The Runaway Bridesmaid

The Runaway Bridesmaid Kaitlyn Rice It's Not Who You're Running From…sitter for his kids, he'd beg her to return and marry him, and they'd all live happily ever after. That was the plan.Trevor Kincaid. He was everything her old lover was not—adventurous, always up for a challenge and with no qualms about having a fling. As soon as Isabel proved her point, the levelheaded Kansas girl would kiss the dangerous mountain man goodbye and resume her safe and predictable life. Or so she thought. Developing a crush on a complicated man like Trevor Kincaid would be a mistake Whether they were on a break or not, Isabel shouldn’t give up on Roger. He might be a little gun-shy about a second marriage, but at least the marriage gun he wielded was loaded with fairly innocuous pellets. Eventually she’d convince Roger to marry her. And that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Marriage to a man who would stick around. And happy children. She thought she could achieve that with Roger. Why, she was already halfway there if she counted Angie and RJ. Trevor was actually a year older than Roger and he’d never been married. She didn’t think he had any kids. He was a committed bachelor, she had no doubt, and she could see why. An enigmatic, sexy man like Trevor would surely come equipped with a machine gun. A relationship with him simply wasn’t safe. Dear Reader, Do you know these people? She thinks nothing of sacrificing an afternoon to watch her down-on-their-luck neighbors’ kids. He brings a dozen doughnuts to the office on Monday morning, including several of those chocolate old-fashioneds you like and a jelly-filled Danish for the receptionist. She plans a girls’ night out on the second anniversary of your breakup, because she’s been there and she knows some times are still rough. Thoughtful folks. I’m lucky enough to know a few of them. Isabel, my heroine and the second of the HEARTLAND SISTERS, is just such a people person. Sometimes she gets so caught up in helping everyone else that she forgets about her own wishes. She tells herself that her greatest desire is to make other people happy. Maybe so. But maybe she’s also afraid. Will people think she’s selfish? Will she try and fail? Will she try and succeed, and have to let someone down? Oh, yes. I know a few Isabels. Trevor Kincaid doesn’t have any trouble striving for his goals, and he lives the kind of exciting life Isabel only dreams about. He has a few fears of his own, however, and he’s missed out on the great adventure of trusting and loving another person to the depths possible in a truly committed relationship. As with the best of couples, Isabel and Trevor have much to teach each other, and much to learn. I hope you enjoy their story. I love hearing from readers. Please contact me through my Web site at www.kaitlynrice.com. Happy reading! Kaitlyn Rice The Runaway Bridesmaid Kaitlyn Rice www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) To a few great adults who recognize the importance of cherishing childhood and children: Jim C., Jamie and Jane, Kim and Lisa. With a huge hug and thanks to each of you for helping my children feel special, in your own ways and times. Books by Kaitlyn Rice HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE 972—TEN ACRES AND TWINS 1012—THE RENEGADE 1051—TABLE FOR FIVE 1085—THE LATE BLOOMER’S BABY* (#litres_trial_promo) Contents Chapter One (#u15152fb5-edf6-5aec-adbf-454279b92c91) Chapter Two (#u2e09a814-44ea-5103-b588-df80501a6315) Chapter Three (#u644ab6ef-ffdd-5db2-a071-8dcc8b54c7f4) Chapter Four (#u54318e62-4fcb-5db9-9aa0-1f303be59397) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One “Toss it to me!” hollered a petite blonde as she bounced around on the lawn in front of Isabel Blume. The thirty-something dynamo had introduced herself as Peyton at the bridal shower, two weeks ago Isabel recalled, and she’d arrived at this afternoon’s wedding on the arm of a George Clooney look-alike. “Aim left and throw hard,” another woman commanded from her spot near the rose-trimmed arbor. Isabel didn’t remember the name of the tall redhead, but the Wichita ob-gyn had celebrated her forty-first birthday last year by touring French castles. “Watch out, gals, this un’s mine!” The husky female drawl from the back had come from the bride’s college roommate, a Dallas banker who, at twenty-six, had recently been promoted to VP of her company. From the sound of things, a person might think the women were throwbacks to a time when a nice, single gal over twenty had cause to be concerned about a dwindling pool of potential suitors. That wasn’t the case here at all. Most of these women had the world by the tail: careers, lovers, numerous friends. Plans for houses and children and travel. These women were bachelorettes, not spinsters. They were merely having fun as they waited for the bride to stop posing for the photographer and toss the bouquet. Isabel wished she could get into a party mood, too, but she had never felt comfortable around so many people. She’d inherited too many of her mother’s traits, she supposed. She glanced toward the waiting crowd just in time to watch Roger leave the backyard through the gate. Where was he going? Isabel scanned the folding chairs for Roger’s two kids, then offered a quick wave when she spotted them. Maybe their dad had stepped out for a moment of quiet. She was here as Roger’s guest, of course—his cousin was the bride. Isabel didn’t really know these folks. Though she’d grown up in the nearby Kansas countryside, she hadn’t gone to school in Augusta. Her mother, Ella, had taught Isabel and her sisters at home. She’d kept them at home, period, always insisting that a rudimentary life was the better way. How many times had Isabel wished she could trade places with any other girl in town? To attend school in a classroom with a desk her size. To accept birthday party invitations and giggle with friends over cake and musical chairs. To travel on cheerful yellow buses to the zoos and museums she’d only read about. Even now, she’d love to switch with one of these other women for an hour—just long enough to feel her confidence. Maybe Peyton, with her obviously devoted swain, crisp gingham suit and slinky black thong sandals. Or maybe Isabel would rather be the bride. Roger’s cousin had traded vows with an Arkansas man, and the couple was moving to the Ozarks to run a shop specializing in custom-built cradles. What a dream! When the photographer finished, the bride turned her back to the group, and the ladies resumed shouting as eagerly as the most talkative catcher behind home plate at Augusta Middle School, where Roger’s son played league softball. Isabel bit her tongue and crossed her arms in front of her. She had no business catching the bouquet. She was only standing with this group now because one of the bridesmaids had dragged her out here. The bouquet left the bride’s hands and arced over the space. Isabel watched the gorgeous pink mixture sail past the others, heading straight for her nose. At the last minute, she reached up and caught it. Groans and chuckles filled the cool April air while Isabel righted the bouquet and inhaled its fine scent. Any magic in these flowers, she knew, was merely in the enjoyment of them. The other women scattered into the crowd, and Isabel carried the bouquet across to the chairs, where Roger’s six-year-old daughter looked as if she might burst from excitement. “You catched the flowers,” Angie hollered, jumping up from her seat to clap her hands on either side of her punch-stained mouth. “I know what that means. If you marry my daddy, you’ll be my ee-bil ol’ stepmother, right?” “The word is evil, birdbrain,” eleven-year-old R.J. said. “I said ee-bil.” As the pair began their umpteenth squabble of the afternoon, Isabel claimed a chair near them and scowled at the bouquet. Evil! Her sisters always told her she was too nice. And old? At twenty-seven, Isabel was hardly close to spinster age. The little girl must have heard a few too many fairy tales. “But will you be my stepmother, Izza-bell?” Angie asked. Isabel was still scrambling for a wise, motherly response when the groom hollered for Roger, saying he needed to join the bachelors for the garter toss. “Where did your dad go?” she asked the kids, and when she noticed the heaping plateful of cashews and mints that R.J. was trying to hide, she confiscated it and scooped half the pile into her palm before handing it back. “R.J., do you know?” she prompted. “He had to check his soybeans,” R.J. said, speaking around a mouthful of nuts. “He said females like all this flowery junk, and since you drove your own car and all, you could stay.” Angie peered across at Isabel, her brown eyes wide and serious. “You’re sposed to bring us home after the cake an’ ever-thing.” Roger had warned Isabel that he had some work to finish before dark, but Isabel was surprised that he hadn’t offered her the option of leaving with him. “Sorry, he left,” she shouted to the waiting men. As Isabel watched the George Clooney guy catch the garter, then ignored the couples dancing to a few last wedding songs while she ate cake with the kids, she consoled herself that Roger’s actions were probably normal for a boyfriend of over three years. His early departure wasn’t an act of neglect. He simply had chores to do. He was a good guy, overall. Honest, hardworking. He was a great guy, and handsome, too. Hadn’t she caught the banker eyeing him during the ceremony today? Roger’s thick auburn hair and tanned, even features caught the attention of other women all the time, especially now that he’d slimmed down some. But he didn’t flirt, even when the ladies invited it. To a woman whose mother had taught her that all men were either fickle or worthless, that kind of predictability counted for a lot. Isabel watched the crowd begin to leave, mostly in man-woman pairs. She might have the bouquet in her possession, but she’d never be the next to marry. Weddings had been too abundant in her circle lately. She wondered if Roger had any idea that she might like to be a bride someday. His bride, and stepmother to his kids, whom she cared for on a regular basis. Whom she cared for, period. On the way home in her car, Isabel got a clear idea of Roger’s intentions. R.J. and Angie were both buckled into the backseat. As usual, R.J. had requested that Isabel turn on the radio so he could, as he’d put it, tune out the motormouth. “I wish Daddy would marry Izza-bell,” the doggedly chatty Angie murmured to her brother a moment later. “She’d be the best ee-bil stepmother in the whole U.S.A.!” Isabel smiled at the contradiction, until she heard R.J.’s response. “Her name is Isabel, and Dad isn’t going to marry her.” The boy’s low voice and bold statement suggested that he thought Isabel was listening to the music. “Izza-bell,” Angie repeated, still pausing before that last syllable in the cute way she had. “But why won’t Daddy marry her?” Her question spared Isabel the trouble of butting in to ask it herself. “He’s never getting hitched again. He says it all the time at home.” “He does?” Again, Angie had voiced Isabel’s own musings. She slowed her approach to Roger’s farm, but worked to control her reaction. She wanted to hear the rest of this particular squabble. “He likes her okay, though,” R.J. said. “She’s not exactly ugly or anything, and he says he craves adult company.” “Izza-bell isn’t like other adults, dummy,” Angie said. “She pushes me on the swings and plays house wif me.” “Jeez, Ange, she probably plays with you because she doesn’t have her own kids or a dumb career or anything more important to do.” Ye-ouch! Isabel pulled into the long drive at Roger’s farm and left the car idling. She’d heard enough. Roger’s truck and tractor were parked in their usual places next to the cottonwoods, so she knew he must be inside by now. She wouldn’t go in. Let him pull together his own dinner and tend to his own artlessly honest kids. “If your dad asks where I am,” she said, “tell him I had plans for tonight.” And she did. Now. Oblivious to her changed mood, R.J. said goodbye and disappeared into the house. Angie remained in her seat. “R.J. doesn’t know ever-thing. Daddy will marry you.” Isabel turned around in the seat to peer at her tiny buddy, who must have realized she’d been listening to the backseat conversation. “What makes you think so, hon?” “Cuz you’re nice, an’ Mama has a new boyfriend, anyways.” The little girl sat up straight and grinned, showing off a missing front tooth. “’Sides, I’m not gonna grow up an’ be like Mama. I’m gonna be like you.” “How so?” “I don’t want a dumb c’reer. I want to stay home and make stuff and play Barbies wif a little girl, like you do.” Well, ouch, again. Isabel had a career. She owned and operated Blumecrafts, the home-based business her mother had started. Her handmade quilts and baskets might not earn her a doctor’s or a banker’s wages, but she made enough to pay her bills and then some. And she had time left over to entertain a certain redheaded six-year-old and her outspoken older brother. “Well, thanks, hon.” Isabel got out of her car, then went around to the back to help Angie unbuckle her seat belt. “Just remember you can do anything when you grow up. Okay? Anything at all.” Angie nodded, her expression serious. As Isabel watched her young friend get out of the car and skip up the gravel drive to the house, she realized something. The impression she’d left on those kids wasn’t the one she’d intended. Living frugally or surviving tough times or cherishing loved ones, all the more important lessons Isabel had learned over the years, weren’t the ones they’d picked up. No. They’d concluded that she had time for them because she wasn’t doing anything better. Isabel drove the two miles between Roger’s farm and the country house she’d inherited from her mother, then plunked the bouquet into a jug of water and changed out of the lilac georgette dress she’d designed and stitched expressly for this wedding. An evening alone sounded nice. She hadn’t ignored Roger’s unspoken expectations for a long time, but the thought of doing her own thing for change gave her a strange thrill. Maybe it was time for Isabel to wake up and seek out a little excitement on her own. She went into her kitchen and sorted through a stack of mail, searching for a heavy envelope—an invitation to another wedding. This one was for her friend Darla’s celebration, in late July. She had met Darla over the phone five years ago, when the Colorado office manager had called to order some of Blumecrafts’ nature-themed quilts to use at the vacation lodge where she worked. They’d become closer when Darla’s mother had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer about two years ago. Isabel knew the difficult length of that road. She’d nursed her own mother through the same illness. When she found the invitation, Isabel opened the outer envelope and read the casual script on the inner one: Isabel and Guest. A first-time bride at forty, Darla hadn’t planned a huge wedding. She and her live-together boyfriend, Sam, were gathering their families and close friends for a simple, outdoor ceremony at the lodge. Though she hadn’t found the heart to throw away the invitation, Isabel had already declined it. Roger hadn’t been interested in the idea of a weekend away from the farm, especially in July. He’d spoken of wheat he’d need to cut, alfalfa he’d need to bale. He’d mentioned his hogs and the unpredictable Kansas weather. Isabel had left a copy of the invitation on his rolltop desk, in case they both changed their minds, but she doubted that Roger would. He’d never ask his neighbors to look after the farm just so he could go to the wedding. He took his work seriously, and she respected the fact that he’d kept his farm going during a time when small operations were dying out. And Isabel, too, felt tied to Augusta. She had Blumecrafts to run, a garden to tend, a house to keep. People needed her here. But maybe she should go. Without Roger. He’d miss her if she was gone a week. Maybe he’d be singing a different tune when she returned—perhaps a wedding song. Even if he didn’t, Isabel’s sisters would be proud of her for breaking away for a while, and Roger’s kids might recognize that she was more than a fun babysitter. Darla was Isabel’s closest friend outside the family, and they’d met in person only once. Back when Isabel’s older sister, Callie, had lived in Denver, Isabel and her younger sister had visited Colorado for the holidays. Darla had met Isabel in the city and had taken her to lunch at a popular Mexican restaurant that boasted cliff divers. The two women had sat for hours, ordering rounds of chips and sopaipillas and chatting. Isabel would love to see Darla again, even if it meant traveling alone. Before she could think of a hundred reasons not to, Isabel picked up the kitchen phone. Darla and Sam were gearing up for their busy camp season at the lodge. They might be at the office, even late on a Saturday afternoon. She dialed and listened to the phone ring. “Burch Lodge.” The man spoke quickly, as if he answered the phone that way a hundred times a day. “Sam?” “This is Trevor.” Ah! That voice had sounded different. Deeper than Sam’s, but less growly. Sam’s buddy directed the summer boys’ camp at the lodge, but normally he was a law professor out in Boulder. Darla talked about Trevor all the time. He sounded like another great guy. “Hello, Trevor!” Isabel said, excited at the thought of meeting Darla’s friends. “I’m sorry, should I know you?” “No. This is Isabel, a friend of Darla’s. Is she there?” “Sure. Hang on.” After a moment, Darla came on the line, greeting Isabel with such patent pleasure that she found herself smiling into the phone, certain now that her decision to go was the right one. “Hi, Darla! I have great news.” “News?” Darla said. “Didn’t you go to a wedding with Roger today? What, did he finally get a clue?” “Uh, no,” Isabel said, “but I had fun and I…well, I’m feeling a need to escape home for a while. I’m coming out to Colorado, after all.” “You and Roger are coming here?” Darla asked. “Don’t sound so surprised,” Isabel said. “But no. Just me.” Darla was quiet for a moment. “Didn’t you say you’d never traveled this far on your own?” “Yes, I did. Since Mom died, I’ve always traveled with my sisters. Sounds funny, doesn’t it?” “Oh, I understand why you’d be nervous,” Darla said. “I’d be, if I’d had your childhood.” “Well, I’m ready to try something new. I’ll be at your wedding,” Isabel said. “I want to celebrate with you. Besides, it’s time I got away from Roger and let him miss me a little, don’t you think?” “Yeah.” Something in her friend’s tone caught Isabel’s attention. “What’s wrong, Darla?” “My mom’s going through a rough spell, Izzy. We thought the July date would be perfect, but I’ve been busy helping Mom. We haven’t had time to plan, and the camp’s starting soon.” Darla paused, then dropped the bomb. “We called off the wedding.” Disappointment welled up inside Isabel, and felt so heavy in her chest that she sank down onto a kitchen chair. “But that’s awful. And you must be busier still, contacting everyone to let them know.” She lowered her voice. “Do you mean to say you won’t be marrying Sam?” “We’re postponing the ceremony, not canceling it, and we hadn’t invited many people yet. I sent your invitation early because I wanted to give you time to consider coming. I knew it’d be hard for you to get away.” Darla had been so excited about her big day. Their conversations about mothers and sickness had been overtaken by more hopeful talk about how many guests to invite, how to decorate and which foods to serve at the reception. “I’m so sorry, Darla.” “I am, too. And I apologize for the mix-up. I should’ve called to tell you, even though you’d already declined.” Still shaken, Isabel remained quiet. After a moment Darla said, “You could still come for a visit, you know. I’d love to see you.” “I could help plan your wedding,” Isabel said, more as a vague, wouldn’t-this-be-great idea, rather than a true intention. But Darla responded, immediately and enthusiastically. “That’d be great!” she exclaimed. “I considered asking you to be my maid of honor, but I didn’t want to pressure you to come. We have plenty of room. You could stay as long as you like. Come for the summer!” A summer-long Colorado trip. What a dream! And then it struck Isabel: Why limit herself? Why not take a real vacation? Blumecrafts was doing well enough. And except for the flood last year, when three feet of muddy river water had rendered Isabel’s house and workshop temporarily unusable, she’d generally worked year-round without a break. If she caught up on her orders now, she could warn clients that new shipments would be delayed. Her sisters would watch her house—maybe her younger sister, Josie, would move in to tend the gardens. In return, she’d get a bigger space for summer socializing and all the fresh veggies she could eat. “What if I did come, Darla? I could free up some of your time by working in the office, or I could do legwork for the wedding. I could make favors and decorations. I could help with anything!” “Isabel! Really?” “Of course. This would be great for both of us,” Isabel said. “I’d get the kind of adventure I’ve always wanted, and you’d get to keep your summer wedding.” “And Roger might get inspired,” Darla added. “Are you sure you can get away from him and those kids? I know they depend on you.” Yes, they did, especially during the summertime. The school break coincided with Roger’s busiest season. But Isabel was nothing more than a casual girlfriend to Roger. Callie had pointed that out recently. And Josie had mentioned that Isabel and Roger didn’t even go on dates, anymore. Their relationship had become more of a doing-what-we’ve-always-done type of arrangement. As a consequence, she was nothing to Roger’s kids, either. Merely a friend who cared about them. The thought saddened her. She felt connected to the Corbetts, at least emotionally. “Yes, they do depend on me,” Isabel said in a low voice. “Maybe they shouldn’t.” “Right.” Darla’s tone was gentle, as if she expected Isabel to abandon the entire idea at this first snag. She couldn’t do that. Isabel didn’t want to hurt Roger or the kids, but she didn’t want to be taken for granted forever, either. She was determined, this time, to do something different. Something daring. Isabel felt excitement bubble up in her chest. “You know what? R.J.’s almost twelve. He’s old enough to help his dad around the farm this summer, or he can ride his bike to the local pool or to visit friends. He’ll be fine.” “What about the little girl?” Darla asked. “Angie presents more of a problem,” Isabel said, thinking about options. “Her mother works sixty hours a week, but maybe she and Roger could coordinate their schedules.” “I’d think they could. She’s their daughter.” “I know. I feel kind of bad for Angie, though,” Isabel said. “Hopefully they won’t argue in front of her, about who has to have her when.” “They’d do that?” “They have before.” Darla hesitated, then said, “Things are awfully hectic around here once the camp is in session, but of course she’d be welcome, too, if it came to that.” “Didn’t you tell me once that you catered to adult visitors only, during the camp weeks?” Isabel asked. “Yes. And usually we limit ourselves to repeat guests who know the place well and don’t mind the chaos. Teenage boys tend to be loud, hungry and surprisingly needy.” “Then Angie would be in the way.” “I want you to come, so we’d work something out,” Darla said. “There’s just one thing.” “What’s that?” “How can Roger realize all you do for him if you help him long distance, my dear?” “I’m hoping I won’t have to,” Isabel said. “Besides, the idea is for him to miss me more than my child care skills.” “I’ll tell you what,” Darla said. “We’ll just keep you locked away in our comfortable lodge until he charges out here on his trusty steed to demand your hand, your heart and your body for all time. Sound good?” Isabel tried to imagine her even-tempered Roger doing anything so wildly romantic. Her mother would have laughed at the very thought. But her mother had been wrong to suggest that men in general were lazy. Roger was anything but. Maybe he would come whisk her away, if he missed her enough. “Sounds wonderful,” she murmured. “It sure does. How soon can you get here?” Chapter Two Trevor Kincaid backed his foot off the gas pedal when he noticed the tan four-door pulled over on the shoulder, fifty yards ahead. What a rotten break, to have car trouble on this remote mountain road. Few cars traveled up here this early in the morning. Most of the tourists wouldn’t be out and about quite yet, and the natives would be headed down to the cities to work. But someone else would see the car—maybe a county sheriff. Trevor was running late. That car looked ancient. Small wonder it had broken down. The driver was probably another kid, arriving in the Colorado Rockies to live out his dream. They arrived in droves out here, with a few dollars in their pockets and no clue about where they would sleep at night. All kinds of colorful characters lived off these less-traveled roads, too—mostly dreamers from the past who’d found the means to stay. Hell, some stayed without the means. Vagrancy was a real problem in the area. Lord knew what kind of person might stop if Trevor didn’t. He slowed further. He didn’t have time to check a neglected engine, but he could give the kid a lift to the Lyons garage, along with a lecture about clean living and safe travel. After he parked his Jeep behind the car, the driver of the sedan opened the door and got out. It wasn’t a kid, though. It was a woman, mid- to late-twenties and pretty, with long dark hair. The woman waved at him, and a gust of wind lifted her already-short skirt. Those legs were long and sexy. And those frou-frou shoes would have been worthless if Trevor hadn’t stopped and she’d needed to hike a few miles to get help. What genius designer had decided to put high heels on flip-flops? Trevor’s female students wore the dang things all the time, too, but at least their treks were across the groomed grounds of the Boulder campus. He got out of his vehicle and met the woman between their bumpers. “I’m so glad you stopped,” the woman said as she pressed a palm to her heart. “I wasn’t sure if what people said about strangers was true.” “Depends on what you’ve heard people say.” She studied his face for a moment, her expression pensive. She must have decided he was okay then, because she dropped her hand. “Guess that’s true.” Another half second, then she chuckled. “There’s not much up here, is there?” Trevor gazed around at the scenery. They were standing in a canyon a few dozen miles east of Rocky Mountain National Park. Massive rocks towered to the sky on their left. A brook flowed by thirty feet down on their right. The spruce and pines were especially fragrant this time of year, making the earth smell clean. He loved this area. He’d grown up exploring this wilderness. The woman’s idea of not much was a far cry from his. Apparently, she’d understood his thoughtful perusal of the land, because she opened her eyes wide and said, “Oh, it’s beautiful out here. I meant there isn’t much civilization. I was hunting for landmarks, but I kept seeing that rock wall on one side and the river on the other. I’m trying to find Longmont. Do you know it?” Oh. So she was lost, not stranded. Great, he’d give her directions and get on his way. “I traveled through there a few minutes ago, which means you’re headed away from it. Turn around, and you’ll see a sign fairly soon. Take a left toward town. Then you can’t miss it.” She frowned. “I’m not so sure. I must be lousy at directions. I stopped a half hour ago to ask at a convenience store, and look what happened. Would you mind showing me on my map?” That would mean he wouldn’t get to the lodge as early as he’d hoped. But the woman acted so…innocent. He’d feel like a brute if he got home tonight and heard a news story about some female traveler who’d run into bad luck. “Sure.” As soon as he’d said it, the wind whirled down the canyon and picked up the bottom of that skirt again. “Maybe we’d better do this in your car,” he added. She frowned. Perhaps she was reconsidering the wisdom of trusting a stranger. Atta girl. “I meant that you could sit in your car with the map, and I could stand outside and point out the way. I wouldn’t want your map to blow off down the road.” “I figured that was what you meant,” she said. “But I have a little girl napping in my car. We might wake her.” She had a child in the car? Trevor was oddly disappointed to hear it, but even more glad he’d stopped. The woman bit her bottom lip, her brows lowering. “I could take the map to your car,” she said after a moment. “That’d work.” The woman teetered in her shoes as she crossed the gravel. She opened her car door, and Trevor tried not to watch those legs as she leaned in to grab the map. Gently she closed her car door again, then went around to the Jeep’s passenger side. She wanted to get in? Man, she was gullible. Trevor considered giving the woman a safe-travel lecture, but instead simply opened his door and slid into the driver’s seat. “I can’t believe Angie conked out this early in the day,” the woman said after they’d closed themselves inside. “We had a long drive yesterday, and she resisted my wake-up call this morning.” Trevor studied the woman’s face again, wondering if she could be sleeping through the reports of kidnappings, molestations and robberies that dominated the news every day. He could think of several things this woman had done wrong this morning. She’d left her little girl alone in an unlocked car, for one. Maybe she was from some quiet little burg where nothing bad ever happened. “Where’re you coming from?” he asked. “Augusta, Kansas, about twenty miles east of Wichita.” She shrugged. “It’s a small town, but it was in the news last year when a good portion of the town flooded. The president declared our county a national-disaster area.” A national disaster sounded bad enough. “Were you and your husband affected?” he asked. “I’m not married.” Briefly she lifted her ringless hand. “But yes, my house was damaged. I had to move out for a few months, until my family and I finished repairs.” Not married. That explained some of it. Most husbands would have coached this reckless optimist about highway safety. Ignoring the twitch in his libido at the new knowledge of her single status, Trevor took the map from the woman to study it. Single or not, she was merely traveling through. “You are so considerate to help me,” she said. “Roger told me I should stay home. He actually said I was too naive to travel alone. I told him to bug off.” This Roger sounded sharp. Trevor knew he had no business asking, but he was curious. “Who’s Roger?” The woman appeared to be startled by the question. “Roger’s my, uh, neighbor. And Angie’s father.” She nodded. “He lives down the road a couple of miles. Anyway, Angie’s mother remarried recently, which surprised everyone since she’d known the guy all of a month. She’d taken time off to spend the summer with her kids, and suddenly that plan changed. Angie was heartbroken, so of course I brought her with me.” Trevor knew that story. Too many people had kids and discovered later that it would take eighteen years to raise them. After murmuring his agreement that bringing the child was the right thing to do, he started detailing the best return route to Longmont. “I truly appreciate this,” she said as she took her map from him moments later. “It was nothing.” “You’re a gentleman. Thanks.” She reached across the seat to pat his shoulder. But the touch was too soft. Trevor’s body responded as if it were a caress. She must have felt that zing of attraction, too. She stared at the point of contact, then frowned and snatched back her hand. Trevor met her gaze as an awareness flowed between them. He’d noticed her, sure enough. Legs. Eyes. Warmth. Now he knew she’d noticed him, too. He tensed, willing away his body’s immediate and senseless response. It’d been a while, and she was sexy. And a complete stranger, headed down the road in the opposite direction. Their paths had crossed for a few minutes. That was all. He hid his crazy regret behind a grin. “No problem.” He was already too late to worry about the time, so Trevor decided to maintain his gallant image. He jumped out of the Jeep to run around and open her door for her. “Have fun in Longmont, doing whatever,” he said as she stepped onto the gravel shoulder. “Thanks. And you have—” she gazed up the highway with a thoughtful frown, then refocused on him and shrugged “—a good life, I guess.” Trevor watched to make sure she got in her car and turned around, then started his Jeep and drove away to do exactly as she’d suggested. Less than ten minutes later, he sped up the drive that led to the Burch ranch. Although Sam’s parents had run a small-scale cattle operation here when he was growing up, their more enterprising son had added the lodge and guest cabins soon after taking over. For the past three years Trevor had used part of his summer hiatus to come up here and direct a summer wilderness experience for teenage boys. He loved it, even if the precamp organization was a chore. As he parked in front of the main lodge, he was pleased to see the front door open. That had to be Sam inside. Darla should be returning from Greeley this morning, after spending several days with her sick mother. A gravelly voice drifted out from the back as soon as Trevor walked through the door. “You’re late.” “Oh, I know. I stopped to help some woman out on the county road.” “Car trouble?” Sam appeared in his office doorway, sipping a cup of coffee. “Just hopelessly lost in some rattletrap car.” Trevor’s eyes were glued to Sam’s cup. “Any of that left?” When Sam nodded, Trevor crossed to Darla’s work area to pour himself some. He took a sip and winced. Sam might be a master at mixing protein meal for his cattle, but he couldn’t remember how many scoops of coffee to put in a pot. Today he’d overshot by about two. “Problem?” Sam scanned Trevor’s face. “This is fine.” Sam leaned his gaunt frame against the door sill. “You are really, really late. What’d you have to do, draw the woman a detailed map of the entire state?” “No, I showed her the way on her map. That’s all.” Sam held his gaze, then one side of his mouth lifted. “Must’ve been a looker.” “What makes you say that?” “You’re surly.” Trevor lifted his cup. “Nah, caffeine just hasn’t had time to take effect.” “This is more than a normal morning grump. If you hadn’t been interested in this woman, you’d be telling me all about what happened on that highway.” Sam narrowed his gaze, studying him. “I’m thinking she was a red-hot redhead.” Ignoring him, Trevor took another sip of coffee and repressed the grimace when it went down. “Exotic looking? Black hair?” He didn’t bat an eyelash. “A blond princess?” “More like a sleeping beauty,” Trevor blurted. “She spoke openly to me, as if I were her brother or husband, and she was almost abnormally naive.” “And you liked her.” Trevor rolled his eyes. “Lord, Sam. Is this junior high?” “Was that a yes, my cynical friend?” Sam’s tanned cheeks formed two deep crevices when he smiled. Trevor scowled. Sam had been the world’s biggest cynic until he’d fallen for Darla. Now he’d decided he had some obligation to pull Trevor into romantic bliss alongside him. The guy had been nudging him toward women constantly, and he’d been way too interested in Trevor’s weekends. “Did you get her number, bud?” Sighing, Trevor strode into his office. “What about her name?” Sam asked from beyond the wall. “Just settle yourself down, Sam. She was a tourist. I’ll never see her again.” Sam fell silent, thank God. Trevor set the cup on top of his file cabinet and pulled out a topographic map, refusing to think about the woman another second. He’d never been the type to start up with anyone he couldn’t afford to know well. His parents had been expert at that—between the two of them they’d been married six times. Several of those marriages had lasted less than a year, and several had produced children. Trevor had eight stepsiblings between the ages of two and his own thirty-two. Except for the toddler, they all had commitment issues. Not him, though. He stuck with long-term, noncontractual relationships with women who appreciated his realistic view of marriage. He’d been with Martie for four years and Christina for three. Chris had moved on five months ago, and Trevor hadn’t found his next serious girlfriend, yet. But he would. And they’d have fun and no regrets. Clearing a spot on his desk, Trevor moved his cup there, then carried the map around to sit and study it. Five college-age counselors would be arriving in three days, requiring a week of intensive training. The following Monday, twenty-six younger boys would arrive, and those were merely the first-session campers. By the end of the next seven weeks, ninety-six boys in various stages of adolescence would have rotated in and out of here. As director of the camp, Trevor needed to be ready. He lifted the map, forcing himself to think about day hikes and climbing excursions. “Hey, Trev?” “Yeah.” “What color was that rattletrap?” He froze in his seat for a moment. Then he got up and walked out to the front office, where Sam stood gazing out the screen door. A tan car was pulling into the drive. Trevor watched it slow to a stop behind his Jeep. When that shoe hit the ground beneath the car door, he knew it was her. Maybe she was lost again. “Sam, I’ll give you twenty bucks to go out there and give her directions to Longmont. I’m behind on work.” Sam didn’t answer immediately. Probably because he was preoccupied, watching the leggy brunette get out of the car. “Your sleeping beauty?” he asked. “She’s not mine, but yeah.” “She doesn’t look lost now.” Sam’s chuckle got on Trevor’s nerves. “She said she was going to Longmont,” Trevor said. “Darla’s friend is arriving this weekend sometime,” Sam reminded him. “Isabel Blume? From Kansas?” Isabel Blume, from…Kansas. The lost woman was Darla’s good friend? Trevor would never have suspected. Darla wore leather boots, sturdy jeans and a short haircut that’d require little fuss while she worked around the ranch. She was as good as Trevor and Sam at following a trail and better at fires and fishing. Trevor couldn’t imagine the lost woman doing any of those things. Hadn’t Darla said her friend was coming to help wherever she was needed, so Sam and Darla’s dadgum July wedding could be saved? “Your fianc?e didn’t tell me her friend was so…” So, what? Friendly? Sexy? Distracting? “…green.” Sam had already headed outside. Trevor watched him step off the porch to shake the woman’s hand. He watched her smile that same, openly friendly smile. Then he watched her skirt flutter up again. He’d have to be careful to keep his thoughts off those legs and on the safety of the camp kids. He’d also have to discourage any more electrified touches or lingering looks. It might be all right to entertain sexual thoughts about a woman he knew he’d never see again, but in the real world, this one wasn’t his type. Too dewy-eyed. She’d want the white picket fence, the scruffy dog and two children—a boy and a girl if it worked out, but of course she’d adore whichever she got. Trevor knew that story, too. It had always read like pure fiction to him. Besides, he had other things to worry about. The ninety-six boys whose parents had paid for this camp deserved his undivided attention. Those kids would learn nothing good from watching their camp director engage in a dalliance with some sexy tourist. In fact, he’d love to teach them the opposite: that a man should be strong enough to wait for a healthy relationship with a woman he admired. There went her skirt again. Okay, so he did admire her legs. “What in blazes is she doing wearing a skirt to a Colorado mountain lodge, anyway?” he complained to himself just before he shoved his way out the screen door. “IT IS YOU!” Isabel said as soon as she saw her highway rescuer appear outside. “I knew that Jeep was familiar.” “Thought you were headed to Longmont.” “I was. I mean, I did go through there.” She glanced out toward the road. Hadn’t Darla told her she would pass through Longmont? “I was told I had to, to get here.” The trill of a cell phone interrupted. “That’s mine,” Sam said, digging it out of his shirt pocket. “Could you help her with her bags, bud? We’re putting her in the Ripple River room, up at the house.” Isabel watched him put the phone to his ear and walk toward the far end of the porch. “You were past Longmont when I saw you, only a few miles from here,” the younger man said, returning to the conversation Isabel would have been happy to forget. She felt silly about getting lost, but this had been her first time to travel so far without her sisters to help navigate. Considering the non-map-reading child she’d had for company, she’d done all right to lose her way only once in almost six hundred miles. “You must have made a loop back around.” “Must have.” She stuck her hand out. “Isabel Blume, from Kansas.” She paused, then said, “Well, I guess you know quite a bit about me already. But we didn’t trade names.” He pressed his hand into hers, his grip firm and warm. “Trevor Kincaid.” He broke the clasp immediately. “You’re Trevor?” She might have recognized his voice if she’d been expecting to meet someone she knew out on that highway. But who’d have dreamed that a law professor would be so strong and rugged looking? But then, Darla had told her that Trevor was also an avid outdoorsman. And that he was deadly serious at times and a load of fun at others. Come to think of it, Isabel knew a lot about him already, too. And judging from the things that Darla had said, she was going to like him. “I don’t know if you remember, but we spoke on the phone once. It’s great to meet you in person!” “Mmm-hmm.” He backed up a step. “If you’ll pop the trunk, we can unload.” Whoa! What had just happened? Isabel’s enthusiastic greeting had been met with a distinct coolness. She would disregard the snub. Perhaps she’d imagined it. “Old-fashioned car, old-fashioned opener,” she said, handing Trevor her trunk key. “If you’ll help me grab some bags, we can probably do this in one trip.” Trevor opened the trunk, stared inside and added, “Or maybe not.” She had brought a lot. In addition to her own luggage, there were Angie’s smaller suitcases and two boxes of toys. Isabel had designed a quilt to give Sam and Darla as a wedding gift. That was in another box. Everything inside this trunk was necessary. Isabel ignored Trevor’s attitude and helped him unload. They set the garment bag and suitcases on the ground, then stacked the boxes beside them. When they got down to Angie’s pink floral suitcases, Trevor took them out, his expression puzzled, and slammed the trunk lid. Did he think those cases belonged to her? “The Barbie cases aren’t mine,” Isabel said. “They belong to Ang—” “Shh! Did you hear that?” She had. It had been a soft, high-pitched sound. “Could be one of the calves.” He peered toward the east. Isabel listened again, then glanced at the car window. “No, that’s Angie. The slam of the trunk lid must have awakened her.” Sure enough, the little girl’s head poked up in the seat, and her face soon appeared in the window. “Izzabell, can I come out now?” she bellowed. “I can’t wait until she sees how gorgeous this place is,” Isabel said as she walked around the car. “She missed seeing the mountains as we approached Denver.” Opening the door, Isabel grinned when Angie emerged. With tangled red hair and sleep creases pressed into one cheek, she was still adorable. “Come here, hon.” Isabel took the little girl by the hand and led her to where Trevor waited. He bent down to speak to the child. “Hi, Angie. I’m Professor Kincaid,” he said. “Would you like to see some hummingbirds?” Angie nodded. He turned to point at a massive pine tree, off near a footpath into a wooded area. “See those feeders hanging from the limbs? There are usually several birds hovering around them. You can see them better from the path. Go take a look, if you’d like.” Angie headed in that direction. When Isabel started to follow her, Trevor caught her eye. “She’ll be within sight. Let her go.” After Angie had skipped away, he asked, “Why is she here?” “I told you about that on the highway. Remember?” “Not really.” Isabel squinted at him, thinking he’d changed since their first meeting. She explained again in more detail, about Angie’s mother’s surprise announcement that she was remarrying, and the argument that had followed between Roger and his ex about what to do with Angie while all of the adults in her life followed other pursuits. “I didn’t want Angie to feel as if she was nothing but a bother, so I brought her with me,” Isabel finished, shrugging. “Darla knew I might have to bring her. She suggested it, actually.” “And you said Roger was…who?” “My neighbor,” Isabel said, feeling deceptive. But her status with Roger confused even her. Her sisters had convinced her to break up with him for the summer. Josie had advised her to talk to every man she met so she could find out exactly how wrong their mother had been about the entire male population. Flexing her flirt muscles, she’d called it. Big sister Callie had said almost the opposite—that Isabel should discover what it felt like to be on her own for a while. Recognizing the wisdom in both of her sisters’ advice, Isabel had declared a summer of independence from Roger. His response? “Do what you have to do. I’ll be here when you get home.” So she wasn’t with Roger, exactly, even though she still hoped he’d propose when she returned from this trip. Angie hollered that she couldn’t see any birds, so Isabel and Trevor started toward the path. “I’d forgotten you had a kid in the car at all,” Trevor said on the way. “Aren’t you staying until Sam and Darla’s wedding?” “Yes, I am.” They reached Angie, and Trevor bent down near the child to point out a couple of fluttering shapes. “Those are hummingbirds,” he said. “You have to stand real still, and watch them a few minutes. Then you’ll see.” “Oh, those! They look like big ol’ bugs!” “I know they do at first. But keep watching them.” He stood up and scowled at Isabel. “She’s staying all summer, too?” She studied the tiny row of dimples that had formed above his eyebrows. “No. When Angie’s mom returns from her honeymoon in a few weeks, she’ll fly through Denver. We’ve already planned to meet at the airport, and she’ll take Angie home.” Trevor kept staring at her. The man might be moody, but he had great eyes. She hadn’t figured out their color yet. Gray? Green? And despite his efforts to hide it, his gaze held a reluctant interest in her that was enticing. She’d have to be careful around him. He seemed…dangerous. “I called Darla at her mother’s house early yesterday morning to tell her about it,” Isabel said. “Guess she got busy and didn’t pass along the message.” “But starting next Monday, we’ll be running an orienteering camp up here,” Trevor said. “The boys are older, between twelve and eighteen, and expect to learn real wilderness skills. We explore offsite part of the time, but when we’re on property we attempt some dangerous things. We work with gear—fish hooks and climbing apparatus. Fire. Surely you realize a younger child will be in the way.” Angie moved closer to Isabel, pressing her face into the side of her waist. After glaring a warning at Trevor, Isabel rubbed the girl’s arm. “It’s all right, hon,” she said. “Darla and I really did discuss this yesterday. She assured me that we’d work out any problems.” Angie came out from hiding and put her hands on her hips. “Is he jist an ee-bil ol’ Grinch?” she asked in a normal voice. Isabel stifled a smile. He’d deserved that. Though Trevor had valid concerns, he shouldn’t voice them in front of Angie. “I think the word you’re looking for is grouch,” she corrected, without bothering to lower her voice, either. He deserved that, too. Trevor shifted his gaze between Angie and Isabel, then shrugged. “Okay, then. Leave the luggage where it is and come inside.” Chapter Three Isabel and Angie followed Trevor through a large office, then into one of several smaller rooms off to the side. He waved toward a bench that ran along a long, windowless wall. “Have a seat,” he said. “Wow, look at that tree chair!” Angie exclaimed, eyeing the bench constructed from a rough log. She ran the length of it twice, then plopped down in its middle and ran her hand along the smoothed seat. Isabel remained near the doorway, watching as Trevor strode behind a cluttered desk, sat down and picked up a large map. She sat on the bench near Angie, feeling confused. “Why are we here?” she asked. “Didn’t Sam mention the Ripple River room?” “Yes, and I started to tell you bef—” The bench squeaked loudly, drawing their attention. Angie was bouncing on her bottom. Isabel knew why. She lifted her brows and turned to Trevor. “Rest room?” “Out in the main office.” After a subtle sigh, he dropped the map and got up to point out the way to Angie. When he returned, he explained, “The Ripple River room is small, and really meant for one person.” He sat in his chair, then leaned back, dropping his elbows on the armrests and linking his fingers. He stared at Isabel, his expression sober. “I’m not sure where to put you, considering this change. We’ll have to wait for Sam.” Although he didn’t say she’d caused trouble by bringing Angie, he implied it. Oh, man, did he imply it. “I explained that Angie is only here because of special circumstances.” “I know.” A minute later, Angie hopped back into the room on one foot. Kids that age could amuse themselves so easily, Isabel thought. Taking an extra notebook and pen from her purse, she handed them to the little girl. He’d see. Angie would be no trouble at all. Trevor returned his attention to his map, and the office grew quiet again. Isabel heard only the occasional rattle of his map, the scratch of Angie’s pen against the paper and the tick of the clock. She perused the Lonely Stars quilt tacked to the wall behind Trevor’s head. All of her quilts were her own unique designs. She’d done this one in rich indigo blues and deep forest greens, with stars in a silvery white. “I sold your quilt to Darla last year,” Isabel said to break the uncomfortable silence. “She said it was your Christmas present.” Trevor looked up at her, then turned in his chair to scrutinize the quilt, seeming almost surprised to discover it there against his office wall. “That’s right, you have some sort of crafts business, don’t you?” he said. “I’d forgotten how Darla knew you.” Success! He’d sounded halfway friendly again. She’d keep talking to see if it helped. “Actually, my mother started Blumecrafts when I was a baby, and built it up in catalog sales. She died four years ago, but I kept the business going.” She gazed at the quilt, wondering if he would appreciate the artistry and work she’d put into it. He turned back around and leveled a sober stare at her. “You make a decent living, selling these quilts?” “I do fine, especially since we’ve put the catalogs on the Internet. I also sell handmade baskets and some accessories—my hand-pieced leather handbags were a hit on the West Coast last year.” She lifted her chin. “You can’t buy Blumecrafts items at your average retail store.” He’d nodded all the way through her explanation, but as soon as she quieted he said, “I expected you to be older.” What did her age have to do with this conversation? Isabel wondered if the man was ever impressed, and why she cared one way or another. “I’m old enough.” That map must be incredibly interesting, because he started reading it again. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?” she asked. His eyes never left his map. “No.” “No?” He flicked a glance toward her feet, of all things. She slid them farther under the bench and waited for him to look at her. After a drawn-out moment, he did, and those forehead dimples deepened. She shrugged, soliciting an answer. “You want honesty?” “Absolutely.” He set down his map and watched her a moment, and only the clock’s tick and the scratching of Angie’s pen filled the silence. “Here it is. Sam and Darla’s normal duties here at the lodge are time-consuming. The wedding planning and the camp add more work.” He nodded toward Angie, who was busy drawing and didn’t notice. “You should’ve realized you were putting Darla on the spot.” He paused, then added, “But of course that’s none of my business. So—” He shrugged. “No.” Isabel wasn’t going to turn her car around and drive her little friend all the way home, especially since Darla had said it would be fine to bring her. She glanced at Angie. The little girl was entertaining herself beautifully, drawing a picture of the Grinch with a short haircut like Trevor’s. Isabel wanted to tell Angie to add the row of eyebrow dents. “I’ll keep her with me,” she said to Trevor, instead. “If I’m busy in the office, she can color or play with some of the toys she brought.” Trevor folded those strong hands and studied the ceiling for a long while, no doubt thinking hard about his reply. “But you’re here to help Darla,” he finally said. Isabel shook her head. “And?” Trevor gave Isabel the same look R.J. sometimes gave Angie—as if her question had been so ridiculous, it was hardly worth answering. “And Darla works her buns off.” Isabel knew Darla worked alongside Sam, handling everything from branding cattle to managing the guest accounts. But she was paid to do so, and Sam was her fianc?, to boot. This whole place would soon become partly hers. Isabel had figured she could help wherever she could and stay out of the way otherwise. After all, she was volunteering here this summer. “I can handle whatever Darla needs me to do and still keep an eye on Angie.” Trevor’s gaze fell from her face to her chest and lingered, then traveled down her legs. His scrutiny stopped on her sandals again. Isabel stared at him, waiting for him to finish his inspection. When he raised his gaze to meet her narrowed one, he blinked a couple of times. “Unless you sit out there in Darla’s office every day, the chores are mostly outside.” He lifted a single eyebrow. “Filth. Bugs. Sweat. You’ll hate it here.” For twenty-seven years, Isabel had lived in a country house that hadn’t been air conditioned until very recently—her eccentric mother hadn’t believed in it. Isabel had learned to work a garden when she was six, and she’d walked the distance into town from the age of eight. She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of dirt or work.” And she wasn’t intimidated by Trevor Kincaid. Funny. She’d liked him out on that highway. He’d been considerate to help her, and he’d put up with her nervous babbling. First impressions could be so wrong. He stared past her head. “Did you notice? She brought a friend.” Isabel was baffled by the statement until she realized he was talking to Sam, who had arrived in the doorway. She turned around in time to see Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. His coppery eyes focused on Angie, then Isabel, then Trevor again. “Let’s talk outside, bud.” Trevor slid off his seat and stalked out of the room behind his buddy. When Isabel heard their footsteps stop on the porch, she got up and crossed to the doorway, wishing she could hear their conversation. As soon as she stood up, however, Angie popped up off the bench, too, and asked if she could get a drink from the water cooler out in the reception area. Damn. Taking the little girl by the hand, Isabel led her out to help her fill a paper cone. A moment later, Sam returned. Alone. “Sorry I was gone so long,” he said. “It was Darla on the phone, telling me about her mother’s visit with the oncologist. She also explained the situation with your friend. It slipped her mind until I told her you’d arrived.” He shook his head. “Our bustling summer’s already taking its toll on her.” “I am so sorry to hear that,” Isabel said. “And I hope we haven’t caused too many problems.” “What problems?” Sam asked, extending her the graciousness she’d sought from Trevor. “You have a choice to make, though. The Woodland room, here at the lodge, is vacant now. It’s big enough for several people. Only problem is, the counselors and camp kids meet to party in the community room next door sometimes. It can get loud.” “And the other choice?” “There’s the spare bedroom up at the house. It’s small, you’d be a little squeezed with an added cot, but the little girl might feel more at home.” “Where’s Trevor staying?” “After the camp starts, he’ll stay at the lodge.” “Well, Angie and I would love to stay at the house.” Sam shoved backward out the screen door. “Follow me,” he said, his lazy grin making Isabel feel much better. “It’s a bit of a walk. I’ll have Trevor grab your things and drive them over.” Isabel frowned. “But weren’t we going to carry it?” “That was before I knew you had luggage for two,” Sam said, in a way that didn’t make her feel as if she had messed up. Isabel didn’t want to be waited on, especially by Trevor. “If you’d give me directions to the house, I could load it back up and drive it over,” she suggested. Sam glanced at the boxes, bags and cases lining the drive. “We’ll get them, really. I insist.” Isabel gave in. As they made their way down a wood chip path lined with evergreen trees, Angie skipped along, singing a made-up song about hummingbirds. Isabel knew she should be enjoying herself, too. She was too upset. She’d come with such high hopes. Bringing Angie along for a few weeks had seemed a minor snag. Trevor had burst her bubble in no time. She’d give her brand-new shoes and gingham suit to know what he’d said about her out there on that porch. The woods opened out to a circular drive, and beyond that sat a house with tons of windows. Sam led Isabel in through a side entry. “This is a shortcut to your room,” he said. “If you’ll find me at the lodge after you’re unpacked and rested, I can show you around. We have snacks in the kitchen and in the community room.” He glanced at Angie. “There’s plenty for a kid to do.” After turning down a hallway containing some beautiful wildlife prints, Sam opened another door. “This is the Ripple River room. Hope you’ll be comfortable.” As Isabel had suspected, her own Ripple River quilt lay on the full-size bed. She was thrilled to see the way Darla had decorated the rest of the room using colors from her design. A small, natural wood desk and matching rocker invited relaxation, and two windows provided incredible views of the trees. “This is gorgeous. Thanks.” Impulsively, Isabel gave Sam a quick hug before he left her and Angie alone. Trevor walked in two minutes later, his arms bulging from the weight of the two largest suitcases. Angie had already flopped down on the floor to watch cartoons on a wall-mounted television. “Thank you,” Isabel said as he set them inside the doorway. “I’ll help you bring in the rest.” She started to follow him out, but he stopped and turned around. “Relax. Sam’s helping me.” The set of his jaw said the rest. Had Isabel gone through a reality warp out in the plains of western Kansas? She was the woman who took care of everyone around her. Always had. Always would. Why were these men expecting so little of her? She didn’t like it. As soon as possible, she’d make it clear that she was here to help. She opened one of her suitcases and got busy, pretending she didn’t notice when Sam and Trevor came and left again. Forty-five minutes later, she’d finished unpacking and setting up the room. She turned off the television and took Angie with her to find Sam, for that tour. The offices were vacant. Isabel led Angie through the same hallway that led to the bathroom. Halfway down, they ran into a middle-aged woman with a laundry cart, who introduced herself as Edith, the head housekeeper. She said she thought Sam might be checking the bus at the side of the lodge, and directed Isabel and Angie to follow the exit signs. On their way, they passed by the laundry room, where Angie saw an electronic game that had been shoved into a corner. “Hooh! I love this game,” she said, galloping into the room to take a closer look. “Can I play? The Git-n-Go has it, and R.J. never gives me a turn.” “You don’t want to see the kitchen or community room?” Isabel asked. “Sam said they have snacks and other games.” “I want to play this game!” Angie said, her brown eyes pleading. Isabel studied the game, which appeared innocent enough. Some thoughtful person had even left a bowl of tokens on the floor next to it. She glanced over her shoulder and realized the housekeeper was waiting to make sure they found their way out. “Of course she can play,” Edith said. “Go on out and talk to Sam, if you want. I’ll be working in this hallway, anyway.” Both women smiled at Angie’s joyful whoops. “You be good,” Isabel told her young friend. “I’ll go tell Sam we’re unpacked but not ready for a tour, then come right back to see how you’re doing.” The little girl had already plugged a token into the game and didn’t answer. “Angie,” Isabel said, and waited until the little girl had stopped and turned around. “Did you hear me?” “Yes, Izza-bell. I’ll be good and teach that ee-bil ol’ grouch a lesson.” Apparently, Isabel wasn’t the only one with that goal. Right outside the laundry room, she found the exit and walked out onto the opposite side of the porch. Trevor’s Jeep was parked in the drive again, but Sam was nowhere in sight. As she stepped off the porch to search for him, Isabel felt a rush of excitement about being in such a great place, so far away from her everyday world. The warmth of the sunshine on her bare arms felt good, and the spicy scent of the pine trees enveloped her. Isabel paused, hearing rushing water somewhere nearby. That was right. Darla had told her the property backed on to the St. Vrain River. She couldn’t wait to explore. But Sam wasn’t out here. A big blue bus was parked adjacent to the building, and beyond that Isabel could see a dirt road and a gated pasture. She’d just turned around, thinking she would wait to talk to Sam later, when his voice drifted to her from the direction of the lodge. Isabel hastened around the rear corner of the building, until Sam’s next statement stopped her in her tracks. “That doesn’t matter, bud. She’s Darla’s guest, and she drove all the way from Kansas to help out.” He called Trevor “bud,” didn’t he? They were together, talking about her! “She got lost on that highway with a map and help, and she thought nothing about getting into a stranger’s car. I’m only saying that she’s incredibly naive, and I can’t use her help at the camp.” Trevor’s voice had grown clearer with each hurtful word, as if he and Sam were moving closer. Isabel inched toward the bus. Sam said something about Darla, but his quieter voice didn’t carry over the sounds of the wind and the water. “Right, but I doubt that she can handle camp cooking,” Trevor responded, “and she’d surely get herself lost out in the back country.” “She’d be great with the kids, though.” Sam sounded clear, as if he was very close. Slowly Isabel retreated toward the front of the lodge. “That’s your opinion,” Trevor said. “Remember what happened with Betsy and Dylan? We’re trying to get these boys to set loftier goals than their next hot date. Half of them would get crushes on Isabel.” He paused, then added in a lower voice, “I’m glad the camp boys didn’t see the lingerie showing through her jacket a while ago.” Isabel’s eyes flew down to her chest. Sure enough, she’d popped a button and her lacy bra was showing. That’d teach her to buy clothes off a department store rack without checking for good construction. “I’m wondering if it’s you who has the crush,” Sam said, and he’d sounded as if he was a few feet away! Whirling around, Isabel returned to the side entrance, hoping it was unlocked. It was, thank God. She escaped inside, then returned to the laundry room, where she found Angie still playing on the first token. Isabel must have been gone five minutes, but she felt changed. And she’d learned something just now. Trevor certainly didn’t have a crush on her. Despite what he’d told her, he had problems with her. Personally. Isabel bowed her shoulders and peeked down at her chest. The gap widened, forming a nice oval peephole that showed quite a bit of cleavage. Lord. She’d wanted to look polished, that was all. She’d loved the outfit when she’d seen Peyton wearing it at the April wedding, and she’d been excited to find a copy at a Wichita store. She’d put the whole outfit, right down to the shoes, on her credit card. She never used her credit card. She reached down to tug the edges of the jacket together, then heard someone approach down the hallway. That wouldn’t be Sam. He walked quietly, appearing in doorways as if by magic. This heavier step was Trevor’s. She let her hands fall to her sides and stepped farther into the room. “I thought I heard that game going,” he said from behind her. “Did you two find everything you need?” He’d learned gracious behavior? Isabel turned, forcing herself to forget about whether her bra was showing. “We’ll be fine.” “Sam said you might want a tour of the lodge?” he asked, his gaze moving downward. Now she knew why he’d been ogling her earlier. Then and there, Isabel decided she wouldn’t allow him to intimidate her again. She stood up straight and squared her shoulders. “No, thanks. We’ll just hang out here until Darla arrives,” she said, her voice syrupy. He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” “Unless you have something for me to do now? Cook beans and wieners over a fire? Navigate an excursion across the Continental Divide?” She waited until she saw his forehead crease before adding, “Tempt a teenager?” His eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t have been listening.” “I didn’t intend to listen,” she said. “You should have been honest with me when I asked why you were so bothered. How can I be of any help to Darla and Sam if you’re running around behind my back, telling them I’m worthless?” Trevor blinked, gazing at her. “You’re right,” he murmured after a moment. “I should have talked to you about any problems.” Well, hallelujah! He hadn’t apologized, but he’d admitted his mistake. “You should also realize I didn’t come here to be waited on,” Isabel said. “I came to help Darla.” “I realize that.” She matched his stare until he turned around and left again. Then she stood for a moment, waiting for her knees to stop shaking. She wasn’t accustomed to confrontation. Not at all. But she couldn’t allow the man to think he could walk all over her. She had too much Ella Blume in her, she supposed. Isabel went to her room to change into shorts and a T-shirt, then spent the next hour playing the video game with Angie and trying like the dickens to forget Trevor Kincaid’s words and actions. When Darla arrived, Isabel’s hug for her was long and enthusiastic. “It’s so good to see you,” she said as she backed away. “How’s your mom?” “Coping. She’s awfully tired, but she keeps a good attitude.” Darla frowned into Isabel’s eyes. “And how are you, my dear? Sam said you and Trevor had a run-in?” “After he knew who I was,” Isabel said. “Please tell me he had an awful week. That his dog died or his girlfriend broke up with him or he forgot to pay some major bill.” “Sorry.” Darla’s hazel eyes were round with concern. “Trevor is generally levelheaded, but he can be intense about the summer camp. I’m sure he didn’t mean to insult you.” Isabel rolled her eyes. “That’s not what it sounded like to me. Who are Betsy and Dylan, anyway?” Darla frowned. “He told you about them?” “No, but he mentioned them as if they had something to do with my presence here.” Darla stepped into the hallway and motioned for Isabel to follow, then closed the door gently between them and Angie, still in the laundry room. “Dylan was a camper,” she said. “Sixteen, but grown-up good-looking and aware of it. Betsy was a twenty-two-year-old counselor Trevor hired for our first summer camp. She was cute and bubbly, and some of the guys had crushes on her. One afternoon when everyone was supposed to be out fishing, Trevor caught her in Dylan’s tent.” “Having sex?” Isabel whispered. “No, but almost. Trevor broke it up and lectured both of them.” Darla shook her head. “That was all that happened, but the rumors flew and Trevor had to explain the situation to the parents. Now, he has a no-female-counselor policy for the camp. I help him, here and there, but I’m not blond or twenty-two.” Isabel was reminded of her mother’s no-boys policy. “That explains quite a bit, actually, but most girls wouldn’t dream of doing what Betsy did. Besides, I’m also older than twenty-two.” “Not by much.” Darla grinned, looking Isabel up and down as if she was glad to see her. “And Trevor figures that even if the girls didn’t do what Betsy did, the boys would imagine them doing it, and his vision for the camp would be undermined.” “His vision?” “To teach the boys to make good choices for their futures.” “Oh. Well, that’s admirable.” Isabel opened the laundry room door again and stepped inside. “He could have explained that to me.” “He might talk to you more after he gets to know you,” Darla said, remaining in the hallway. “For now, how about lunch?” The game’s constant beeps stopped, and Angie skipped to the doorway. “I’m hungry. Can I eat, too?” “Certainly.” Darla peered down at the little girl. “What sounds better? Ham sandwiches or peanut butter and jelly?” “S’mores!” Darla grimaced. “You want S’mores for lunch?” “At R.J.’s sleep-away camp, he godda have S’mores,” Angie said, licking her lips. “He said they godda have ’em every single day, wif a chocolate bar an’ two marshmallows.” Darla laughed, promising to stock up on those ingredients as soon as possible. She was still commenting on how cute Angie was an hour later, while she and Isabel stood at her kitchen sink washing lunch dishes. Angie was sitting nearby, devouring a slice of chocolate cake—the closest thing to S’mores that Darla had on hand. Isabel and Angie spent the afternoon in the office with Darla, who was behind on paperwork. Isabel began addressing and stamping a stack of wedding invitations while Angie poked at the keys of an old manual typewriter. The little girl wasn’t a problem. Darla was clearly smitten with her, and the pair reminded Isabel of each other. Both were tiny, and both were full of bounce. After dinner, Isabel took Angie to their shared bedroom so the little girl could talk to her dad and brother on the telephone. Isabel spoke to Roger only briefly, answering questions about her car’s performance during the trip, then she handed the phone to the little girl while she sat nearby, stitching a beaded-bell wedding favor. Angie prattled, telling her dad about their night in a Goodland, Kansas, motel, then she enumerated every detail about their arrival here—from the electronic game to the chocolate cake to the typewriter. As she waited, Isabel thought about all that had happened today, too. However, she thought about the whole mess with Trevor Kincaid. It was funny, but out there on the highway this morning, she’d felt playful and relaxed with him. Josie’s flex-your-flirt-muscles advice had been fresh in her mind, so she’d been friendly to the good-looking stranger. And when she’d touched him, she’d caught his reaction. His muscles had tightened, his eyes had erupted and her thoughts had turned shamelessly to what he must be like in bed. The strength of her reaction to him had shocked her. She’d never felt such a surge of sexuality. Maybe she was a sexual adventurer at heart. Maybe that natural curiosity had caused her to be distracted. And maybe that was when Trevor had formed a bad impression of her. Damn. She’d be a fool to worry about him. Her plan for the summer was to have a blast helping Darla while Roger stayed at home, hopefully missing her. And she would have fun, she knew. As soon as she stopped worrying about Trevor Kincaid. Chapter Four On Monday morning, Trevor parked in front of the lodge almost a full hour before his usual arrival time and sat eyeing the open door. That had to be Darla inside at this time of day. Darla made great coffee. She usually didn’t lecture, but Trevor had to admit, she’d been right to rough him up last Friday afternoon. He’d been a jerk. He hadn’t meant to insult Darla’s guests. He’d meant to be strong. Brisk. Businesslike. He’d overreacted to Isabel. But he’d be fine. After their embarrassing chat in the lodge laundry room, Isabel would surely keep him at a distance. Which was best for all concerned. When Trevor caught himself drumming on his steering column, replaying a few of last Friday’s happenings, he yanked his keys from the ignition. After stepping out of his Jeep, he strode toward the entry and Darla’s coffee. He needed to catch up with work he should have done this weekend, when he’d stayed home to nurse his battle wounds. This morning, he’d round up the first-aid kits and get them out to the cabins before the counselors arrived for their initial day of training. He walked into the main reception area, noted Darla’s half-empty glass of iced tea on her coaster, then grabbed a cup of coffee and went through to his office. Thankful for Darla’s skill with the aging coffee machine, Trevor sat down to flip the pages of his desk calendar while he sipped. When he heard her shuffling papers at her desk a minute later, he called out a good morning. She mumbled. “Today’s first-aid day,” he said. “Can you help with the training after lunch? It’ll probably take about two hours. The Walters boys ought to remember a lot from last year.” A silence followed. Was she still upset about his bad behavior with her friend? But she’d already hollered at him for that. She should give him a chance to try again. Trevor got up and walked to the doorway to check on her. Isabel was sitting at Darla’s desk, drinking iced tea from the same sort of glass Darla always used, pondering the same question he’d meant to ask Darla. She appeared as stunned to see him in the doorway as he was to see her at Darla’s desk. “First-aid day,” she said. “Uh. Sure. Guess I could handle that.” What could he do? He’d promised everyone he would be a good sport and give Isabel a chance, and here she was indicating that she could help. “Okay. Good. About one o’clock in the picnic area between the cabins.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kaitlyn-rice/the-runaway-bridesmaid/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.