Baby, It's You (3 page)

Then she saw it. Up ahead. Or were her eyes playing tricks on her?

No. It was real. Light glimmered faintly through the falling rain.

Maybe it was a service station. Maybe one of those
deluxe
service stations where she could get a cup of coffee and a sub sandwich and a brownie for dessert and wait out the worst of the storm. Then she could ask directions, gas up, and eventually she’d get back to the freeway, then to whatever luxury hotel she could find. She would hand her keys to the valet, get a room, ditch this dress, soak in the Jacuzzi tub for about an hour, and then—

All at once, something darted in front of her. Her mind barely registered
deer
before she wheeled the car hard to the right to miss it. As the startled animal scrambled away, Kari felt the bump and grind of the gravelly shoulder of the road beneath her tires. She tried to turn back, but her car slid sideways down a shallow embankment and smacked into a tree. The force of the impact slung her sideways, whipping her neck hard to one side and banging her head. The windshield shattered, and pellets of safety glass rained into the car like a shower of diamonds.

And then everything went still.

Strangely, the car was still running, but when she turned to see the tree trunk embedded into the passenger door, she realized she wasn’t going anywhere. She turned off the ignition, her hand shaking so hard she could barely hold onto the key. The engine died, leaving only the sound of the rain pounding against the car and her pulse throbbing inside her skull. With the windshield gone, rain hit the dashboard, bounced off, and splatted against her face.

In a surge of frustration, she pounded the steering wheel and shouted a few curse words at the top of her lungs. When that didn’t unsmash her car and put it back up on the road, she clutched the steering wheel and dragged in a deep, ragged breath.

Get a grip. Where’s your cell phone?

She felt around on the dripping-wet seat, then on the floorboard beneath her feet, before she finally found it. She’d turned it off earlier to avoid the deluge of phone calls and texts she knew she’d get. When she turned it on now, she felt marginally better when it lit up and the car wasn’t completely dark.

And she couldn’t get a signal.

She tossed it to the seat beside her, wondering what in the world she was supposed to do now. She had yet to see anybody else on this godforsaken road. It was dark and cold and wet and her head hurt, and she was starting to get just a
tiny
bit scared. If she’d only stayed in Houston, she’d be at her reception right now. Clean and dry and eating and drinking and dancing and…

And married.

Then she saw it again in the distance. The light she’d seen right before going off the road. Where there was light, there was help, right? Unfortunately, it wasn’t coming to her. She had to go to it. But walk in this horrible storm?

Then again, what was her alternative? She had no windshield so she was already drenched anyway. She might as well try to find help. And if she didn’t get out of this dress soon, it was going to squash the last breath right out of her.

She grabbed her tote bag and stuffed her cell phone inside it. With a deep breath, she shoved as much dress as she could out of the way, then followed it out of the car, wincing at the pain in her wrenched neck and across her shoulder where the seat belt had dug in. As she climbed the incline to the road, rain hammered her mercilessly, her dress dragging through the mud behind her.

When she reached the road, she felt a little woozy. Maybe she should have eaten something today besides half of the granola bar Jill had shoved at her, but she’d been so sick at the thought of becoming a married woman that she hadn’t been able to eat anything else. And dragging layer after layer of mud-caked Duchess satin and Chantilly lace behind her was just about to wear her out.

And the rain still came down.

It’s not a disaster, it’s an adventure…

She kept saying that to herself, over and over, because they said repetition was the key to making yourself believe something. She liked adventures. She lived her life looking for them. But she generally preferred being dry and alive to enjoy them.

As she drew closer to the light, a jagged bolt of lightning sizzled to earth, exploding in a loud burst of electricity and momentarily illuminating a sign just up the highway. She slogged through the mud for another few minutes until she reached it. It was a painted wooden sign with grapes and wine bottles and the words
Cordero Vineyards
in white cursive letters shadowed in bright crimson. Now she realized the light she’d seen was coming from a structure on that property. Closer now, it looked like a farmhouse. Unfortunately, it was at the end of a very long driveway, and she was about to faint from exhaustion.

Kari imagined the person she hoped would answer the door—a grandmotherly woman who would invite her in, fix her a cup of tea, then cluck sweetly over her until the storm let up and she could figure out what to do next.

Then another bolt of lightning exploded so close it made even Kari’s wet arm hairs stand on end.
Get out of this rain, or you’re going to be a barbecued bride.

With a deep breath, she turned onto the property, focused on the light, and kept on walking.

Marc checked his watch. It was almost eight. He poured the jar of gooey, fake cheese crap he’d microwaved over the tortilla chips, then threw a handful of jalapeño slices on top.
Ah.
Food of the gods. For tonight and hereafter, to hell with healthy. His new motto: “Live fast, die young.”

He liked the way that sounded, smooth and careless, throwing caution to the wind. Then his brain veered off on a Dad tangent:
Yes. That’s an excellent plan. Just make sure your life insurance is paid up first.

Crap.
Responsibility was going to be a hard habit to kick. He needed to think bachelor thoughts.

He stuck a package of Double Stuf Oreos under one arm, then picked up the nachos and a beer and headed to his living room. He put the food on the end table and collapsed in his recliner, tipping it back to maximum comfort level with his feet up and his head on the pillowy backrest. Then he reached for the remote and turned on the game.

Outside the rain came down in buckets. Thunder boomed. Lightning crashed. And Marc couldn’t have cared less, because he was inside this house where it was warm and dry, and tonight, right there in his living room, the Cowboys were going to beat the daylights out of the Steelers.

To complete the picture of total decadence, Brandy lay on the rug at his feet. He’d felt generous tonight and had given her way too many of her favorite dog treats. Now she was lying upside down, asleep and snoring, her bushy golden retriever tail flicking back and forth as she dreamed of chasing rabbits through the vineyard. Marc took a long drink of beer and let out a satisfied sigh. Life didn’t get any better than this.

The Cowboys won the toss and lined up to receive the kickoff. The Steelers kicker took off toward the ball.

And there was a knock at his door.

Marc whipped around. Somebody at his door? In this storm?

Brandy leaped up and started barking. Marc grabbed the remote, hit the “pause” button, and went to the entry hall. He opened the door. He blinked. Blinked again. And he still couldn’t believe what he saw.

A woman stood on his porch. Her hair was hanging in a dripping wad on one side of her head, and rain trickled off her nose. Raindrops clung to her eyelashes, shimmering in the dim porch light. Considering the storm, all that made sense. But what was that monstrosity she was wearing? She looked like Glinda the Good Witch after a bout of mud wrestling.

But as he looked her up and down, light slowly dawned, and he had the feeling the first day of his new life had just gone straight to hell. She was dripping wet. She was dirty from head to toe. She looked lost and lonely and helpless.

And she was wearing a wedding dress.

B
randy must have been equally stunned by the woman standing on the porch, because she stopped barking and stood motionless, looking up at Marc with a whimper of confusion.
But I’m ready, boss. If whatever that thing is steps out of line, I’m on it.

But the woman wasn’t stepping out of line. In fact, she wasn’t saying anything. She just stood there staring up at Marc, her eyes wide. He looked past her to the driveway and didn’t see a car. How the hell had she gotten there?

“Can I help you?” he asked.

A smile flickered on her face, then died. “I-I kinda had an accident down the road, and I was wondering…”

Marc came to attention. “Accident? What happened?”

She teetered a little. “I was driving, and there was this deer…I didn’t want to hit him…”

“You swerved to miss a deer?”

She nodded. “And now my car is wrecked.”

“Forget about that. Are you all right?”

“Uh…yeah. I think so.”

All at once, lightning crashed. The woman’s eyes flew wide open. She came to life, bounding across his threshold, dragging approximately two tons of wet, muddy dress behind her. She spun around, her hand at her throat and her eyes still wide with surprise, acting as if she’d just cheated death. Given how lightning was exploding all around his house, maybe she had.

“Aren’t you going to shut the door?” she said, her voice shaky.

Marc closed the door, then turned to face her. There were mascara rings under her eyes. Her hair was dangling in a wet blob, and he couldn’t tell what color it was. Maybe a little bit red?

Brandy walked back and forth nervously, still trying to make sense of this woman. But if Marc couldn’t figure it out, what chance did his poor dog have?

“What happened to your shoes?” he asked.

She looked down. “I don’t know. I think the mud sucked them off my feet about a quarter mile ago.” She held her hands out helplessly, looking down at herself. “Look at me. I’m a mess. This dress…oh, God. Hilda would just die if she saw me now!”

“Who’s Hilda?”

“My wedding planner. She freaked out when a pearl fell off the train. What would she do if she saw this?”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Kari Worthington,” she said. “You must be somebody…Cordero. I saw the sign.”

“Marc Cordero. Now tell me why you were driving around in the country after dark in the middle of a storm wearing a wedding dress.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then her eyes slowly filled with tears. Marc felt a glimmer of panic.
No! No crying!
There was no crisis on earth that couldn’t be made worse if a woman started to cry.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, afraid she was going to tell him.

“I couldn’t do it,” she said. “I couldn’t marry Greg. So I ran.”

“Ran?”

“There were only twenty-two minutes left. Twenty-two minutes before I was going to be a married woman. And I just couldn’t do it.”

“You left your own wedding?”

Her face crumpled, but she kept the tears at bay. “Yes.”

“Let me get this straight. You got into a car in this weather in a wedding dress and just
drove away
?”

“No! Well, not exactly. It wasn’t raining when I left Houston.”

Marc drew back. “Houston? You drove all the way here from
Houston
? That’s over two hundred miles!”

She held up her palm. “Now, it’s not as bad as it sounds. See, I was going to drive to Austin, but then the hotels were all full because of parents taking kids back to college, so I thought I’d go to San Antonio. But when I headed that direction, the rain came and there was an accident and traffic was a mess and I was running out of gas, so I got off the freeway to find a gas station and then I got lost. And then there was the deer, and…” She shrugged weakly. “And here I am.”

Marc had news for her. It really
was
as bad as it sounded. “You need to call somebody to come get you.”

“No!” she said. “Whoever I call will talk me into getting married. And I can’t do that. I’ll be miserable for the rest of my life!”

All this should have kicked off Marc’s usual reaction to a crisis, which was to wade in, take control, and solve the problem, but he’d never encountered a problem like this. A woman who ran away from her own wedding into a driving rainstorm? In what weird universe did
that
happen?

“Okay,” Marc said. “Your car. Is it drivable?”

“Well, it’s kinda wrapped around a tree. No windshield. So I guess I’d say…probably not.”

“You’re two hundred miles from home. Do you know anybody in the area? Anybody at all?”

She shrugged weakly. “To tell you the truth, I don’t even know where I am.”

“Didn’t you bring a map with you?”

“No. I didn’t exactly plan to run away.”

“Still, you might have stopped along the way. Regrouped. Gotten organized. Put a little thought into—”

All at once she put her hand to her stomach and started to weave, her eyes dropping closed. Marc took hold of her wrist to steady her. It felt cold from the rain and so fine boned he could wrap his entire hand around it.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Sorry. I’m just…I’m just having a hard time…breathing…”

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No,” she said, her face contorting. “It’s this dress. It’s so tight. And my stomach feels funny. I haven’t eaten much in the last couple of days.”

“Why haven’t you eaten?”

“Because my dress was too tight. I needed to be able to get into it on my wedding day.”

“I’ll get you some crackers—”

“No. The dress is too tight. If I eat something, I’ll barf it right back up.”

She hadn’t eaten because the dress was too tight, but because the dress was too tight, she couldn’t eat? One of Marc’s biggest pet peeves was circular logic that led nowhere. How did anyone get off a roller coaster like that?

“And it’s worse now,” she said, her breath fast and shallow. “I think the dress is drying and shrinking. I need to get out of it.”

“But you don’t have any clothes to put on,” Marc said.

“No. I have clothes. They’re in my luggage.”

“Where’s your luggage?”

“In my car.”

“And your car is in a ditch.”

“Yeah.”

Marc sighed. He was no psychic, but he was having no trouble predicting the near future. He was going to be wading through a muddy ditch to pull suitcases out of a wrecked car.

“Where did you have the accident? East on the highway or west?”

She looked at him blankly.

“Never mind,” Marc said. “Surely you’ll know which way to go once we reach the gate.”

“The gate?”

“My front gate. I’ll take you to your car to get your luggage. Then I’ll drop you off at a hotel in town. You can check in, get cleaned up, and change clothes. Then tomorrow you can deal with your car.”

“But the weather—”

“It’s letting up.”

Actually, Marc wasn’t too sure about that, but it didn’t matter. One way or another, he was taking her to town. Then he’d get back to his football game and pretend all this had never happened.

“Come with me,” he said, heading for the kitchen.

She trudged along behind him, the train of her dress making a wide, muddy streak across the tile floor. It looked as if a gigantic slug had slithered through his house. As they came into the kitchen, Sasha was in her usual spot on top of the refrigerator. She was Siamese, and from the day Angela brought her home as a kitten, it was as if she knew she came from royal stock. That refrigerator was her throne, and she judged every situation that passed before her like the princess she was sure she was.

How about it, Sasha? Does Her Majesty have a solution to this problem?

Marc stopped in the mudroom and put on a raincoat and a pair of rubber boots, then grabbed a poncho for Kari.

“No sense in getting wetter than you already are,” he said as he eased it over her head and pulled it down, then tugged the hood up over her blob of hair. The poncho was Day-Glo yellow. She looked like Big Bird in a wedding dress.

He still didn’t know why she’d left her fiancé at the altar, but in the end it didn’t matter. He only knew he wanted this woman out of his house as quickly as possible so he could get back to his new life.

A few minutes later, Kari sat in the passenger seat of the biggest pickup truck she’d ever seen, listening to the roar of hundreds of horses under the hood as Marc motored down the storm-darkened highway. He drove every bit of the speed limit even though the rain still poured. At first she thought,
Daredevil
, only to realize every move he made seemed careful and measured, as if he knew every hill and curve as well as he knew his own name.

As he was stuffing her and her dress into the passenger seat of his truck, she’d seen two rifles on a gun rack in the back window of the club cab pickup. Her heart stuttered at the sight, but she told herself to stop being silly.

Ignore the guns. This is rural Texas. Five-year-olds carry guns in rural Texas.

Left to her own devices, Kari generally associated with men who played guitars and wrote poetry because at least they understood her creative, disordered mind and didn’t cringe when she dyed her hair purple. When she dated men her father approved of, they wore sport coats over their two-hundred-dollar jeans, talked about the stock market, and got exasperated when she wanted to try a vegan restaurant.

Either way, nothing had prepared her for Marc Cordero.

He was a big man with a big truck and big guns, and every indication said he wasn’t the least bit happy to be taking her anywhere on a night like tonight. He hadn’t cracked a smile from the moment he’d opened his front door. And as she gave him a sidelong glance now, she forgot her wrecked car, forgot the storm, forgot everything but the man sitting next to her, a man who looked as if he could pick her up and snap her in half if he chose to.

But she couldn’t say she hated it.

She glanced at his hands on the steering wheel, big, strong hands that looked as if they could split firewood without an ax. Underneath that raincoat was a body to match his hands, with a chest and shoulders so broad he could have made two of any of the men she knew. She didn’t know exactly what it took to run a vineyard, but it was clear he’d gotten his gorgeous body and his golden tan the hard way—by spending long hours working in the sun. She glanced back at his left hand on the steering wheel. No ring.

But why was she bothering to look?

Because he’s sexy as hell, that’s why.

But that didn’t matter. The last thing a pushover like her needed was a man to push her over. If Greg had been able to do it, she wouldn’t stand a chance with a man like this one.

“So you run a vineyard?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“You have a nice house.”

“It’s home.”

That was the one word that described it perfectly. It had a wide front porch with a wooden swing, and on the inside the oak floors, thick rugs, and country kitchen made it feel cozy and warm. For a second her brain flashed to her father’s house—three times the size and cold as ice.

“Are you sure your car is this direction?” Marc asked. “We’ve gone a long way.”

“I walked a long way.”

“Wait. There it is.”

Marc slowed down, then made a U-turn to pull onto the shoulder near where her car had gone off the road. He shined his headlights on it as best he could, then held out his hand. “Keys?”

She handed him the keys and he got out of the truck. The rain had let up some, but still it pelted him as he walked purposefully down the incline to where her car rested in the ditch. He unlocked the trunk and grabbed two of her biggest suitcases. She’d filled them so full she was sure she’d be charged extra at the airport, but Marc lifted them as if they were nothing. He brought them up the hill and stuffed them behind the seat in the extended portion of the club cab. He did the same with the other two. Then he climbed back into the truck and slammed the door, shoving the hood of his raincoat off his head. His boots slopped mud onto the plastic floor mat beneath his feet.

“That’s a lot of luggage,” he said as he put the truck in gear. “Where were you going?”

“Bali,” she said. “Ten days.”

“You needed four bags for ten days?”

“It was my honeymoon. I did a lot of shopping before I left.”

“Hope somebody canceled the trip.”

Didn’t matter. It was a gift from her father. Given his money, that was the last thing he cared about. Forget the
vacation
to Bali. He could have
bought
Bali.

As they drove away, Kari glanced over her shoulder. “What do you think about the condition of my car?”

“Hard to tell until Rick hauls it out. It could be anything from a flat tire and a little body damage to a total loss.”

Kari watched out the window as they sped down the highway through the shadowed trees. Minutes later they rounded a bend and she saw lights up ahead. Soon they passed a sign that read, “Rainbow Valley, Texas.” And beneath that, “Home of the Rainbow Bridge.”

“Rainbow Valley, Texas?” Kari said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Never heard of it. What’s the Rainbow Bridge?”

“Long story. Ask Gus. He loves to tell it.”

“Gus?”

“He and his wife run the bed-and-breakfast I’m taking you to.”

They passed a few farmhouses on the side of the road. The rain had diminished to a heavy drizzle, and up ahead she saw a water tower with the cartoon faces of two dogs and a cat painted on it. Then she saw the street names. Llama Lane. Persian Place. Appaloosa Avenue.

“Why are all the streets named after animals?” she asked.

“Another long story. Gus will oblige.”

Marc slowed his truck and turned onto a street called Rainbow Way. Businesses lined both sides, most of which had begun life as houses and been transformed. They were a mix of architectural styles, or maybe they’d just been added to and subtracted from so much over the years that each one was its own work of art. They were painted fun, cheerful colors. Kari was transfixed. Even through the rain, this place looked delightfully funky, like Oz without the Munchkins. She could only imagine what it looked like on a sunny summer afternoon.