Patricia Johns – The Runaway Bride (страница 8)

“She’d call every once in a while,” he admitted. “I sent her money a couple of times. It hurts a lot when they call—it reminds you of better days. But you get over it. And while it’s hard to have that reminder, it also confirms how far you’ve come.”

Ike’s eyes had closed, and Bernie leaned her head back against the back of the couch. She was rubbing the toddler’s back with her palm in slow circles. She didn’t belong here—not in Liam’s living room, and not in Runt River. She was too pretty for this place, too polished.

“You mind if I ask you something?” he asked.

She turned her head to meet his gaze. “Sure.”

“Why aren’t you going home to New York?”

“Because my parents will side with Calvin.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said.

“You don’t know my family.” She sighed. “He’s going to be running for president in the next few years. He has all the party backing. He’s the Republican golden boy. My parents wouldn’t try to make me marry him, but they would insist that I protect his reputation. My dad has already invested too much money in him, and backing a successful candidate is good for business. Calvin would owe my dad big-time once he was in the Oval. We don’t back presidents out of patriotic fervor alone.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. Wow. This wasn’t just a wedding between two people who’d fallen in love; it was a political alliance. That was a world he was glad to avoid.

“What business is your dad in, exactly?”

“Real estate development, and he owns a line of hotels, and has some heavy investments in the oil industry. After the wedding, my dad was going to hand one of his hotel chains over to me to get some hands-on experience.”

“That sounds...fun.” It actually sounded stressful.

“Totally.” She didn’t seem to pick up on his tone. “But I’m not sure it’ll happen now. Dad doesn’t react well to being crossed.” She looked down at Ike and smiled. “I think he’s out.”

As quickly as that, the window into her strange political world was shut. She glanced from Ike toward the hallway. “Should I put him to bed?”

“Yeah.” Liam slowly stood. “Thanks. He really seems to like you.”

Bernie attempted to get up, then chuckled. “I’m going to need a hand here.”

Liam paused for a moment, then held a hand out to her. Her fingers felt cool and silky soft in his rough grasp, and he tugged her to her feet, Ike balanced in one arm. She came up to his chin, but when she looked at him, her lips parted in a gentle smile, he found himself thinking how easy it would be to bend down and kiss her... He cleared his throat and took a step back.

“I’ll show you the way,” Liam said.

He’d bought a twin-size mattress and put it on the floor in his bedroom. He thought Ike might be comforted by having someone close by...and Liam would sleep better knowing the toddler couldn’t wander off in the night.

“Sure,” she said. “Lead the way.”

Bernie put Ike down on the mattress on the floor, but Liam knew he wouldn’t stay there. It didn’t matter. He was in the right room for the night, at least.

When Leanne had left, she’d taken with her the soft scents, the tinkle of laughter and a reason to come back at a reasonable hour. This house, so full of memories, had become a purely male abode: Liam cooked with barbecue sauce; his soaps were deodorized, not scented; and he came and went as he pleased.

Having a woman walk down his hallway with a sleeping toddler in her arms, leaving a waft of sandalwood in her wake—it reminded him too keenly of what he’d been missing these past few years.

He’d told Bernie that it got better, and it did, but what he didn’t say was that trusting again was next to impossible. When you missed something that big, you stopped believing that you saw what was really going on. And he was pretty sure he couldn’t survive that again. Bernie would sort out her family issues and head back to her life in New York soon enough. He just had to hold out until then.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Bernie woke up late, having finally fallen into an exhausted coma somewhere around four. When she did wake, it was to the sound of a lawn mower outside the open window, the smell of fresh-cut grass wafting in. She lay there for a couple of minutes staring at the popcorn ceiling. The light fixture was an old-fashioned square plate of glass. She’d never seen such a thing before, and she stared at it for a long while, wondering if this was how the rest of the country lived. Could they? It seemed impossible, but here she was in a bed with a hand-made quilt on top of her and a light fixture that looked like nothing more than a bent piece of frosted glass covering a light bulb. It felt poor, and at the same time, strangely liberating. There wouldn’t be any cameras waiting for her outside, no pressure to appear happy and collected, to look perfect from every angle to avoid any tabloid speculation about why she looked tired or bloated.

Her cell phone vibrated on the plain white bedside table. She’d finally turned it on when she got back from Liam’s place. She picked it up and looked at the caller—her dad.

She could answer and have this conversation now, or she could put it off. She let the phone buzz twice more in her hand before she heaved a sigh and accepted the call.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Bunny! Thank God. We’ve been worried sick. Are you okay?”

He sounded like dear old dad, right now, gruff and stressed. If only she were a decade younger and her father could still fix most of her problems.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I mean, I’m heartbroken, but fine.”

“What happened, exactly?” her father pressed. “Because Calvin is a wreck, and he says he has no idea what you’re talking about.”

The liar. Anger started to seep into the sadness, and she pushed herself up onto her elbows.

“I don’t really care what Calvin says,” she retorted. “I know what I saw.”

“I believe you.” And by the tone of his voice, he did, which was comforting. “Still, we could have done this a little more gracefully.”

“No, I couldn’t have.”

Why did she owe any of them grace right now? She sat up and turned her gaze out the window where a middle-aged man pushed an old mower in straight lines across the grass.

“All right, all right...” Her father muttered. “We can discuss that later. What matters right now is getting you home and deciding on the family position.”

“How about Calvin McMann is a cheating louse?” she suggested.

“You aren’t helping.”

Of course not. The truth was seldom the option when it came to spinning a scandal.

“Where are you?” her father asked. “I’ll send the security team to bring you home.”

“I don’t need to be fetched,” Bernie retorted. “I need some space, time to think. I don’t want to come back just yet.”

“Are you in the Bahamas?” her father pressed. “You could stay for a week or so, but we need a consistent story we can all stand behind with reporters.”

“No, I’m not in the Bahamas. Look, Dad, I need you to promise to leave me alone for a bit. I promise not to breathe a word of anything to reporters.”

“Where are you, for crying out loud?” he demanded.

“I need your word.” For all of her father’s insistence on a public face, he’d honor a promise to his daughter. He always had.

There was a moment or two of silence, then he sighed. “Fine. Now where are you?”

“Runt River, Ohio.”

There was silence again, this time complete as if he were holding his breath. Then he exploded. “What?”

“I drove out here after the wedding. I didn’t really mean to—I just hit a highway and kept going. Then I remembered Aunt Lucille was out here, and I figured I could use a bit of family support.”

“From Lucille? After all I’ve told you about her—”

“She’s pretty harmless, Dad.”

“She’s not harmless. She has a vendetta against me, and you’re my daughter. She is not the person to trust with something this volatile—”

“Too late,” Bernie confessed. “I told her what happened. But I’ll be careful. I’ll keep a low profile—wear something unattractive. I’ll blend right in with the locals.”

“This isn’t funny,” her father snapped. “Your face has been on the covers of magazines and newspapers for the past four months because of this wedding. You are not going to blend in.”

“I don’t care!” Her anger was rising again. “Dad, if I get into a bind, you’re my first call. That’s a promise. But give me space, or I will find the nearest reporter and give him an exclusive about Calvin McMann’s cheating ways.”

“Don’t you threaten me.”

“I’m half joking.” She sighed. “Dad. Space. Please.”

“Fine. But don’t believe anything your aunt tells you. She’s a master manipulator.”

Lucille hardly seemed like the manipulative shrew her father made her out to be, but Bernie hardly knew the woman, either. Maybe it would be wise to tread carefully with her aunt.

Except that Liam trusts her.

She hardly knew Liam, either, and the men in her life hadn’t exactly been the most trustworthy lately. Calvin had cheated on her, and her father seemed more concerned with the family political future than he did with his only daughter’s emotional state. At this point, she was wary of everyone.

“I’ll be careful, Dad. I promise. But I’d better hang up. I’m hungry. Tell Mom—” She sighed. Her mother would be furious. Tell her mother what, exactly? “Tell her I’m okay.”