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There Goes the Bride
Crystal Green
STOP THAT BRIDE!Instead of heading down the aisle toward a man she didn't love, ex-beauty queen Daisy Cox hightailed it out of the church, landing at the feet of brooding loner Rick Shane. When Rick begrudgingly helped Daisy flee Kane's Crossing and her powerful groom-not-to-be in his private plane, neither one of them expected passions to ignite. But once they did, both tried to deny it. But maybe Rick could make room for Daisy in his emotionally bereft life, and maybe Daisy would actually walk all the way down the aisle one of these days….



“I’m not baby-sitting you.”
“I don’t expect any special attention,” she said.
Well, she damned sure had it. Rick took a step closer, grinning when she sucked in a quick breath. He allowed his gaze to linger at the level of her blue eyes, to saunter down to her ample cleavage.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m up here.”
Rick chuckled as he took his time making eye contact with Daisy. “Since I’m not about to spend the rest of my life helping you escape, let’s set a time limit.”
“Sounds reasonable. How about two weeks?”
He chuffed. “Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do? One.”
“One and a half.”
He wasn’t going to win this round, and Rick Shane had a pretty good idea when to cut his losses. “Not a day more,” he said.
Dear Reader,
Love is in the air, but the days will certainly be sweeter if you snuggle up with this month’s Special Edition offerings—and a box of decadent chocolates. First up, award-winning author and this year’s President of Romance Writers of America
, Shirley Hailstock is a fresh new voice for Special Edition, but fans already know what a gifted storyteller she is. With numerous novels and novellas under her belt, Shirley debuts in Special Edition with A Father’s Fortune, which tells the story of a day-care-center owner and her foster child who teach a grumpy carpenter how to face his past and open his heart to love.
Lindsay McKenna packs a punch in Her Healing Touch, a fast-paced read from beginning to end. The next in her widely acclaimed MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: DESTINY’S WOMEN series, this romance details the trials of a beautiful paramedic who teaches a handsome Special Forces officer the ways of her legendary healing. USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Mallery completely wins us over in Completely Smitten, next up in her beloved series HOMETOWN HEARTBREAKERS. Here, an adventurous preacher’s daughter seeks out a new life, but never expects to find a new love with a sexy U.S. marshal.
The fourth installment in Crystal Green’s KANE’S CROSSING miniseries, There Goes the Bride oozes excitement when a runaway bride is spirited out of town by a reclusive pilot she once loved in high school. Patricia McLinn delights her readers with Wedding of the Century. Here, a heroine returns to her hometown seven years after running out of her wedding. When she faces her jilted groom, she realizes their feelings are stronger than ever! Finally, in Leigh Greenwood’s Family Merger, sparks fly when a workaholic businessman meets a good-hearted social worker, who teaches him the meaning of love.
Don’t miss this array of novels that deliver an emotional charge and satisfying finish you’re sure to savor, no matter what the season!
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor

There Goes the Bride
Crystal Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Aunt Alina:
You are an inspiration and a treasure to us all.

CRYSTAL GREEN
lives in San Diego, California, where she writes full-time and occasionally teaches. When she isn’t penning romances, she enjoys reading, wasting precious time on the Internet, overanalyzing movies, risking her life on police ride-alongs, petting her parents’ Maltese dogs and fantasizing about being a really great cook.
Whenever possible, Crystal loves to travel. Her favorite souvenirs include journals—the pages reflecting everything from taking tea in London’s Leicester Square to backpacking up endless mountain roads leading to the castles of Sintra, Portugal.
She’d love to hear from her readers at: 8895 Towne Centre Drive, Suite 105-178, San Diego, CA 92122-5542.
THE KANE’S CROSSING GAZETTE
Beauty-Queen Bride Flees!
by Verna Loquacious, Town Observer
Greetings from your friendly neighborhood grapevine!
My, oh my. When she won the crown of Miss Spencer County, Daisy Cox was merely a senior in high school. Now she’s “running” for another title— “Little Miss What-do-you-think-you’re-doing?”
Ms. Cox was last seen sprinting from the Pioneer Square church, and rumor has it that she eluded her husband-to-be and his wedding guests by taking up with that no-good Rick Shane. Supposedly he flew her right out of Kane’s Crossing in that tin can of a plane he owns!
Will Ms. Cox fall for Rick Shane’s bad-boy charm? Read the next installment to find out…

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue

Chapter One
I t should have been the perfect wedding.
Through the misty haze of sentimental, goodbye-single-life tears, Daisy Cox clutched her $300.00 bouquet of orchids, the bodice of her Vera Wang original gown siphoning air from her lungs. Surrounded by thousands of dollars worth of lilies and roses, serenaded by the most expensive string quartet money could buy, she should have been walking on air.
Instead, she was choking on it. Especially when her gaze skimmed over her fiancé, Peter Tarkin.
She shut her eyes, listening to the drone of the preacher’s voice. When she blinked open again, her husband-to-be was still there, as Dracula-dapper as ever, his midnight-black tuxedo and silver-templed coif at odds with the late-September sunlight dappling through the church’s stained glass.
Silently, she willed him to step into the light. Maybe he’d turn to dust, liberating her from the worst decision she’d ever made in her entire, misspent life.
Daisy glanced at Coral, her maid of honor. Her big sister. Tears glistened down Coral’s ruddy cheeks, and Daisy couldn’t help thinking that they were tears of relief.
The preacher was on a throbbing-veined, ecstatic roll. “Love is a precious thing, a fragile blossom braving the cold of winter and the heat of summer….”
Daisy breathed deeply, calming herself, feeling the ten extra pounds she’d gained during the past two months straining against the satin of her dress. Do something, she told herself. This is the first moment of the rest of your life.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice a thin whisper.
The preacher stopped mideffusion, his mouth agape.
For a blind moment, Daisy considered pretending like she’d merely hiccuped. Then the ceremony could continue, everything hunky-dory, just as smooth and unruffled as a cup of cream. Just like Peter’s life. But when her fiancé narrowed his eyes, reminding her that he’d pressed his fingers against her throat only this morning when she’d expressed doubt about marrying him, Daisy’s spirit kicked her body into gear.
Today had been the first time he’d laid a harsh hand on her. And it would be the last, too.
She stepped up to the dais, facing the good citizens of Kane’s Crossing. Daisy didn’t know them very well, but from what she remembered of this town, they wouldn’t mind if she did something stupid. Something that would stoke their gossip fires for the coming autumn.
Well, she was about to oblige them.
She cleared her throat and smiled, drawing on all her years of beauty-pageant experience. Walk a straight line—posture, posture—flash those pearly whites, swivel, pose… Once upon a time, she’d been crowned Miss Spencer County, and it hadn’t been for nothing.
Coral was watching her, that you’re-up-to-something-no-good-young-lady purse to her lips.
Daisy kicked up her smile a notch; it went from maudlin-sweet to Vaseline-bright. “I want to take a moment to thank so many people. Like the caterers. You all are going to love the shrimp salad and prime rib. And thank you to the wedding planner. Beautiful work, Adele.”
As the planner waved and wiped her eyes, Daisy went on to thank every one from the photographer to the limousine driver, noting how Peter’s brows were knitted. She’d seen that expression before, and she hadn’t appreciated the threat that had accompanied it, hadn’t appreciated how yesterday’s verbal intimidation had become this morning’s choke hold.
I wouldn’t call off this marriage, he’d said one day when she’d confessed her cold feet to him. You’ll be very sorry if you do.
Now Peter started to interrupt her, but Daisy cut him off, plunging into her final acknowledgments. “Thank you to my sister, Coral, for loving me all these years, for raising me and making so many sacrifices. I love you, sis.”
Coral smiled, deepening the crow’s feet around her wary, faded bluebonnet-colored eyes.
“And, finally, thank you to Liza Cochrane, my bridesmaid.” Daisy paused, her heart racing with nerves and anger, as she locked eyes with the woman Peter had insisted be in the wedding party. The woman her future husband had…
Just the thought of it made her want to cry with helpless embarrassment.
“Liza,” she said, “thank you for sleeping with the biggest mistake I never made.” Amidst a general gasp from the congregation, Daisy dropped the bouquet at her bridemaid’s feet, as if it were a used tissue and Liza was the missed garbage container. The arrangement landed with a thump, hammering home the silence.
Daisy didn’t look back, not even when Peter called to her in his low, controlled tone. Not even when she heard Coral reassuring him that she’d return. Daisy merely strolled out the front door and down the stairs, skirt bunched in both hands.
When she heard the growing mumble of voices inside the church, followed by the cacophony of bodies rising to their feet, she quickened her steps. Then she ran.
Past Pioneer Square with its stoic Kane Spencer statue watching her skirts fly. Past Darla’s Beauty Shop, where this morning she’d gotten her curls tamed into a style that flattered her tiara headdress and veil. Past Meg Cassidy’s bakery, where her wedding cake had been fashioned by the town “witch’s” talented hands.
A Chubby Checker tune blared from the building, and Daisy skidded to a halt, backtracking. Through the window, she could see a crowd of people decked out in party hats and smiles, hugging and dancing amidst streamers and light.
Daisy peered down Main Street, recognizing Peter as he marched out of the church, followed by a throng of Kane’s Crossing curious.
Without another thought, she ducked into Meg’s bakery.

Rick Shane thought he was losing his mind. Again.
He’d been standing in a dark corner for about a half hour now, doing his best to distance himself from the revelry of his niece’s seventh birthday party. The last thing he expected to find as he stared out the bakery window was a buxom, blond bride sprinting down Main Street, Cinderella dress hiked over her knees to reveal shapely white-stockinged calves. The part he liked best was when she’d skidded to a halt, her ample breasts all but spilling out of her neckline. Rick liked that part a whole lot.
Then he realized who this bride was.
The satin dream burst through the door, welcome bells jingling over the obnoxiously joyful music. She seemed out of place among his jeans-and-leather clad relatives and friends.
Behind the service counter, Nick Cassidy snapped off the stereo system as everyone else stared at the bride.
She straightened, and Rick grinned as he recognized the stance from high school. He’d always gotten a good rise out of Daisy Cox’s feistiness.
“Excuse me,” she said, breathlessly. “May I hide behind your counter?”
Meg Cassidy guided her wobbly-legged twin son and daughter to her husband, Nick. Unfazed, she nodded. “Certainly.”
“Thank you.” Daisy Cox rushed behind the Formica structure, leaving the party in stunned, statue stillness.
Rick shook his head and laughed to himself. “Only in Kane’s Crossing,” he muttered.
His brother, Matthew, slumped in a nearby booth and kicked a cowboy-booted foot over a knee. Their friend, Sheriff Sam Reno, sat across from him. Both of them were biting back their own smiles.
As the rest of the partygoers watched, Daisy Cox disappeared behind the counter, leaving a trail of white satin as she tucked herself away. The material peeked around the corner, a dead giveaway to her location.
Rick shook his head. This was definitely the topper to his day. Not only was he surrounded by pregnant women—both Meg Cassidy’s and Ashlyn Reno’s waistlines were starting to pooch, and his own sister-in-law, Rachel Shane, was expecting, too—but now he had to add a bride to the list of love-is-in-the-air reminders. All these hearts and flowers were making him downright discomfited.
His younger stepsister, Lacey, pursed her lip-glossed mouth, darting a glance from Daisy’s satin to Rick. Nice. He knew the look. It meant that she was about to tell him to get off his lackadaisical rear end and do something.
As she approached, Rick couldn’t help prefacing her baby-sister bossiness with a zing of sarcasm. “Yes, your Flashdance-ness?”
Lacey adjusted her off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and frowned at him. Hell, he couldn’t help it. It was too much of a temptation to poke fun at her ever-changing wardrobe.
“Rick, you were in the same high-school class as Daisy Cox was.”
He pretended to turn the matter over in his mind. After a sufficiently maddening pause, he said, “I guess I was.”
“Then go talk to her.”
Rick could feel his sibling, Matthew, as well as the brood brothers, Nick and Sheriff Sam, staring at him. No help there.
He said, “We weren’t bosom buddies, Lacey.” Though the thought of getting to know the bosom part of Daisy Cox didn’t seem all that bad of an idea.
Lacey shot him the look of instant death, the kind only a sister could get away with. “Rick Shane, you go make her feel welcome.”
Meg Cassidy and Ashlyn Reno had taken on expectant expressions, too. Even Rachel, the sister-in-law who’d always treated him like an important part of the family—which he knew wasn’t the case—started getting a disappointed tilt to her lips. That did it. That, and the curious glances of his niece, Tamela, and little Taggert Reno, the adopted son of Ashlyn and Sheriff Sam.
Jeez, he couldn’t look like a jerk in front of the kids.
He aimed a lethargic shrug at Lacey, emerged from his dark corner and ambled toward the bridal satin peeking out from behind the counter. Someone had the presence of mind to turn on the music again so Fats Domino could softly croon over Rick’s attempts at friendliness.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, peering down at the bride beneath the Formica. She’d drawn her knees to her chest, resting a chin on the gleaming material of her gown. Her tiara and veil had gone lopsided, almost lost in a swirl of blond ringlets.
A protective urge tugged at his heart, and he wondered why she’d been running down the tiny streets of Kane’s Crossing in a wedding dress. This was a quirky town but, come on.
He thought back to high school, to a girl who’d rarely attended classes because she’d been traveling the state for her beauty pageants. He’d always kind of had the hots for her, had always wondered if a beautiful goody-goody girl like Daisy Cox would even give him the time of day.
But he’d never found out. After graduation he’d run off to a faraway land and lost himself, leaving no room for idiotic fancies.
Daisy’s voice brought him back to the moment. “I remember you. Rick Shane, right?”
The fact that she recalled who he was sent a jolt of nostalgia, of lonely hunger through his veins. He ignored the emotion, half-nodding to acknowledge her words.
“Daisy Cox.” He drawled out her name, stretching it between them with the slow ease of a man slipping satin from a woman’s shoulders. He liked the sound of it, the impossibility of it.
Her blue eyes widened for the slightest second, then narrowed a bit. There. That was a little more familiar. She’d worn the same expression every time he’d leaned against the Spencer High lockers and ushered her down the hall with a suggestive grin. She’d been hard to get, the girl voted most likely to be too good for a guy like Rick Shane. It had fed his fantasies all the more.
But that was before his life had changed. Before he’d been forced into manhood in a little country on the other side of the world.
“Hey, Rick,” said his brother, Matthew. “We’re gonna have company in a few seconds. Maybe you could pretend that you’re having a conversation with something other than the counter.”
The hard edges of a comeback curse lined Rick’s mouth, but he held it back. Leave it to Matthew to act superior.
Rachel, his sister-in-law, smiled at him, cushioning his temper. He stood away from the wall and bent to whip Daisy’s dress out of sight. Then, as Daisy scooted over, he hunkered beneath the counter just as the doorbells tinkled.
Daisy gasped, probably from nerves. She shifted next to him, gathering her gown around her body as his arm pressed into hers. The contact felt nice, warm, soft, just like her spring-meadow perfume. Rick’s body heated just by breathing her in.
Mrs. Spindlebund’s voice creaked over the music. Rick could picture the elderly toothpick woman with her salt-and-pepper bunned hair and permanent sneer as she said, “Good afternoon,” to the party.
Everyone murmured a return greeting. Daisy tilted her head, and a ringlet brushed Rick’s cheek. He couldn’t help thinking of the last time he’d felt a woman this close, breathing next to him, her hair tickling his skin. A twinge of longing shook him to the core, awakening a sleeping agony.
Mrs. Spindlebund continued. “I know you people are busy with important events—” there went that sneer during the word important “—but have you seen Daisy Cox?”
Rick could imagine his friends and relatives shrugging and tightening their smiles.
“Well—” Mrs. Spindlebund was, by now, probably fixing a glare on all present “—she couldn’t have disappeared.”
Rachel, who’d endured run-ins with the elderly gossip goddess in the past, had evidently come to the end of her rope. “Mrs. Spindlebund, we’ve been celebrating my daughter’s birthday. Daisy Cox would have no interest in this party.”
“Very well,” Rick heard Mrs. Spindlebund say. He could almost see the suspicion in her slitted eyes. “And, Rachel Shane, don’t think for one minute that Mr. Tarkin didn’t notice your absence from his wedding today. He’s your horse-farm partner, after all.”
Nick Cassidy didn’t think much of nosy news hens, either. He asked, “Can you blame a family for choosing their own kin over business, Mrs. Spindlebund?”
The bells on the door sang out. The elderly woman must’ve opened it, preparing to leave. Daisy relaxed against Rick, and he fought the urge to slip an arm around her, reassuring her with his touch.
Cut it out, he told himself. You promised you’d never get close to anyone again.
You can’t afford to let down another woman.
As usual, Mrs. Spindlebund had the last word. “You people think you’re above the rest of us. What you did to the Spencers was unconscionable. You won’t treat Mr. Tarkin the same way.”
Ashlyn Reno, a Spencer daughter who’d been disowned when her lawbreaking parents had left town, raised her own frosty voice. “Don’t let the door hit your bony bustle on the way out, Mrs. Spindlebund.”
After an emphatic “hmph,” the door clanged shut, leaving the faint aftermath of bells and the silence of an ended song.
Sheriff Reno’s voice filled the emptiness. “From my window view, it looks like the wedding guests are searching every building.” He paused. “Ms. Cox, you’re a wanted woman.”
Rick glanced at her, watching as her face took on a sundown-hued blush. Long ago, he had loved to get her flustered, loved to see her flush and tilt up her chin after snubbing him.
But now, her reddened skin was more than a sign of agitation. It was the prelude to tears.
As one rolled down her cheek, Rick forgot himself. He thumbed away a wet globule from her skin and asked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Daisy pulled back from his touch, burned by it, stunned by it. “I’m not going to marry Peter.”
He must have sensed her discomfort, because he stood, casting a long shadow over her body, making her feel insignificant and petty.
When she’d first rushed into the bakery, she hadn’t gotten a good look at him. She’d merely felt a presence in the corner—a tall, black shape that had lingered in her mind even while she hid from her problems. Now, as Rick Shane held out his hand for her to stand, she couldn’t help remembering the high-school version of him: cocky, stand-offish, interesting in a cool, mysterious way.
For most of Daisy’s life, she’d been a good girl. For most of it. But when Rick Shane used to lean against the hallway walls, a mischievous invitation in his eyes and a slow grin on his lips as he watched her walk by, she couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like to be a bad girl, just once. Or maybe twice.
But Coral would’ve killed her. Her sister needed Daisy to remain a pristine beauty queen, competing in her contests and bringing home enough money to support them. Their parents had died in a train accident when Daisy was three years old, leaving her, the “surprise, late-in-life baby,” without any close relatives to raise her. Twenty-year-old Coral had stepped in, working hard to keep their little family afloat. She’d even sacrificed her law-school scholarship to provide her younger sister with a home. Daisy couldn’t forget that.
Even if it meant marrying Peter Tarkin to pay off the money Coral had borrowed from him. The loan that had helped them survive for years.
Daisy glanced at Rick once more. He was a man now, his sable hair brushing the collar of his long-sleeved shirt, his dark jeans traveling the length of his legs down to his boots. He was a walking shadow, a black cloud hiding thunder and a more explosive brand of mystery. Even his near-midnight eyes held shades of a wounded soul.
In high school, those eyes had been quick to laugh—at least, with everyone else but her. He’d always seemed to have a wink and a grin for the other kids back in those days.
The memory saddened Daisy, made her wonder why his smile wasn’t as flippant, why the lines around his mouth seemed more like lost highways than rays of sunshine.
Obviously, he’d sensed her perusal. His jaw clenched, his mouth firmed out, his open palm dropped. It was as if an invisible wall had fallen around him.
On a whim, Daisy stretched out her hand, just to see if he’d respond. And he did, helping her up.
The force of his pull caused her to bump into him, her breasts rubbing against his chest. Goose bumps shivered her skin, every inch of it. She backed away—even if she could’ve used another breath of his spicy tobacco-laden scent—and adjusted her tiara.
With effort, she turned away, sighing, angling toward the partygoers, knowing she’d have to explain herself to everyone. “You’re all very kind, helping me like this.”
Behind her, Daisy felt Rick recede, probably melting into the shadows once again.
Aside from Rick, she didn’t really know these people. A couple of them had gone to the same high school, but she really hadn’t made many friends back then. She’d been working in pageants since the age of four and hadn’t concentrated on her studies as much as answers to “How would you bring about world peace?” and “If you had a million dollars, how would you spend it?”
But she did know two of these people: Rachel and Matthew Shane, Peter Tarkin’s horse-farm business partners. She’d met with them on occasion, when she was masquerading as the perfect hostess during Peter’s dinners.
She sent a tentative smile their way, and they responded in turn. Phew. At least these people weren’t angry about this wedding-day stunt she’d pulled.
She gathered her composure. “I guess I’m a runaway bride.”
Ashlyn Reno broke into an appreciative grin, while everyone else plopped into the nearest chair. She asked, “Wasn’t this supposed to be the wedding of the century?”
Daisy heard Rick’s chuckle, and she darted an irritated glance over her shoulder at him. He was giving her one of those appreciative high-school glances, and she couldn’t help the flutter of attraction that flew over her heart.
Ridiculous, she thought. The last time Rick Shane saw you, you were thirty pounds leaner. He can’t possibly think you’re anything but an overweight bride stuffed into a satin casing.
When she intensified her stare, he merely held up his hands, warding off her rancor.
She faced the others again. “I can’t marry him. I don’t know what else to say.”
Rick’s voice floated from the corner. “Maybe you could give us a reason?”
Everyone else’s faces reflected his curiosity. And why shouldn’t they?
She said, “I haven’t even told my own sister why I’m not marrying Peter.”
Meg Cassidy, the one who’d baked her wedding cake, took the children outside as the other women nodded in sympathy, encouraging Daisy to continue.
“Well, to make a long story short, my sister, Coral, gave up everything to keep us together as a family after my parents died. She was so young when she started raising me, and we struggled financially for a long time. I was a teenager when Peter befriended Coral. He loaned her a lot of money, especially when she got it into her head that I could be Miss America and we couldn’t find adequate sponsors. It was expensive, but Peter helped us out.”
Here, Daisy could feel her blush intensifying, her tears returning to well up in her throat, choking her. She couldn’t tell them about failing as a beauty queen.
Couldn’t tell them about gaining so much weight that she would’ve been a laughingstock if she’d set a foot onstage. She’d lost the pounds, but never regained the confidence. Then she’d put on more padding, then shed it. Up and down, a roller coaster of diets.
Rachel Shane stepped forward. “Tarkin can’t force you to marry him, Daisy. The man treats you like a trophy.”
Rachel’s blunt statement robbed Daisy of breath, of dignity, especially knowing that Rick had heard it. She didn’t want to look at him, to see the loser image in the reflection of his dark eyes.
Daisy rested her gaze on the tiled floor. “It’s complicated. I have a duty to my sister. She gave up a lot for me, and Peter wants a wife more than our money, I suppose.”
No, she knew it was true; she just didn’t want to admit too much in front of these strangers. Peter enjoyed the prestige of owning a former Miss Spencer County. He liked that she knew how to behave in front of guests, liked her ability to charm his company. She was a valuable business asset to an ambitious man. On more than one occasion, he’d referred to her as “a piece of art.” In spite of the imagery, she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment to be compared to a lifeless painting decorating his walls.
Rachel came behind the counter to place an arm around Daisy’s shoulders. She met her gaze. “I believe you. However, Tarkin’s not going to be happy about his intended wife leaving him at the altar.”
“He’s earned it with his infidelity.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled. “But I’m afraid of what he’ll do if we don’t get married.”
Rick’s boots thumped as he stepped forward. His low voice brushed down her back. “What do you mean by that?”
A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t believe she’d been reduced to asking for help from people she barely knew. “He threatened me when I tried to call this whole thing off. Said I’d regret it if I did. And…” This was mortifying. “…I didn’t think it would ever come to this, but he tried to hurt me before the wedding.”
The moment slammed back to her. Peering in the church dressing room’s mirror. Crying. Tugging the tiara from her head in an explosive second of rebellion. Feeling Peter’s hand around her neck before she’d ruined her perfect hairdo.
Knowing that he’d been watching the entire time, lingering in the back of the room.
Daisy shivered, then stared at the floor again.
She peeked up when she heard the men rise to their feet. Sheriff Reno stepped forward. “He won’t touch you, Ms. Cox. Believe me.”
Daisy heard Rick take a step or two toward her as well.
The petite woman in the ripped sweatshirt—it might have been Rick’s sister—spoke up. “He can’t get away with this. Daisy, what can we do for you?”
Relief welled over her. Coral would never believe that Peter had threatened Daisy; her sister thought the man was close to a saint for saving them with the loan. And she truly believed that Peter loved Daisy, not her status.
“I haven’t actually planned this through,” she said.
What could she do? Going back to Coral right now was out of the question. Daisy had no other relatives to turn to; that’s the reason Coral had cared for her when their parents had died.
Wait. Maybe there was something she could do. A couple of years ago, when she’d visited St. Louis, a man named Harry Redd had offered her a high-class hostessing job at his prestigious corporate headquarters. She’d had bigger accomplishments in mind, maybe attending college to become more than a beauty queen, for instance. Her dreams had never materialized though, and she’d gained too much weight to even think of approaching Mr. Redd again. But if she could get in touch with him, promise to get in shape, secure a new life in a new city and send money to Coral to pay off Peter, Daisy might be able to live with herself.
She perked up. She could also contact a past-pageant friend who lived in the city, maybe even live with her until she could make her own way. Yes. This could certainly work.
“I want to go to St. Louis,” she said.
She heard Rick’s disbelieving chuckle. “St. Louis,” he said.
Rachel asked, “Why there?”
Before Daisy could answer, the sheriff’s wife popped out of her seat. “I have an idea!”
“Oh, no, Ashlyn,” said her husband.
But she wasn’t listening. “Rick’s our resident pilot. He can fly you there, and fast.”
Any optimism Daisy felt at this news was quickly squelched by the near growl from behind her.
“I don’t think so,” Rick said, causing Daisy to finally turn around to face him.
What she saw made her heart sink.

Chapter Two
R ick knew he looked like a piece of the devil’s handiwork as he stepped into the light.
“You’re insane if you think this is going to work.”
Daisy’s tiara wobbled to the side of her head as her gaze glued itself to the floor again. Her well-manicured fingers caught the delicate crown, righting it.
A protective urge flared to life inside Rick, but he tamped down the emotion. He’d never been very good at saving people. Didn’t his family and friends know that?
But his friend Ashlyn Reno, a.k.a. former town troublemaker, was just getting started. Her husband, the sheriff, of all things, merely sat back in his chair, evidently willing to wait out this new storm of inspiration.
“Here’s the thing,” Ashlyn said, her eyes wide with daring. “The quicker Daisy can get out of here, the quicker she can get away from that old dried-up fiancé of hers.”
“Ashlyn.” Rachel half laughed as she chided her friend.
“I’m sorry, the truth must be told,” she continued. “It’s not a pretty sight when an arrogant old fool salivates over a woman half his age. In fact, that’s downright disgusting.”
Her husband cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re willing to create a major Kane’s Crossing scandal because you object to Peter Tarkin’s drool?”
Ashlyn nodded, sending a saucy smile to the sheriff.
“That’s my girl,” he said, winking at her.
Rick cleared his throat. “As I was saying—”
By this time, Rachel had caught Ashlyn’s hell-raiser bug. She smoothed a strand of light brown hair from her forehead. “I’m warming up to this. Peter Tarkin has had a reckoning on the horizon for a while.”
Now it was her husband’s turn to protest. Matthew said, “So the man disapproved when you ran our horse farm while I was away, and he’s a bit of a misogynist, begging your pardon, Ms. Cox.”
Daisy crossed her arms over her chest, as if warding off the truth. The whole town had gossiped about Tarkin’s cavalier treatment of her ever since the engagement. Rick, busy hiding in his little cabin on the edge of Siggy Woods, busy trying to distance himself from life in general, hadn’t paid the news credence. He hadn’t really cared until Daisy had swept into the bakery today.
Not that he cared now, either.
As Matthew opened his mouth to continue, Rick tried to distance himself even more, especially since it was his big brother flapping his gums. The brother who couldn’t even admit to hoarding their dead father’s pride and attention. Not that Rick was bitter about it.
He cut across Matthew’s words. “I think Daisy knows more about this town’s history than you do,” he said, referring to Matthew’s recent bout with amnesia. Not more than two months ago, Matthew had returned home to Rachel and their daughter, claiming a loss of memory. He’d finally regained his senses, but he and Rick hadn’t ever ironed out what had happened between them so long ago. On graduation day. Before Rick’s time in the hot desert sun.
Something painful crossed Matthew’s brown eyes and, for a second, Rick thought he actually might be able to communicate with his brother, thought that they could, someday, sit down and talk about the tension between them.
But Matthew drew his mouth into a straight line, ignoring Rick. “As I was saying, Rache, do you really think flying Daisy away is going to solve the problem?”
Rick flowed back into the dark corner, his pride stinging. Vintage Matthew, the favored son. He’d slapped down younger brother once again. And Rick had deserved it.
Lacey, the stepsister who could take control of a situation even in a torn sweatshirt that had gone out of style two decades ago, slapped her palm on the counter. “I don’t hear any other ideas.”
Daisy held up a finger. “If I may say something?”
The room’s occupants blinked their eyes at Daisy, as if they’d all forgotten the reason for their rambling. Funny, but Rick had been aware of her the whole time. Aware of her light scent, her gleaming curls, her smooth skin.
Snap out of it, he told himself.
Daisy straightened her spine, tilted up her chin. “I believe St. Louis will do just fine. I even have a job prospect.”
Lacey gave her a thumbs-up sign. “So if Rick can manage to fly me and the local businessmen to our meetings every couple of days, maybe he can stop being so stubborn about it and volunteer to help around here.”
What was he, a mercy chauffeur? “Wait a minute. My Cessna’s due for its service.” Okay, so maybe he was stretching the truth a bit. His Cessna, his baby, was just fine. But all the same, “I can’t just up and fly out of Kane’s Crossing at the drop of a cowboy hat.”
He shot a glance at Matthew’s headgear, propped on his brother’s knee. When his gaze traveled higher, their eyes met, clashing.
“That’s okay,” said Daisy. “I’ll just take a commercial flight.”
Shame suffused Rick’s skin, marking him with stubborn rage. Why couldn’t he just offer to help? Why couldn’t he step away from his inner hermit—the one who liked to hide in that cabin by the woods—and be a savior?
Because he’d tried that before, and the results had been irreversible. Soul crushing.
Nick Cassidy finally spoke up from a corner booth, where he’d been watching Main Street from the window. “A commercial flight will make it easy for Peter Tarkin to track you down, Daisy.”
Rachel spoke up. “But let’s be fair here. We’re asking Rick to put his life on hold while Daisy gets established in St. Louis. He wouldn’t just drop her off and leave.”
She glanced at him as if asking, “Right?” It smarted that his sister-in-law was even wondering.
Nick stood, his boots scuffing across the floor as he walked toward Daisy. “Here,” he said, slipping a wad of money into her hand. “Whatever you do, this should keep you for a while.”
Daisy shook her head. “I can’t possibly—” Then she stopped, probably remembering that she wasn’t carrying a purse. Besides, she couldn’t go home now, not for money, clothes or apologies.
“No worries,” said Nick. He looked at Rick.
Dammit. He’d always admired Nick Cassidy, especially with the way the man had cleaned up corruption in Kane’s Crossing while empowering the citizens of the town. Having his friend watch him like this was almost as bad as having a big brother glaring at his wayward sibling.
Funny. He could almost bear that sort of attitude from Nick, but never from Matthew.
As Daisy stared at the money, biting her lower lip, Nick reached in his pocket again.
“No,” said Rick, holding both palms outward, as if warding off an approaching enemy. “I won’t need your money.”
Damn. He’d just committed himself. He knew it by the way the women were smiling at him, by the way Nick and Sam were regarding him with a gleam of respect in their gazes. By the way his brother was nodding his head.
Rick averted his glance before Matthew could affect him.
Lacey swaggered over to hug him. “Rick’s got that bulging trust fund from our parents, remember? Money isn’t what makes him ornery.”
No, life had made him that way. From their deceased parents, Matthew had inherited the horse farm and the Louisville business until he’d disappeared from Kane’s Crossing. With Rick’s blessing, Lacey, the stepchild, had taken over the business. Rick had only been bequeathed money—something that hadn’t required brains or trust.
Subtly, so no one could see, he squeezed Lacey’s arm and disengaged himself from her embrace. Then he walked toward Daisy. She watched him wide-eyed, just like she had in high school. Rick’s stomach tightened, clenching with an unidentifiable hunger.
He hovered over her until she narrowed her eyes at him. Good, he thought. Don’t depend on me.
“I’m not baby-sitting you,” he said, knowing at the same time that he’d never be able to live with himself if he just plopped her in St. Louis and left her to fend for herself. Like it or not, his nature wouldn’t allow him to abandon her, to take the chance that Tarkin would catch up to his runaway bride and make good on his threats to make her pay.
“I don’t expect any special attention,” she said.
Well, she damned sure had it. Rick took a step closer, grinning when she sucked in a quick breath. He allowed his gaze to linger at the level of her blue eyes, to saunter down to her ample cleavage.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m up here.”
Their audience stirred and started small-talking amongst themselves. Rick chuckled as he took his time making eye contact with Daisy.
“Since I’m not about to spend the rest of my life following you around,” he said, “let’s set a time limit for your St. Louis settling.”
“Sounds reasonable. How about two weeks?”
He chuffed. “Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do? One.”
“One and a half.”
He wasn’t going to win this round, and Rick Shane had a pretty good idea when to cut his losses. He’d spent his life practicing the art of fading into the background. “Not a day more,” he said.
He backed away from Daisy and addressed Nick. “Might as well get this over with.”
Nick nodded, and Daisy went to him, hugging him tightly. He accepted the gesture, fixing his thumbs in his belt loops as she stepped away.
“I’ll repay you, Mr. Cassidy,” she said.
Nick fought a grin. “It’s an almost-wedding gift.”
“Come on,” said Rick, sensing the room temperature turning mushy.
As he moved through the baking room and out the back door, he heard Lacey promising Daisy that she’d bring her clothes and other essentials before takeoff.
He had to leave, before the women caught up to him, making a fuss about how he was so angelic and sweet for helping a damsel in distress. That was the last thing he needed, especially since he was a reluctant participant in the first place.
He opened the passenger door of his Jeep, removing the dog-eared flight manuals and greasy rags that littered the seat. Then he propped his body against the driver’s side, lighting up a good cigar while he waited for the emotional farewell inside the bakery to play itself out. Damn, his friends and relatives loved a good drama.
He peered around, blowing out a plume of smoke. Kane’s Crossing was Sunday silent, the backyards lining the rear of the bakery still and pious. The Jeep’s passenger door was nearest to the bakery, so smuggling Daisy out would be that much easier.
His heart was actually pounding, dammit. Just as it had years ago, when he’d had much more dangerous things to worry about. A bead of sweat fixed itself to his upper lip and, with a lack of patience, Rick swept it away with the butt of his cigar.
Rachel and Matthew escorted Daisy out the back door, her veil and satin covered by a blanket. They helped her into the vehicle, instructing her to get on the floor so no one would see her. After shutting her inside, they turned to Rick.
Rachel kissed him on the cheek, and Rick tried not to flinch. Instead, he glanced away, tossing his cigar to the ground and driving it into the dirt with a boot heel. He didn’t even bother acknowledging Matthew as he swept around the Jeep’s hood and hopped inside the cab.
Once he’d started the engine and turned onto the road, he flicked on the radio, only to find a preacher blaring a sermon out of the speakers. He grinned, turning it a little louder, checking to see if the bundle of blanket, satin and Daisy would protest.
But the only response he got was the bounce of a golden ringlet as it worked its way from the coarse army-green blanket.
In a burst of mental gunfire, memory blinded him.
He saw another cowering female, desert sand burying itself in her hair like jewels in a crown.
Just as quickly, he shook himself back to the present, ignoring the throbbing pulse in his neck. His breath shortened, and he fought to regulate it.
But he couldn’t steady his hands.
As he gripped the sweat-dampened steering wheel, he aimed toward home, toward a little cabin in the woods where, once, he’d been able to hide from the rest of the world.

Daisy wanted to ask Rick to turn off that darned radio.
No. She wouldn’t push her luck. She’d been fortunate to find a way out of this wedding disaster, and she wasn’t about to blow it by testing Rick Shane’s temper.
Let him listen to fire and brimstone. Let him smile his cocky smile and try to get a rise out of her.
Daisy Cox was flying toward freedom, toward St. Louis, and nothing was going to stop her.
Under the blanket, she could pretend she was safe. Not like when she’d been a young girl, huddled under her comforter when Coral had told her that Mommy and Daddy were never coming home again. No, this time she was going to be reborn, emerging from this dark place with a new purpose, a new identity.
No more Daisy Cox, has-been beauty queen.
The Jeep shuddered to a halt, and she heard Rick’s door open, then shut.
Seconds passed. Was that jerk leaving her here?
She knew he hadn’t wanted to fly her anywhere. In fact, from the way Rick had protested his involvement in her escape, it was obvious that he’d just as soon strangle her for disrupting his life.
She felt guilty about it, too. Boy, did she ever. She didn’t enjoy grinding weddings to a halt, inconveniencing her sister for the rest of her life or dragging a man away from his beloved existence in Kane’s Crossing. But if she’d had any other choice, she would have taken it.
Finally, her door swished open. “Are you that relaxed?” asked Rick.
She peeked out of the blanket’s dark comfort, squinting as sunlight and Rick’s irritation poured over her. “A gentleman would help me out.”
“I am helping you out.” He walked a couple of steps away, then paused. Shaking his head, Rick returned, holding out a hand.
She peered down her nose at it, then made her way out of the Jeep. She could feel her breasts working themselves out of her bodice, but that’s what you got when you power ate before a big wedding. The seamstress had almost slapped Daisy silly when she’d shown up for her final fitting, ten pounds heavier than the last time.
And it wasn’t as if she’d been a twiggy creature during the first fitting, either.
When she finally managed to get to her feet without Rick’s help, she grinned at him. He stared right back, his face emotionless.
“Your crown is crooked,” he said, then turned away to walk toward his cabin.
As she adjusted her veil and followed him, she couldn’t help widening her smile. Freedom. Rick had it, with this cabin nestled on the fringes of a woodland copse. Pine trees guarded the solemn cabin with its knotholes decorating a cozy porch. All Rick Shane needed to be Davy Crockett was a coonskin cap and buckskins hugging his long legs.
Daisy sighed. She wasn’t about to think teenaged-girl thoughts about Rick again. That was then, this was now. And now was a whole lot more stressful.
He opened the unlocked front door and gestured for her to come in. She almost refused, just to be contrary. Just to see him grin at her like he used to in high school.
But she didn’t know if he’d respond the same way now. As a matter of fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if Rick hated her guts for roping him into her mess of a life.
As she stepped inside, the smell of pine washed over her senses. It was a man’s abode, all right, with patterned Indian blankets strewn over a spindly-legged couch, with woven mats serving as rugs and with a pillow-tossed, unmade bed resting in the corner. A T-shirt slouched over a chair back, trailing a pair of well-worn jeans that had found pooled sanctuary on the hardwood floor. It looked as if he’d stepped out of the clothing on the way to bed.
She could almost imagine him without a stitch of material covering his body, could almost imagine shadows playing over his hard chest while a rumpled sheet hid everything below. What if she slid that phantom sheet lower and lower…?
Stop right there, she told herself.
When she glanced at him, his brow was cocked, obviously aware that she was aware of the discarded clothes.
As if the sight of them was enough to unnerve her. All her life, she’d been paraded in front of judges, cheering parents, back-stabbing Miss So-and-so’s. Did he think she was so easily flustered?
Daisy pasted on her best panel-winning smile. “I want to take this opportunity to thank you for your help, Rick.”
Hmmm. She shouldn’t have said his name. It seemed far too intimate in light of the tossed-away jeans.
He must have possessed nerves radar, because just as soon as she thought “Hmmm,” he started moving toward her, shadowing her with his long body.
“Don’t thank me now. We’ve got a ways to go, darlin’.”
Daisy swallowed, coating her suddenly dry throat with indifference. “Well, it needed to be said.”
Well? The word was a time buyer, a dead giveaway to a loss of composure.
He took a step closer, bringing with him the slight scent of tobacco. Closer, close enough so she could see the outline of his Adam’s apple against a corded throat.
Close enough so his low voice rained through her with a liquid vibration. “You actually think this hare-brained plan is going to work?”
He reached out, grasping her blanket with both hands, the heat from his fingers making the skin of her throat tingle.
“It’s got to work.” Oh, she sounded scared, desperate.
Nervous.
He tugged the coarse material off her shoulders, her veil whispering against it. Cold air hit her chest, and she peered downward, realizing how much cleavage was exposed. She shifted, hoping he wasn’t as aware of it as she was.
His voice softened. “You really think Tarkin is coming after you.”
It was a statement, not a question. She remembered Peter’s face when he’d threatened her in his oh-so-silky way. Remembered his fingers, tightening, cutting off her gulp of surprise.
“Yes, he will,” she said.
Rick floated a dark glance over her shoulder, and she couldn’t help thinking that there was more to him than just being a black-sheep layabout.
When had he changed from a lean-against-the-lockers kid to this dark cloud?
He was looking at her again. Not at her breasts, but into her eyes, as if searching for an answer he’d never find. He reached out once more.
She wanted to rear back, but couldn’t. The good girl still wanted to be touched by the bad boy. She wanted to kick off the white-satin shoes and dance around in red stilettos.
She didn’t move.
Gently, he skimmed a hand over her veil, stopping when he came to the tiara. She felt bobby pins being loosened from her hair as he worked them free, and she closed her eyes, feeling the room spin. Then, finally, the weight of the accessory disappeared.
When she opened her eyes, he cradled the faux diamonds in his hands, almost like a man cupping a woman’s face before he whispered promises to her. The moment slowed, lasting a short infinity, before he grinned and tossed the tiara on the couch.
Then he focused on her again, his gaze hungry enough to put the fear of a good girl back into her soul.
He said, “Have you ever been to St. Louis?”
“Yes.” Croak.
“Not a safe place.”
As he moved forward, she moved back. Straight into the wall. He caged her between his muscled arms, leaning a lace-veil’s breath away from her lips.
She controlled her breathing, her hopscotch heartbeat, trying to keep calm, trying not to appear rattled. “St. Louis is where I’ll find a new life. Freedom.”
The word rang between them, as fleeting as a fear-driven skip of the pulse.
“You’re running away from your problems, Daisy.” His breath warmed her mouth, tingling her lips with thoughts of what might come next.
Daisy. The way he said her name made her want to run her fingers over his chest, to dip them into the tight space between his shirt and waistband. “I’m doing the right thing,” she said.
She didn’t know how she was even able to speak, what, with this loss of breath. When Rick was near, it was almost like running through rarefied air. She couldn’t help being light-headed and weak-kneed.
How could this even be happening? Didn’t Rick realize that the woman he had trapped in his arms wasn’t the same as she was in high school? Hadn’t he noticed that she was layered with a protective coat of chub these days?
Evidently, he was blind.
But he was still moving closer, his lips brushing over hers. “You’d better hope you’re doing the right thing,” he said, tickling the skin around her mouth with the heat of his words.
Before she could answer, he’d leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, his mouth soft as a flame’s curve, hinting at an element of danger.
Daisy heard herself moan low in her throat, heard it echoing down the halls of her heart. The sound slipped down her skin like the caress of a wilted rose petal, lost and fallen.
As she rubbed closer to him, her breasts crushed against his hard chest, satin and skin against the rough cotton of his shirt, wisping against each other with the easy rhythm of a fulfilled wish.
So this was what it felt like to kiss Rick Shane. This was what it felt like to wrap yourself in a rebel’s leather jacket, waving goodbye to your astonished friends and your past morals. His mouth felt so good on hers, so right.
Why had she resisted in the first place?
Though he still held her captive between his arms, Rick pulled back, depriving her of heat, a maddening grin on those lips. “Think about whether you’re flying into more danger now, Ms. Daisy Cox.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs as he increased his distance. She couldn’t believe he’d just stopped, leaving her wide-eyed and cold.
He ran a hand through his wind-ruffled hair. “If you’re still sure you want to go, use the phone to make your arrangements in St. Louis. I’ve got my own plans to make.”
As he walked away, Daisy slumped against the wall, angry with herself for giving in so easily.
But it wouldn’t happen again. She’d make sure of it.

Outside, after making his own calls, Rick clicked off his cell phone and convinced himself, yet again, that kissing Daisy had been a good idea.
Hell, half of him—the uselessly sentimental half—had given into those high-school hormones, kissing her because he’d always wondered what it would feel like. The more cynical half of him had only wanted to show her that running away from her problems in Kane’s Crossing wouldn’t end her misery. She needed to face them head-on.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
His conscience slapped him upside the skull. Pardon me, but aren’t you the hardhead who’s been running from problems for most of your life?
Yup, he said to himself. That’s me.
So practice what you preach, lazy boy.
Great. Now his inner voice was starting to sound like Lacey. After his real mom’s death, and ever since Lacey had moved into the household with her own mom, Rick’s stepsister had been a know-it-all. It was a terrible joke on him that she was usually right about things, too.
Even though she’d spent some of her childhood in a “home for disturbed girls,” as her mother politely described it, Lacey had a better grip on reality than Rick did.
He shook his head, stuffing his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He’d get by on his own judgment now, even if it killed him.
He returned to the cabin, hardly surprised that Lacey had arrived with a suitcase full of new clothes and toiletries for Daisy. The former bride was dressing in the bathroom, her wedding gown and veil abandoned on his dinner table.
Lacey met him at the door. “Okay. Daisy has called her contact in St. Louis, Harry Redd, and he’s given the go-ahead for a job. One down. She also got ahold of an old pageant friend who’s out of town until next week. That’ll eventually take care of living arrangements. Two down. And, until then—”
“—Drive to Blue Grass for take off, etcetera, etcetera. It’s all in a day’s work for us mercenaries.”
At Lacey’s jaded stare, Rick tweaked his sister’s nose. “I know what to do.”
She shooed his finger away. “I’m just covering all the bases.”
“As usual. Don’t you have a business to run or something?”
She sighed, evidently put out by his lazy attitude. “I’m worried, Rick. We’re dealing with a man who has connections. And he threatened her.”
He didn’t want to stress out his stepsister. She’d gone through too much in her short life to deal with that. In fact, during their younger years, Rick had made it a priority to shield her from insults and teasing. “Hey, don’t think twice about us. We’re big kids, Lacey.”
Her gray-blue eyes twinkled. “Okay, wiseacre.”
The bathroom door opened, and they both turned to find Daisy dressed in flats, roomy jeans and a baggy sweater. She’d washed away her makeup, her skin glowing, her baby-innocent eyes shining with the reflection from the blue sweater. Lastly, she’d pulled back her ringlets into a loose ponytail, curls framing her face.
Even in her modest clothes, Rick thought she was just as gorgeous as a bride. Her curves looked soft, feminine. He wanted to feel her beneath him, pliant and willing, just like she’d been during that kiss.
His body tightened. That kiss.
Lacey swept by him, clucking over Daisy. The other woman merely shot an irritated glance at him—not that he blamed her. He’d been damned forward this afternoon, and he’d liked it.
Seemed as if she did, too.
As Lacey grabbed the suitcase and led Daisy outside to his Jeep, Rick grinned to himself. Damn, he thought. I must be a real jerk for taking advantage of a princess in need of rescue.
He also knew he wasn’t about to change, either.
As the women’s voices faded, Rick wandered over to Daisy’s forgotten gown and veil. He grabbed the items, tossing the satin over the couch. He worked the filmy netting from the tiara and threw it away from him, as well.
He stared at the crown, at the sun sparkling over the jewels. Then, his jaw tightening, he walked to a chest of drawers and pulled open the first compartment.
There it was, gleaming in the light. His past. His shame.
He settled the tiara next to his Silver Star medal and slowly shut the drawer, burying another memory.

Chapter Three
T hat night, on a lone stretch of small, remote Illinois airfield, Daisy stood outside the plane and pulled her sweater over her mouth, biting into the material. It was the only way to stop herself from using every cuss word she knew.
Rick supplied the language for her as he let loose a stream of curses. He clicked his radio handset back into place and glanced at her. “We’re grounded for the night with that approaching thunderstorm. I’m not about to fly into poor visibility.”
He stepped out of the Cessna, misted moonlight revealing mightily ruffled hair, spiked from the constant rake of his fingers. His aviator glasses, which had shielded his eyes while they flew out of Lexington, hung precariously from a shirt pocket.
As he spoke, steam from the chilly night mingled with the shaded air. “This place is a ghost town.”
Daisy peered at their surroundings. Cornstalks lined the airfield, and an old road branched into the dismal horizon.
“We were almost there,” she said, tugging her sweater’s neckline away from her mouth and shrugging farther into her down jacket.
Rick wiped his hands together, staring at his silver-painted aircraft. Blue lines raced over the Cessna’s curves, making the sleek high-winged plane a thing of grace. Daisy knew Rick doted on this machine; she could tell by the way he gently worked the controls, by the way he’d carefully touched down on this lonely airstrip.
He rested his hands on his lean hips. “You’ll get to your new life soon enough.”
Daisy bit the inside of her lip, holding back any complaints. Even if she was about to freeze her chilled cheeks off she wouldn’t be an ingrate.
“Is your plane going to be okay here?” she asked, shifting back and forth from the cold.
“Don’t worry.” Rick grinned, giving the Cessna a fond pat. “She’ll make it through the night.”
Boys and their toys. Daisy wanted to roll her eyes except for the fact that this certain toy was her ticket to freedom.
Rick started to secure the plane and unload their baggage. “In the meantime, we need a place to stay. What’s your pleasure? The Marriott? The Four Seasons?”
Once again, Daisy noted the bucolic landscape. “I’d settle for Mammy Yokum’s shack, if it had a warm stove to take off the chill.”
He chuckled. “It might just come to that, here in Armpit, U.S.A.”
When he liberated her wheeled suitcase from the plane, Daisy clicked out the handle, ready to roll. Rick was traveling lighter than she was. All he had was a tattered duffel bag to throw over his shoulder. That and the equally worn bomber jacket he’d slipped into.
With one last glance at the Cessna, Rick jerked his head toward the mist-shrouded highway. “Ready for a walk?”
She would jog the rest of the way to St. Louis if she needed to. “Ready.”
“Let me get that suitcase.” He held out a hand for her to surrender it.
Once again, she felt the need to refuse his outstretched palm. “No, thank you.”
Rick considered her for a moment, his gaze running over her body, providing a heated trail that warmed her through and through.
“It’s your party,” he said, shrugging.
They moved out, and when they reached the road, her suitcase wheels droned on the asphalt and popped over gravel. After their unexpected landing, Rick had run across the old highway to a farmhouse to inquire about food and lodgings. The residents had told him about the nearby town of Broken Wing, less than one mile down the way.
One mile didn’t matter, thought Daisy. This was an adventure, a new beginning. In a few months, she’d be thirty years old. Thirty. The end of an era. Thirty was when your bones started to creak and you lost touch with new music and fashion trends. Thirty was when you really became an adult.
Coral had lived with Daisy for so long that she hadn’t actually been on her own. Thirty was a scary change. A welcome change.
As the moist, sod-laden air rushed over her skin, Daisy tried to regulate her breathing. It’d been a long time since she’d exercised. When she was on a diet kick, she’d do hours of walking and cycling. But ever since getting engaged to Peter, all Daisy had done was think of running away. In spite of the intensity of her wishes, the mental calisthenics never even shaved off a pound.
Now, as she tried to match Rick’s long steps, Daisy could feel the wind being sucked from her burning lungs. God, she was out of shape. The reminder shamed her, but she wasn’t about to admit her weakness to Rick.
As if sensing her troubles, he slowed down. Daisy flushed, wanting to sprint ahead of him to prove that she wasn’t overweight, that she wasn’t anything less than she used to be.
A signpost increased in size as they walked closer to it. Broken Wing, 1/2 mile, it said.
Rick peered down at her. “That’s nothing.”
She didn’t miss the tacit question in his statement. Can you make it, Miss Huff-and-Puff?
“Good,” she said. “I can use the exercise.”
She’d meant it to be a joke, but somehow the flippant comment ended up thudding between them.
She was more aware than ever of his lean body, the corded muscles of his arms, while he’d looked over the Cessna. Why had she even put the subject up for inspection?
Rick stopped, and so did Daisy. The lack of sound from her suitcase wheels underlined his silence. When she peered over her shoulder at him, he’d all but disappeared in the shadow of the signpost.
“You look fine just the way you are,” he said softly.
Right, she thought. But she didn’t say it out loud. He had to be lying. After all, a guy who’d drop everything to fly her away from trouble had to have some kind of chivalrous streak, even if that guy was Rick Shane.
She heard the scuff of his boots before he emerged from the darkness. When he did enter the muted moonlight, he was expressionless, his eyes night-shaded and guarded.
She watched him walk past her, and she noted the joust-approach wariness of his stride. It was almost as if he moved with a shield in front of his body, the shoulder-slung duffel bag primed to defend against anyone who got too close.
When he noticed that she hadn’t moved, he stopped. “We can rest.”
“Do you need to?” she asked.
He grinned sardonically and shook his head, waiting for her to catch up.
Thank goodness he hadn’t pursued the weight thing. When she’d come back to Kane’s Crossing this year, after losing her spokesmodel job, most people had looked at her with pity. Is that Daisy Cox? their eyes seemed to ask. The years sure haven’t been kind to her, poor thing.
Daisy knew she’d put on about thirty pounds worth of insulation since she’d last been in town. She didn’t need anyone to tell her, especially since Peter had always reminded her that he wanted Miss Spencer County for a wife. In fact, he’d put off the wedding once because Daisy hadn’t been in shape. Maybe it had been her subconscious at work. Who knew? But after the first wedding delay, Daisy had gained more and more padding, perhaps hoping the nuptials would be put off indefinitely.
It hadn’t worked. Peter had merely hired a dietitian and decided that, after the honeymoon, Daisy would begin to aerobicize in earnest, whittling her body back down to her glory-day slimness.
There were so many reasons to run away.
Wind rustled through the cornstalks, slapping her cheeks with cold. She gave an involuntary shudder, though she wasn’t sure it was due to the elements.
She wouldn’t go back to the old days. Not for the world. Being slender wasn’t worth the price she’d had to pay. It wasn’t worth the tearstained look of guilt she’d seen in the mirror day after day, after eating too much and then forcing it out. It wasn’t worth waiting until Coral would go to bed, then raiding the kitchen cupboards until she’d filled herself with so much food that she had to get rid of it.
Don’t think about that, she told herself. Those days are over. You’ve got control now.
Rick’s voice shook her out of the past. “There’s something up ahead.”
It was an eighteen-wheeler, the first they’d seen. They stepped to the side of the road, and Rick held out one side of his jacket to protect her from the rush of air and gravel as it roared past.
“Thank you,” she said.
He shrugged and regirded himself with the duffel bag. When they stepped back onto the road, he spoke.
“I heard Tarkin has a place in Lexington. Why did he decide to settle in Kane’s Crossing instead?”
Idle chatter. She wasn’t sure he really cared, but maybe conversation would steer her thoughts away from focusing on her weight. “Peter wanted to settle in a small town. He said it would be a good place to raise kids.”
“A real family man, huh?”
Daisy gave an unconcerned laugh, relieved that she’d never have to sleep with Peter. She’d been dreading the prospect, happy that at least he’d wanted to wait until they were married to consummate their union. “Imagine. Mrs. Peter Tarkin. I can’t believe it almost happened.”
Their steps had slowed, almost as if they’d chosen to take a walk down a country lane together instead of being stuck out here in each other’s company. Even the mist had lifted a little, offering glimpses of dark blue sky.
Rick said, “You got yourself into a real mess, Daisy Cox.”
“I suppose I did.” She switched her grip on the suitcase handle. “And I can’t believe it got this far. Maybe it started after I was crowned Miss Spencer County at the tail end of high school. I guess that’s when I said goodbye to Kane’s Crossing, hello to the world and the chase for Miss America.”
Daisy swallowed. “Needless to say, my sister’s dreams of fame didn’t materialize. I lost the Miss Kentucky pageant.” But she hadn’t lost the weight Coral had advised her to get rid of.
Stop. She wanted to small-talk with Rick for the sole fact of avoiding the ache of her past. All she was doing now was bringing it back.
“So,” she continued, determined to switch gears, “after the whole beauty-queen thing, I went from job to job, supporting me and my sister.”
Rick’s voice was rough, low, when he asked, “Can’t she work?”
The question took Daisy aback. “She shouldn’t have to. It was my turn to take care of Coral. After all, she never let me forget that she could’ve had a wealthy law practice if only she’d used her college scholarship instead of raising me.”
“Sounds like emotional blackmail.” Rick glanced at her, a hard look.
Daisy took great pains to avoid making eye contact. “Don’t say that. She gave up so much to make my life what it is.”
Still, her justification sounded exactly like what it was. A justification. Coral could’ve gotten a job after the Miss Kentucky debacle. With both of them employed, they might’ve been able to pay off Peter Tarkin’s loan.
But Daisy’s pride wouldn’t stand for it. She said, “Coral worked her fingers to the bone to put me through my pageants.”
“You must’ve wanted to win pretty badly then.”
No, she hadn’t wanted that at all. One of Daisy’s first memories came to mind. She’d won a children’s pageant—she couldn’t have been more than five or six—and instead of feeling happy about the crown, Daisy had looked at Coral’s face in the audience. Her sister’s pleasure had been worth every caked-on inch of makeup, every hour she’d spent rehearsing her little Liza Minelli showstopper talent song. Granted, Daisy’s collective prize money had helped them get through the years, but it hadn’t been enough. Coral had aided the pittance by working double shifts as a waitress, staying up late hours going over the checkbook to find ways of saving money.
But then Peter and his loan had come along. He’d remembered Daisy’s reign as Miss Spencer County and wanted to sponsor her bid for the shiniest crown in the land—Miss America. After she’d failed even that, Peter had called in the money he’d spent on her. But Daisy had always suspected that her title’s monetary value far exceeded the cash itself. The new king of Kane’s Crossing needed a queen.
Had she wanted the glory badly enough to work her sister senseless? Daisy decided not to answer Rick’s question.
Instead, she said, “We thought things would be okay when I became a spokesmodel.”
She could almost feel Rick’s caustic grin.
“Be quiet. It’s a very legitimate line of work,” she said.
“No doubt.”
Silence. She waited for him to ask why she wasn’t still spokesmodeling. Could she tell him that she’d started gaining weight again, and her employer had fired her?
Rick cleared his throat. “How does Peter the Great, the love of your life, come into the picture?”
She shook her head. “Coral and I knew we couldn’t pay him back for his loan. But he said it didn’t matter. That he wanted to marry me. You know, he seemed like a gentleman. He’d helped us in our time of need. Coral encouraged me, told me that maybe I’d return his feelings after a while.”
Rick stayed silent, and she could feel the weight of his judgment.
“I wanted to repay my sister for taking care of me. And I truly thought I would be good for Peter. I’d be his perfect hostess and support his career.” Cold, cold, cold. Had all the hours she’d wasted trying to decide if she could marry Peter come down to this? An ice-cold excuse?
She hadn’t seemed so callous when she’d said yes to him.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear the semitrailer breathing steel behind them. She didn’t hear Rick reminding her to leave the road.
She only felt the shuddering swirl of air suck by them as Rick grabbed her to safety, holding her in his strong arms as they darted into the cornstalks.
In the truck’s aftermath, debris danced, lagging after the massive tires as the stale smell of asphalt and dust lined the night. Daisy and Rick breathed against each other. It wasn’t until he shifted against her that she realized she was still wrapped in his protective embrace.
He was so warm under his jacket. Daisy allowed her fingers to linger on his rib cage just a moment longer, stealing heat, feeling the thud of his heartbeat.
It would feel so good to lay her cheek against his chest, to allow herself to rest and stop running from her problems for just a moment.
He tightened his grip on her waist, and she felt his body go hard. Her skin tingled, leaving her breathless once again.
When she peered up at him, his expression shocked her into a frozen second of fear. He had a bloodred moon reflected in his eyes, his mouth drawn as tight as a battle line. As she shifted against him, his fingertips dug into the small of her back.
She gave a tiny gasp of discomfort, and that seemed to break his spell.
He stumbled backward, as if someone had shot him in the chest.
Then, without another word, Rick Shane faded into the night, leaving Daisy to trail after him into Broken Wing, Illinois.

The road sign indicated that Broken Wing had a population of two hundred and three. From the looks of it, Rick thought that most of them were probably living in the nearest graveyard.
But at least the joint had a decent motel. And all Rick wanted right now was to sleep until the sun came up.
The Tuckaway Inn would do just fine. Located adjacent to a Swiss Chalet–inspired diner, the Alps cottages cuddled into the dream-fuzzed countryside. One car indicated that the Tuckaway had another lone customer. Or maybe the vehicle belonged to the apple-cheeked matron at the front desk.
Either way, it wasn’t every day a man had the benefit of seeing cornstalks and gingerbread trim in the same blink. The past twelve hours were pretty surreal, but—then again—his life was getting more surreal by the minute.
Especially when it came to Daisy.
An hour after checking in, Rick stepped out of the shower, trying to think of something other than the runaway bride in the next cottage. Instead, he concentrated on combing his hair.
He knew his cut was scruffy—too long near the collar—but he didn’t actually give a rat’s hind end. Not that he had anyone to care for about his appearance anyway. That was the advantage of living by yourself in the woods.
But the mirror allowed him the chance to look himself in the eye. What he saw disturbed him.
A man with a basalt-type hardness to his gaze. A man who’d been quick to grin in his youth, now reduced to a line-in-the-sand grimness.
There was a hideous slant to him. He could see it in the dark part of his irises, the part where no one cared to look anymore. It was the type of scar you couldn’t erase, the type of ugliness that turned a decent kid to stone.
He faced away from his image, disgusted. Even Daisy Cox had brushed him off tonight when he’d told her that she didn’t need exercise. That she looked just fine the way she was. She hadn’t responded to his heartfelt compliment, had politely rejected him with her cool golden-curled finesse.
See, even Daisy Cox didn’t want anything to do with him.
Hell, at least she could stand to face him at dinner. As a matter of fact, she’d done the inviting as soon as she’d seen that hilarious Swiss-countrified diner next door. What the hey? he’d thought. He needed food as much as the next man.
So after she’d gone to her own cottage to dry off and freshen up, Rick had done the same. Now, as he donned his bomber jacket, he left his room to wait for her.
As he scuffed his way to her cottage, he froze in his tracks, held captive by a silhouette on the curtains of Daisy’s window.

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