be tarnished.

“So what do you want?” Liam asked.

She smiled warily. “Does it matter?”

“Maybe not to your father, but it does to me. If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?”

She hadn’t actually thought about that. She was a practical woman, and she’d followed her father’s lead. She had a degree in economics and marketing from Harvard, and her father was grooming her to take over their massive fortune. That meant learning the family business—how to keep all the balls in the air—and maintaining a respectable image. Nothing too flashy or undignified. If journalists probed into her past during an election year, which they would if her husband was running for president, they’d need to come up empty. Bernadette was far from free.