Книга - The Runaway Bride

The Runaway Bride
Patricia Johns


Damsel in distress… or veiled threat?Bernadette Morgan left her cheating fiancé moments before they were supposed to marry in the society wedding of the year. Now she’s stuck in Runt River, Ohio, with a broken-down car and a tattered wedding dress. All she wants is a place to hide. But what she finds are a handsome mechanic, a little boy, and family secrets that could change everything. Because the toddler Liam Wilson's raising is actually her cousin's child. And she'll do anything to protect him from her politically ambitious family, even if that means rejecting the possibility of love with Liam…







Damsel in distress...or veiled threat?

Bernadette Morgan left her cheating fiancé moments before they were supposed to marry in the society wedding of the year. Now she’s stuck in Runt River, Ohio, with a broken-down car and a tattered wedding dress. All she wants is a place to hide. But what she finds are a handsome mechanic, a little boy and family secrets that could change everything. Because the toddler Liam Wilson’s raising is actually her cousin’s child. And she’ll do anything to protect him from her politically ambitious family, even if that means rejecting the possibility of love with Liam...


Bernie looked younger without the makeup.

She had faint freckles spattered across her nose, he noticed for the first time. In that moment under the fluorescent bathroom light, Liam found himself wishing that he could close the distance between them. It would be the most natural thing in the world to slide an arm around her waist and kiss the top of her head. He pulled his thoughts away from the precipice.

Bernie was a part of the cutthroat world he was trying to protect Ike from. One word from her would bring her family’s legal team down on him, and Ike could very quickly be swept away. Attraction shouldn’t factor into this, and entertaining these feelings would only blur his perspective. He needed to be careful. Having the Morgan family’s undivided attention could be a dangerous thing.

Except that he was feeling something for this woman—something he hadn’t felt in a good many years. Was it just that he was lonely, or was it their combined effort in sorting out Ike’s scrapes? Whatever it was, he needed to keep it in check.


Dear Reader (#u90d596ff-cb17-5f31-a66c-b92c58acaf9c),

This book began with an image I had in my mind of a bedraggled bride driving up to a service station in Small Town, USA, in a classic Rolls-Royce. Her makeup would be smeared. Her hair would be a mess. Her dress would be dusty and possibly even a little torn. She’d get out of the car, walk up to the stunned mechanic and say “I can’t believe I made it. It stopped twice on the highway on the way here. Can you take a look?”

But who was she? And what was she doing in Small Town, USA? And if that stunned mechanic happened to marry that bedraggled bride, what a fantastic “how we met” story! A novel was born.

I hope that you enjoy this story as much as I loved writing it. And if you like sweet romance that tugs at the heartstrings, come check out my other novels in Love Inspired and Harlequin Western Romance. All of my books are wholesome, so you can trust them, no matter which line they are published under.

If you’d like to connect with me, you can find me at my blog, patriciajohnsromance.com (http://www.patriciajohnsromance.com), or on Facebook. I’d love to hear from you!

Patricia Johns


The Runaway Bride

Patricia Johns






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


PATRICIA JOHNS writes from Alberta, Canada. She has her honors BA in English literature and currently writes for Harlequin’s Love Inspired, Western Romance and Heartwarming lines. You can find her at patriciajohnsromance.com (http://www.patriciajohnsromance.com).


To my husband, who inspires the romantic in me. And to our little boy, who once upon a time was a toddler who liked to share cookies.


Contents

Cover (#ufe10f9cf-0e16-591f-b485-22f19676e6de)

Back Cover Text (#uc842ee3f-26ca-5056-a4f4-3d8ce1aa7834)

Introduction (#ubc41d4f7-ea8f-5528-8b39-cab68aacee88)

Dear Reader (#u5b969195-51d2-52ec-b0c8-7059d47d24d4)

Title Page (#u12ba772f-4c89-504d-b708-7b072d0fdd85)

About the Author (#u9ae3224f-5ed5-514f-81e3-734920af8e7a)

Dedication (#u358a9692-0cc4-5e08-9a02-034d45a112c5)

CHAPTER ONE (#u6b6c5650-fe2c-596e-b4a1-569771b5391e)

CHAPTER TWO (#ue992f747-4edb-5bdf-ae09-96182f99b38f)

CHAPTER THREE (#u565e1c59-8a64-50a0-9e7e-afc9f241a5f6)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u52e8b1db-162c-5590-8b3c-6efac5b85a7d)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u90d596ff-cb17-5f31-a66c-b92c58acaf9c)

BERNADETTE “BUNNY” MORGAN could hear the murmur of voices from the Manhattan cathedral where her family and friends already waited. Ten minutes from now, she’d be walking down that aisle on her father’s arm to the traditional wedding march. She’d imagined this moment a thousand times since they’d booked the cathedral two years ago. Weddings of this caliber didn’t come together in a heartbeat. Everything from the choice of the groom to the color of the scented beads in the dressing rooms took careful planning.

Each element of this wedding was traditional. It had to be perfect, as her mother so kindly pointed out, since the media would be picking it apart. This wedding would be on all the society pages and blogs...but her mother, Kitty, had taken care of most of those details for her from the flowers adorning the church to the Rolls-Royce they would drive away in. Her father had been less inclined to hand over his antique Rolls, but what Kitty wanted, Kitty got. And Kitty demanded perfection for her daughter’s wedding.

Thankfully.

Bernadette loved that car, and she liked the idea of driving off with Calvin toward the Four Seasons Hotel, their security entourage flanking them. It would be the first glorious foray of Mr. and Mrs. Calvin McMann.

“We want them to think of the Kennedys when you drive off,” her mother had told her. “Regal. American royalty. We might not be there yet, but we can put a picture in their minds. I want them to think Jackie Kennedy. So remember, sweet, demure and classic. Always classic!”

Bernadette twisted her engagement ring on her finger—a princess-cut diamond in a cloud of smaller stones, all set in platinum. It was beautiful, eye-catching and fabric-catching, too. She tugged it free of her gauzy skirt, wincing as she noticed the tiny snag.

Calvin was just down the hall. They’d agreed to have a few moments of private contemplation before the wedding began to calm their nerves, but Bernadette was regretting that now. Her stomach flipped as she paused to look in the mirror one last time. The face that stared back at her, framed in glossy dark waves, looked ashen.

What would Calvin be doing with his “contemplation” time? Practicing his golf swing, no doubt. Calvin McMann was unflappable. Tall, chiseled, tanned—he was perfection in a suit, and whenever she felt doubts nagging, all she had to do was look at him, and she’d remember their carefully orchestrated plans for a successful life together. Calvin McMann was a senator, and the position had settled a certain comfortable confidence onto his shoulders. What she needed right now was to see her fiancé—have him give one of those trademark winks that made him so electable.

“Sweet, demure, classic,” she reminded herself aloud.

Kitty would kill her if she snuck into Calvin’s dressing room. Brides stayed put until they went down the aisle... And heaven help the bride who let her groom see the dress a second too early.

This was stupid! Who really cared if Calvin saw her dress? That was superstition, and this marriage wouldn’t be built on something so flimsy. They were a political team, a financial powerhouse. Love on these levels was 80 percent choice, and she’d made the right one in Calvin McMann...hadn’t she?

Her stomach twisted again. Logically, marrying Calvin made sense. She knew that, but...

Bernadette eased open the door and peeked into the hallway. No one. The bridesmaids were with the photographer out in the church foyer—she could hear the photographer’s instructions. Her mother’s voice could be heard over his, telling Courtney, Bernadette’s maid of honor, to stop “standing there like a common tart,” whatever that meant.

Bernadette’s dress rustled when she moved, so she gathered it in her arms and crept down the hallway toward the room Calvin was using. She’d have knocked if she weren’t afraid of drawing everyone’s attention, so she turned the handle as silently as possible and peeked inside.

It took a moment to make sense of what she saw. She’d been expecting to see Calvin standing alone, fiddling with cuff links or something. Instead, it was a mess of black suit and pink tulle. There was a flash of tanned skin, a swath of blond hair... There were some grunts, a sigh, then she made out Calvin’s tanned hand moving up a white thigh. And suddenly, the whole scene came into focus.

Vivid, ugly focus.

She didn’t feel rage, just numbing shock, and then the sickening sensation that she might vomit. And she saw the truth as clear as day: this was what her married life would look like—a handsome groom satisfying his carnal desires with another woman in the next room.

Bernadette recognized the woman in her fiancé’s arms—it was Calvin’s ex-girlfriend, who was supposed to be in the distant past, or so he claimed. Would Kimberly be a fixture in their marriage, or was this going to be a revolving door? One thing would be expected: she, the dutiful wife, would have to stand there with the grace and dignity of Jackie Kennedy, taking it.

No. That was the first word to pop into her mind as the shock began to fade. No!

She paused for a moment, waiting for hysterics to set in, but they didn’t. She didn’t feel frightened or panicked. She didn’t feel uncontrollable fury. A strange, eerie calm settled over her, and she eased the door shut once more, gathered up her skirts and crept down the back stairs.

“Bunny?” Lanie was one of the junior bridesmaids and one of her second cousins. She stood by the back door, a cigarette in one hand, apparently sneaking a quick smoke before the ceremony began. Bernadette hated that stupid nickname. Her parents had set her up for a lifetime of country clubs and golf courses with that name.

“Hi, sweetie,” Bernadette crooned. “I’m just going to get something from the car.” She put her fingers to her lips in an exaggerated display of secrecy, and her young cousin giggled.

“I’ll hold the door!” Lanie whispered after her.

The car was parked close to the church, ready for their big exit, and Bernadette fished around in her little satin bag for the car key, and pulled it out. Her father might have handpicked her groom, but he wouldn’t trust Calvin with the keys to his favorite car until the vows were final.

She popped the trunk, and looked down at the two suitcases. One was hers, packed with such attention to detail over the past few days, and the other Calvin’s.

“Miss Morgan?” It was the security guard, and he looked suddenly disconcerted. “Or should I say Mrs. McMann?”

He apparently didn’t know if the wedding had happened yet.

“Bunny is fine.” She shot him a reassuring smile, then she paused. “Actually, no. I hate that name. Call me Bernie.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I help you with anything... Bernie?”

“Yes!” She smiled brilliantly and hauled Calvin’s suitcase out of the trunk. “Be a doll and hold this for me, would you?”

The young man stepped forward and took the proffered suitcase, then she slammed the trunk shut and beelined over to the driver’s side. She let herself in, piling her voluminous skirt into her lap, then slammed the door shut and started the car.

“Ma’am?” The security guard started around the car just as she stepped on the gas. “Wait! Miss Morgan! I mean—”

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said, because she was driving at full speed toward the security checkpoint. Uniformed guards scattered like bowling pins as she sailed through and took a squealing turn onto the Manhattan street, narrowly missing a yellow cab. The driver leaned out his window and let out a string of curses that faded away as she accelerated.

She had no idea where she was going—just away. Far away! She’d think this through later. She might have the classic, dark-haired beauty, and she might come from wealth, but she was no Jackie Kennedy.

* * *

LIAM WILSON WIPED his greasy hands on a cloth and tossed it onto his workbench next to the pickup he was working on. It needed another part, and he’d have to order it in. The front garage door was rolled up, allowing a breeze to move through, but the air was still thick with heat. June had warmed up fast, and they looked like they were in for a drought after a winter of not enough snow and a spring with too little rain. That was bad news for surrounding farmers and ranchers, and it would affect everyone. If only the bad news had stopped with the weather.

Liam was trying to keep things “normal” at Runt River Auto—he still had vehicles to fix, after all—but last month normal had taken a backseat when a two-year-old boy with big brown eyes and a mop of dark curls had been delivered to his home by a police cruiser. The officers had said his name was Ike Wilson; the little guy wouldn’t answer any questions. With eyes welling with tears, the boy had simply whispered, “I want Mommy.”

Liam was Ike’s closest relative, even though that situation was about as complicated as it could get. This was his estranged wife’s child—not his. Leanne had been working on Senator Morgan’s campaign when the affair started. Liam had been blind to it all, trying to convince her that they should try adoption since an incredibly rare childhood episode of mumps had left him sterile. The vaccination hadn’t taken for him, and he’d suffered more than the painful illness—he’d also lost his ability to produce children. Leanne had desperately wanted to be pregnant and have a baby of her own. He couldn’t exactly provide that, but he’d wanted a baby just as badly as she did—he was just willing to adopt to make that happen. So when she’d told him that she was pregnant, there’d been no doubt about what that meant.

That was almost three years ago. Liam knew they should have divorced, but there hadn’t seemed to be any urgency, and she’d still been his legal wife at the time of her death in the car accident last month. He was her closest living relative, so Ike came to him—the baby his wife had with Senator Vince Morgan. According to Ohio law, he was Ike’s legal parent unless someone could prove otherwise.

Liam took a swig from a water bottle. He still had no idea how he’d sort all of this out. He obviously couldn’t keep the kid, but he didn’t want to send him off into the child welfare system, either. Liam had grown up in foster care, and he didn’t recommend the experience. So he’d done the only thing he could and called up Lucille Neiman, the kind older woman across the street, and she’d agreed to help out with childcare for a while. He’d just needed time to think. A month later, he was still stumped.

The sound of a faltering engine came rumbling up the street—a sputter, a bang. That was the sound of a customer. He stepped outside and shaded his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sunlight. Runt River Auto sat on a corner just south of the gas station. Travelers with car trouble stopped at the station and got pointed in his direction. About half his business came down that highway.

The car came around the corner, a white antique Rolls-Royce, by the look of it. He blew out a low whistle of appreciation, then squinted to see if he was hallucinating. He could see the driver clearly through the open window—a woman in a wedding dress and a veil, her dark hair disheveled. The car crept up to the sidewalk, let out one last rattling bang, then heaved out a hiss of steam.

Liam headed toward the car just as she pushed open the door and stepped out, jerking a voluminous skirt out after her. Her makeup was streaked from tears, and she batted a curl out of her eyes. The veil was tangled behind her, but it was securely attached to her head by some feminine mystery.

“I can’t believe I made it,” she said. “It started with a clunking noise, and stalled twice along the highway. Can you take a look?”

“Uh—” Liam swallowed. “Sure. Yeah. Sure.”

He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t every day a disheveled bride drove up in a Rolls. He angled his head toward the office.

“Come on inside and I’ll take down your information.”

She crawled back into the car, reaching for something, nothing but that poofy skirt and pale blue shoes visible. Then she emerged again, a small satin purse in her hand, and followed him toward the low, brick building. Liam had worked at this garage since he was a teen, and he’d eventually bought it. And in all the years this place had been in business, Liam was pretty sure this was the first time it had seen a Rolls-Royce and a rumpled bride.

Liam eyed the woman curiously as she passed into the office ahead of him. Her dress had little capped sleeves, and the skirt tumbled around her in waves of rustling fabric. A few stains were visible—a streak of grease, a splotch of dirt. She headed straight for the water cooler.

“I’m so thirsty. I’m starving, too. Is there anything to eat around here?”

Liam looked around helplessly. “Sorry, not really—”

He caught her looking at him with one eyebrow arched incredulously, and he chuckled. “You mean in Runt River. Of course. Yeah. There’s a couple of diners and a hotel. Look, you mind if I ask what happened?”

“I ran out on my wedding.” She drank a paper cup of water and bent to refill it. “That was in New York, and I just kept driving.”

From New York to Ohio—that had been quite the drive. Both of her hands were bare of rings, and the dress was dusty and soiled around the hemline. She drained the second cup of water.

“Do you need to borrow a phone?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve got a cell phone here.” She raised the small purse.

She didn’t offer any more information than that, and Liam watched her for a moment, trying to make sense of this. She was obviously in rough shape. She’d been crying, she was a mess and her car was toast. But that car—it was expensive, perfectly detailed and newly refinished. The motor looked original, though. She either came from money or had her own, he was willing to bet on it. Regardless, her affairs were her business. She was here to have her car fixed, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her because she had money. He did quality work for a fair price—always had and always would.

“Could I get your ID?” he asked, pulling up a form on the computer screen.

She opened the purse and pulled out her driver’s license and passed it over. He looked down at the card and froze. Bernadette Morgan...as in, the Bernadette Morgan of the American political family? Vince Morgan was the senator who’d seduced Leanne, and from what Liam knew, he was Bernadette’s cousin. The Morgan money had funded more than one illustrious political career. The wedding between Bunny Morgan and Calvin McMann had been splashed all over the news for weeks now, and Liam hadn’t been able to completely avoid it, much as he tried. The Morgans left a sour taste in his mouth, but then he had personal reasons for his resentment.

“Bunny Morgan?” he asked cautiously.

“Pleasure to meet you. But I prefer Bernie. And I’d appreciate it if you could keep all of this quiet. The reporters are already hunting for me, I’m sure.”

He wasn’t sure what to think, but while this woman was related to Vince Morgan, she hadn’t been the one to tear his marriage apart. What was he supposed to do, kick her out?

“Are you okay?” he asked at last.

“No.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Not at all.”

Okay, that was fair. He grabbed a box of tissues from under the counter and pushed them in her direction. She took one and wiped her eyes.

“What did he do?” he asked after a moment.

“Who?” she asked.

“What’s his name—the McMann fellow you were supposed to marry.” Avoiding news about the Morgans wasn’t really possible.

“Senator McMann,” she clarified, as if the title were important. She looked like she wasn’t going to say anything more, then she sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I caught him making out with his ex-girlfriend in the room where he was supposed to be getting dressed for the ceremony.”

Ouch. If something were going to end a wedding, that would be it. Looked like Senator McMann and old Vince had their philandering in common, even if they weren’t officially family.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me, too.” She smiled weakly. “But I made it here, and that’s something. I’m looking for my aunt. She’s supposed to live in this town. Her name is Lucille Neiman. Do you know her?”

“Your—” He swallowed. “Lucille is your aunt?”

“Yes...” She cleared her throat. “I don’t really know her myself. I just thought...maybe you could give me her phone number or address?”

Liam had known Lucille since he was a kid, and she was a fixture around Runt River.

“She’s my neighbor. I’ll swing you by when I’ve got all your information and I get the car into the garage,” Liam replied. “I’ve got to head on over there anyway.”

Bernadette Morgan had stumbled into town a month after her two-year-old relative had been left with him. Liam was a practical man, and he didn’t believe in coincidences this huge. Had Lucille called her? Maybe the Morgans would acknowledge the kid after all, and Ike would go to his biological family.

An image rose in his mind of that curly-headed boy, his eyes glistening with tears, whispering those plaintive words, “I want Mommy.” Leanne had died, leaving behind an innocent kid to whom she was the whole world. He’d had a month to get attached to Ike, and caring for him had awakened his fatherly instinct. When Ike had first arrived, Liam had considered what it would mean for the boy to go live with his biological family, and the thought had left him unsettled. Liam knew just how corrupt the Morgans were, and handing an innocent child over to people he didn’t trust—that wasn’t right.

Now, Bernadette Morgan was in town, and while she seemed to be here for totally different reasons, Liam’s suspicions were piqued. Things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.


CHAPTER TWO (#u90d596ff-cb17-5f31-a66c-b92c58acaf9c)

AFTER THE PAPERWORK had been completed and the mechanic pushed Bernie’s car into the garage, he heaved that old door shut again. He stood there in cowboy boots and surprisingly clean blue jeans, squinting slightly in the lowering sun.

“I’ll drive you over, if you want,” he said.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Bernie tried to sound confident, but she didn’t feel it. She’d never met her aunt before, and all she knew was that Lucille had been part of a big family squabble that had started before Bernie was born and had only grown over the years.

The mechanic opened the door of a rusty, old pickup truck, and gestured for her to get in. It was a far cry from the lambskin seats in the Rolls-Royce. Bernie gathered her skirt, then stepped onto the rail to hoist herself into the truck. Was it a good idea to trust a mechanic driving a wreck? That vintage Rolls-Royce was from her father’s personal collection, and if it didn’t come back in mint condition, that vein in his forehead would burst. Mind you, she’d just walked out on the society wedding of the year. That vein had probably already blown.

The mechanic held the door open for her as she clambered up. Her wedding dress was ruined. She plucked at the place where her ring had snagged the gauze. A hole had spread, large enough to poke three fingers through. She’d dreamed about what her wedding day would be like, and nothing like this had ever occurred to her... Right now, if things had unfolded differently, she’d be at her reception, dancing with her handsome groom, making small talk with the who’s who of New York, turning toward camera flashes and cutting cake.

The mental image of Calvin and Kimberly entwined in each other’s arms was sickening...and she couldn’t quite banish it from her head. She’d been numb to the full impact of what she’d seen, but it had slowly hit her as she drove the long stretch between Manhattan and Runt River.

This wasn’t the future they’d all planned: Calvin was going to run for president down the line—he had Bernie’s father’s financial support, the backing of the Republican party and a boyish grin that charmed even the stoutest Democrats. He’d be the first from the Morgan family in the White House if he were elected, and the Morgans wanted this so badly that they salivated.

They’d been trying to get Vince groomed and ready to run for president, but her cousin wasn’t quite clean enough. He’d had too many affairs, hired too many hookers, thinking no one would notice if they left by a back door... Calvin had been a compromise—a senator they could not only get elected, but who could be in the Morgans’ debt by virtue of how much they could do to support his rise to power. As his wife, Bernadette could supervise him... Bernadette wasn’t interested in running for office, but had she been willing, her father would have made ample use of her, too. But all those political plans mattered very little to her right now. She would never be his First Lady, and she sincerely hoped he never made the White House. And how had she not noticed that he was cheating?

“I’m Liam Wilson, by the way,” the mechanic said.

She hadn’t asked, she realized belatedly. She shot him an apologetic smile. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem.” He slammed the door shut behind her and ambled around to the driver’s side. She followed him with her eyes for a few seconds, taking in his relaxed good looks. Where Calvin had been smooth shaven and smooth-talking, this man had stubble on his face and grease-stained hands. The inside of the truck was like a furnace, and sweat sprung up across her forehead. Liam hopped up into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She pushed the button to lower the window, the outside air meeting her face to provide some relief.

“How long will it take to fix my car?” she asked as they snapped their seat belts into place.

“I’ll have to look at it, see what parts we need and then order them.”

That didn’t sound quick. “So how long is that?”

He shot her a dry look. “Can’t say yet. I’ll get started first thing in the morning. If you don’t want me to work on it, you can always call for a tow to take you back to New York.”

No, she didn’t want that in the least.

“I’ll wait,” she said. But if he thought he was going to drag this out for money, she had lawyers who could end his business in a matter of days.

“You said you’ve never met your aunt?” he asked as he backed the truck out of the parking space.

“No. She’s always been distanced from the family, so I never got the chance.”

“So she didn’t call you?” he asked.

“Call me?” She frowned. “We’ve never even spoken. Why?”

“Nothing.” He put the truck into Drive and pulled onto the road.

This town was miniscule, and the fact that people actually lived in a place like this was mystifying. Compared to New York’s bustle, the three or four cars along this street were kind of eerie—like a Walking Dead episode. But even that didn’t make her want to head back to New York right away. The big city also held the wedding she’d run from. She closed her eyes, trying to dissipate the anxiety that bubbled up inside her. Her parents were already furious, as the McMann family would be. She’d talked to her parents briefly—long enough to have them order her to return and for her to tell them it wasn’t happening—and then she’d turned off her phone. She couldn’t deal with their anger right now, especially when it was all aimed at her instead of her cheating fiancé. She didn’t much care what Calvin thought; he could go rot somewhere, for all she was concerned.

The newspapers, the magazines, network news channels...they’d have a field day with this. How long had it taken before people figured out the bride was missing? Probably not too long. The security detail would have made sure of that. But thanks to Kitty’s tireless PR work, no fewer than four newspapers and two bridal magazines would have been there to record the catastrophe.

New York traffic had been miserable, as it always was, but luckily an angry bride shaking her fist out the window blended right in in New York. She hadn’t called her parents until she hit open road, and by that time, Milhouse and Kitty Morgan were beyond tender concern and had gone straight to irate shouting.

Should she call them now? They’d be worried sick. Also furious, and she had no desire to bring her father’s security detail over to this tiny town to hustle her back home. She was thirty, not a child...and yet she was plenty old enough to know that her family’s power lay in more than simple wealth. Their influence was political, and politics required kid gloves with everything...including cheating fiancés.

“Runt River is pretty small,” Liam was saying, and she dragged her attention back to the present. “I think our population is seven hundred now—we hovered at 698 for about three years before some babies were born.”

He looked over at her, and she thought she caught some humor in his half smile. He looked kind, and after the day she’d had, she was grateful for a little bit of kindness.

“So why are you here?” she asked.

“I’ve lived here most of my life.” He shrugged. “It’s home.”

“And you have enough business around here?” she asked dubiously. This was her education in marketing and economics shining through.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “I’m the only garage in Runt River, and then there are people coming down the highway who have engine trouble. There are garages in nearby towns, but those are far enough away that I do okay.”

“That’s a good setup,” she said with a nod. “A cozy little local monopoly. I like it.”

“I can’t complain.” He glanced in her direction again, and she noticed a new sparkle of respect in his eye. Most people didn’t expect her to care about anything beyond fashion and brunch, but she was no vapid socialite. Bernadette was the future owner and CEO of her father’s businesses—a responsibility she didn’t take lightly.

It was a relief to be so far away from New York and the pressures there, but she was nervous about meeting Lucille. She’d heard the stories. Lucille was her father’s sister, and apparently, there had been no love lost between them. She’d married some guy named Arnie Neiman—someone desperately below her—and settled into Nowhere, USA. But there was more to that story—one Bernie had managed to piece together over the years. The whole estrangement had been about a three-carat engagement ring that had belonged to a grandmother. She’d verbally promised the ring to her grandson, Milhouse, after he’d sweet talked her into it. Lucille had already turned down two very charming marriage prospects, and Grandma was planning on proving her displeasure by changing the will, but then died before she had the chance. The will left the ring to Lucille, and Lucille wouldn’t part with it. And a feud was born. It was ridiculous. A three-carat ring was a nice size, but it wasn’t exactly unattainable. Bernie’s own engagement ring was probably worth more. Milhouse had bought Kitty plenty of bigger diamonds over the years, so why let a three-carat ring come between siblings? That was why she’d decided to come out here to find Lucille—she might be the only person who understood her instinct to run like heck. Still, Bernie had never met her aunt, and she was curious...who was this woman who kept a ring and cut out the rest of her family?

“What’s my aunt like?” she asked.

Liam was silent for a few beats. “Lucille is kind. A good neighbor. Honest.”

“But you didn’t know she was a Morgan,” she countered. “Are you sure she’s that honest?” The mechanic’s description didn’t match what she’d heard about her aunt.

“I haven’t heard her side of it yet,” Liam replied. “So I’m reserving judgment.”

That was new—who did that these days, reserving judgment on another person’s failings? No one she knew personally. Apparently, Aunt Lucille had some loyal friends.

Runt River’s downtown consisted of a few stores—a ranch supply store, a burger joint, an ice cream shop, a drugstore—and only one stoplight that Bernie could see. Most vehicles seemed to be pickup trucks that parked in the angled spots in front of stores, their tails hanging out into the road. Downtown came and went in the space of two streets, and then they turned on to a street of houses. These were decent-sized, well-maintained, with large yards and mature trees. In New York, they’d be worth a couple million, but out here in Runt River, Ohio, they would probably sell for pocket change.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling into the drive of a large white house. An older woman sat on the porch, a toddler beside her eating crackers out of a box she held in her lap. The little guy was cute—with the biggest brown eyes she’d ever seen.

Was that her aunt?

Bernie couldn’t make out any of the Morgan traits in the older woman. She was gray—what woman let herself go gray in their family?—and she carried some extra weight. She wore a flower-patterned summer dress, and her hair was cut in a chin-length bob—just a touch of fashionableness. The older woman squinted when she spotted Bernie in the front seat, then leaned forward.

Liam got out of the truck, and looked back at Bernie. She slowly pushed the door open and raised a hand in a tentative wave.

“Hi, Lucille,” Liam said. “I’ve got someone here who says she knows you.”

Lucille stood up and fixed Bernie with a shocked expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting married?”

Bernie’s hand flew up to the veil still affixed to her hair with clips and pins. The stylist had promised that it would stay put, and that was no lie.

“That was the plan,” Bernie replied, gathering her skirt up into her arms again. Liam had the decency to come over and offer her a hand as she climbed down so that she didn’t land flat on her face.

Lucille came down the steps, the toddler staying on the porch with the box of crackers, and she stopped a couple of feet away from Bernie, looking her over carefully.

“You’re Bernadette, aren’t you?” Lucille asked softly. She’d called her by her full name, and a place in Bernie’s heart warmed at that.

“Yes.”

“Did you marry him?”

Bernie blinked. “No. I...didn’t.”

Lucille nodded twice, then turned and headed back toward the porch.

“Come on in, then,” Lucille called over her shoulder. “I imagine you’ve got lots of questions, and so do I. You, too, Liam. We’d better sort this out.”

* * *

IKE STOOD ON the porch, a cracker in one hand, crumbs all over his fingers. He wore a new outfit—shorts that were long enough to be pants on him, and a too-small T-shirt. Lucille must have dug them up from somewhere. Liam was grateful for Lucille—she’d stepped in when he was fresh out of ideas—but even she didn’t seem to be enough for the little guy. Ike’s eyes were filled with grief, his little mouth pursed into a rosebud. He looked more like a Morgan to Liam. The curls, the eyes...

He misses Leanne.

And Liam couldn’t fix that one. He’d spent the last three years missing her, too, on some level or other. He’d known it was over when she left him, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about her at the strangest times. They’d been married, after all. That had meant something—to him, at least.

Ike trotted over in Liam’s direction and held up a soggy, half-eaten cracker.

“Share,” Ike whispered.

Liam bent down and picked up the toddler, turning his face away from the proffered cracker.

“No, thanks, buddy,” he said. “Maybe later.”

Ike smiled, a tiny uplifting of the corners of his pink mouth. That was the closest thing to a smile Liam had seen from the kid, and he felt gratified. He’d wanted this so badly—to be a dad to someone—that holding Leanne’s son was both painful and a relief at once.

Lucille led the way into the house and Bernie followed, her dress dragging along the carpet behind her. The screen door banged shut behind them. The suitcase, which Liam had retrieved from the trunk of the Rolls, was still in the back of the pickup truck, and he idly wondered when Bernie was going to want to change out of that soiled wedding dress.

“Did you have a nice day?” Liam asked Ike. What would nice even be like for a two-year-old who’d lost his mother and was now with a bunch of strangers? He remembered what that had felt like when he was a kid in the foster system, and it hadn’t been warm and fuzzy.

Ike stared at him mutely, then leaned forward and rested his head against Liam’s shoulder, and the little body deflated in a long sigh.

“That bad, huh?” Liam murmured. He patted the boy’s back and followed Bernie into the kitchen where Lucille was pouring tall glasses of iced tea.

“So you’re my aunt, then?” Bernie asked, accepting a glass.

“I am.” Lucille held up a glass toward Liam, and he shook his head. She put it onto the table, paused, then turned to him. “I didn’t lie... I just didn’t mention my family. They cut me off. I have no access to their fortune or their influence. I had to start fresh. Alone.”

Liam nodded slowly. Except that for the entire time he’d been nursing his heartbreak over Leanne’s affair, she’d never once even hinted that the Senator Morgan who stole his wife was part of her family. She’d acted as cool as anyone else—a distanced stranger from that set of powerful politicos in New York.

“It wasn’t a lie,” she repeated.

“Okay.” What else could he say? She’d certainly not told the whole truth, though.

“And what brings you to Runt River?” Lucille asked her niece. “I mean, besides the obvious run out on your wedding.”

“You.”

Bernie plucked at the veil affixed atop her head, and Lucille stepped closer and began pulling out pins and clips, dropping them onto the tabletop in a small pile.

“I had no idea you even knew I was here.” Lucille dropped another couple of pins onto the table and pulled the last of the veil away from Bernadette’s hair. Bernie ran a hand through her dark tresses as if in relief.

“You’re the only Morgan not at the wedding.” Bernie smiled wanly. “So really, you were my last hope...dressed like this, at least. I was just focused on getting out of there, and I didn’t even want to stop and get changed. Someone would have spotted me. I could have hopped on a plane and gone somewhere sunny, I guess, but not without my passport. And I wanted—”

“Family,” Lucille concluded.

“Yes.”

“And little Ike there had nothing to do with this?” Lucille asked, her expression hardening.

“What?” Bernie shot a confused look between them. “The boy? Why would he? Whose is he?”

“Mine, for the time being,” Liam said. How much did they want to tell this woman about his private business? Ike was looking at Bernie fixedly now, leaning toward her so that Liam had to tighten his grip to keep the kid from dropping out of his arms. He knew what Ike was seeing—a woman about his mother’s age with the same dark hair and flawless complexion. The same things that made Liam wary were comforting to this little guy.

“Leanne Wilson,” Lucille said. Bernie didn’t even flinch.

“Who is that?”

“My late wife,” Liam replied.

“Ah.” Bernie frowned. “You two are acting like the name should mean something to me.”

“Doesn’t it?” Lucille pressed.

“No.” She shook her head. “I came here because I thought you, of all people, might actually understand what I was going through. I just walked away from the political marriage of the decade. I thwarted my parents’ plans that go a whole lot further than a simple wedding. There aren’t a lot of people who would understand what that means, and since you’ve gone head-to-head with my dad, I thought you’d get it. Maybe I made a mistake.” She licked her lips. “Liam, if you’d be so kind as to take me to a hotel or something, I’ll sort myself out.”

“No, no...” Lucille sighed. “You’ll stay here with me, of course.”

Ike squirmed, and Liam set him down on the ground. He toddled straight to Bernie and looked up at her. Bernie’s face softened into a smile.

“Hi there, little guy. What’s your name?”

“Share?” Ike held up the sodden cracker.

“Mmm.” She pretended to take a bite. “Yummy.”

That seemed to be the response that Ike was looking for, because he grinned and shoved his cracker toward her again.

“Share?”

Ike had smiled—not just a hint of a one, a real smile. Liam wasn’t going to cut it, was he? This kid needed a mom who knew how to play his games, how to coax an honest smile out of him. He’d had Ike for a month already, and he still hadn’t managed that.

“What’s his name?” she repeated, looking up at Liam, her expression still softened by her game with Ike. She was beautiful, and he was irritated to be noticing that right now.

“This is Ike,” Liam said. “I’m his legal guardian.”

“Oh.” She frowned, seeming to be adding it all up. “So, he’s your late wife’s son...”

“We were estranged,” Liam said. “She moved out three years ago, so Ike is hers...and no, I’m not the dad.”

“So it’s complicated, then,” she confirmed.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Do you know who his father is?” she asked, running a hand through the boy’s hair. Ike leaned his head into her hand.

“Yep,” Liam said. He wasn’t ready to get into that with Bernadette. The last thing they needed was a posse of lawyers from New York descending upon them. What Liam needed was some time and space to keep thinking. Lucille followed his lead and remained silent.

Color rose in Bernadette’s face, and she shrugged. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. He’s a sweetie.” She paused, then looked at Ike a little closer. “Did you say Leanne Wilson?”

Liam suppressed a sigh. This was what he’d been waiting for—for her to connect the dots.

“That’s right,” he said.

“I’d hate to suggest something untoward—” She winced. “There was a woman caught up in a scandal with my cousin Vince.”

“That would be her,” Liam said. Leanne had stayed out of the news, but the couple of times that Liam had talked to her, she’d mentioned how hard it was to have her silence purchased. The lawyers had swarmed her, and she’d been worried about all the papers she’d signed.

“So Ike—” Bernie looked down at the toddler more pointedly. “Ike is Vince’s son?”

Liam didn’t need to answer, because when she looked up and met his gaze, she heaved a sigh.

“Obviously, Vince didn’t acknowledge him,” she surmised. “And he wouldn’t.”

“Has he done this before?” Liam asked. “Get a woman pregnant and pay her to keep her mouth shut?”

Bernie shot him a tight smile. Liam had doubted that she’d admit to any of that. Senators had to keep big secrets if they wanted to stay in their jobs. They were all silent for a few beats.

“I think I’d count as an aunt, then, wouldn’t I? Sort of...” She ruffled Ike’s hair. “I’m technically a second cousin, but I think he could call me Auntie.”

Liam exchanged a look with Lucille. This was quickly getting into dangerous territory. He didn’t know what he wanted to do exactly, but he didn’t want a Morgan bonding with Ike, getting attached.

“We’d appreciate it if you could be discreet,” Liam said.

“What do you want?” Bernie asked. “Money? For Vince to acknowledge Ike as his?”

Money? That was what she thought of when she saw an orphaned child? But then, she came from a different world. He was worried about keeping the kid out of the foster system. She seemed more worried about lawsuits.

“I don’t need anyone’s money,” Liam retorted. “Nor do I want it. I’m doing just fine. But I’d like a bit of time to think this through. I want what’s best for the kid. I have no intention of making anyone acknowledge him if they don’t want to.”

In fact, he hadn’t even considered that option. That would make little Ike nothing more than a pawn. The boy needed a family to raise him with love, not to treat him like a problem to be solved, a political liability. The kid needed a childhood—sprinklers in summer, sleds in winter, maybe even a dog—not to be known as a politician’s illegitimate child.

“Sorry...” She sighed. “I get this is difficult.”

“You have no idea,” Liam muttered.

“Well, we all seem to want the same thing,” she said. “A bit of quiet so that we can think.” Ike tugged at Bernie’s dress, and she picked him up and cuddled him close. “I just ran out on the wedding of the century, and my family is furious. You’ve got this little guy to consider. So maybe we can agree to discretion all round.”

“Deal,” Liam said.

Could he trust her? He didn’t have a whole lot of choice, but of one thing he was certain: Ike needed to come first. If that meant he ended up with his relatives, or if he stayed with Liam, the priority had to be what was best for this little boy.

He’s not yours, Liam reminded himself. But without Leanne, this boy needed someone tough enough to look out for his interests, and Liam would be that person. There was no way he was tossing this kid into the foster system or into a family of political jackals. Even if Bernie seemed sweet right now, he wasn’t fooled. She came from a different world than he did, where the Morgans were near the top of the food chain, and ordinary Joes like him were nothing more than scenery.

Ike put the last of his cracker into his mouth, followed by his thumb. And for the first time since he’d arrived, the little guy looked comforted as he rested his head on Bernie’s shoulder.

* * *

THAT EVENING, BERNIE sat on Lucille’s couch in a borrowed bathrobe, since the clothes she’d packed were more fitting for a Caribbean honeymoon. At least she had a few outfits to wear, and she was mildly proud of herself for having had the forethought to dump Calvin’s suitcase in the parking lot when she made her escape. It was strange, the things that felt like victories now, like saving her tears for when she was alone on the highway.

If she hadn’t found Calvin halfway down Kimberly’s throat, she’d be Mrs. McMann... Instead of sitting on her aunt’s faded couch, she’d be strolling down a moonlit beach with a handsome husband. She hadn’t been head over heels in love with him, but she had loved him. She wasn’t some kind of heartless robot who married a man for nothing more than political ambitions. She’d been willing to build on the love they had, and hopefully as the years passed, their feelings for each other would have grown and deepened. Apparently, he hadn’t been able to wait.

How long had he been cheating? She’d known that Calvin had been quite serious about Kimberly before they were introduced, but he’d assured Bernie that it was over—completely. She knew that his decision to marry her had been largely political. He wanted to be president, and a wife was a big part of the campaign. Kimberly wasn’t First Lady material. She wasn’t senator’s wife material, either, in Bernie’s humble opinion. But it was possible to make the wise choice in mate and still feel affection. Had he kept up with Kimberly all along, or had this been a final goodbye of some sort? What did Kimberly have that Bernie didn’t that drew Calvin in like that?

It didn’t matter—cheating was cheating. Bernadette had expected fidelity in their marriage, and Calvin had wholeheartedly agreed. The less to hide the better, he’d said. And if she wasn’t sure how well she could trust his love for her, she could definitely trust his ambition. And they both knew that in order to get where they wanted to go, fidelity was imperative. She’d never be able to trust him again after what she’d witnessed. But she still wanted to know. Blast it, how could he be making out with Kimberly mere minutes before he was supposed to be saying his vows? What kind of man did that?

Bernie leaned her head back. Her life had been so carefully planned. She was going to marry Calvin, and they were going to make their bid for the White House. Bernadette would learn the family business for when she eventually took over from her father, and one day when Calvin’s presidency was behind them, they’d run the Morgan dynasty together. And perhaps she’d been naïve, but she’d honestly believed that she was beautiful and intelligent enough to capture her husband’s heart. The flames to their romance might have been fanned with money, but she’d expected monogamy. But now everything—absolutely everything—was going to be different. And that included her running the Morgan family business, because she’d just infuriated her father so badly that he might very well change his mind. She passed a hand over her face.

Liam had taken Ike back to his place across the street earlier in the evening. That mechanic had been kind to her. Heaven knew how crazy she’d looked when she’d driven up. After he and the toddler had left, she’d gone to the washroom and seen herself in the mirror for the first time; it wasn’t a pretty sight. She had makeup streaked down her face from crying, her hair was in tangles, and the dress was dusty and torn.

She’d wrestled her way out of the dress—popping a few buttons and managing to tear the skirt even further—and then sat on the closed toilet lid and had a good cry.

Vince’s wife, Tabby, was used to this. Vince had always had some girl on the side—that was just the way he was.

But Bernie wasn’t as tough as Tabby was. She couldn’t stand next to Calvin in a campaign, declaring him to be twice the man he really was. She wasn’t that good a liar, and she didn’t care to be.

“Hot chocolate?”

Bernie roused herself from her thoughts, and looked up to find her aunt standing in front of her, a cup of frothy cocoa in her hands.

“Thanks.” Bernie took the mug with a grateful smile. “I haven’t had unnecessary calories in five months in order to fit into that stupid dress.”

“Then time to make up for it,” Lucille replied with a low laugh, sinking onto the sofa beside her. “I’ve got pie in the kitchen, too.”

Bernie took a sip. “I couldn’t do what Tabby does.”

“Vince’s wife?” Lucille asked. “How do you think she’ll react if she finds out about Ike?”

Bernie shook her head, then glanced out the living room window again toward Liam’s house. “She probably already knows.”

Tabby was the genius behind Vince’s political campaigns. She acted meek, beaming up at her tall, meaty husband, but somehow she’d managed to disconnect her heart from the game. How did a woman do that? How did she support a man whom she knew was a cheater?

“You aren’t like her,” Lucille concluded.

“No,” Bernie replied. “I’m not. I couldn’t just stand there and pretend everything was perfectly fine when it wasn’t. I actually thought Calvin would be faithful.”

“I’m glad you came,” Lucille said with a sympathetic smile. “And I’m glad you aren’t that good an actress. It says something about you that you can’t fake it.”

“My parents wouldn’t agree with that,” she replied in a low voice.

“What did they tell you about me?” Lucille asked. There was tension in her voice, and she looked away.

“Oh, you don’t want to know that.” Bernie laughed uncomfortably. Her father had never had anything good to say about his sister.

“No, I do.” Lucille looked back. “I always hoped your dad would come around one day and make contact. He never did. Then I hoped that you’d get curious about your aunt...”

“Why didn’t you come around?” Bernie asked.

“I wasn’t welcome. I was also a little scared. I didn’t know what he’d told you.”

Bernie grimaced. “He said you were a social and political liability.”

That was the kind way of putting it. What her father had actually said was that Lucille was low-class, and even with money, she acted like a poor person with nothing to lose. He said she was grasping and selfish, and he suspected that she had some untreated mental illness.

“My father told me about your grandmother’s engagement ring,” Bernie said after a moment. “Is that really what started this whole feud—a ring?”

“It was more than a ring.” Lucille’s mouth turned downward, and she fell silent.

“What was it?” Bernie pressed.

Lucille heaved a sigh. “It was your father’s domineering ways. He didn’t ask me for the ring, he demanded it. He told me that unless I came with a sincere apology for my insulting behavior and the ring, then I was dead to him.”

“And you couldn’t do it.”

“I had my pride,” she replied. “I still do. He demanded that I genuflect like the household help, tug at my cap like a chauffeur. He’d inherited the whole shebang, and I was slotted in below him. He liked that role—ruling us all. And I didn’t.”

Bernadette could understand that, actually. Her father was a prideful man, and he took his position in society and in the family very seriously—perhaps more seriously than anyone else did. A lot of people would have complied with that demand, but they weren’t his sister.

“I get it,” Bernie said. “But you walked away from an awful lot of money.”

“I still get my lifelong allowance from my father’s inheritance,” Lucille replied. “It’s enough to live on now that Arnie’s gone. I didn’t walk away from that. I walked away from the duties, the social obligations. I walked away from the houses that would be paid for by my brother—and all the strings that came with them. I refused to be handled. And Milhouse wouldn’t bend. So—” She spread her hands. “It is what it is.”

She’d refused to be handled. Bernie had just done the same thing when she’d turned off her phone and driven west. Her parents had always “handled” her, and until today, she’d never minded. She’d done her duty, shown up at cocktail parties and dinners and made nice with various politicians. She was a general media favorite, and she liked the attention.

But now she wouldn’t do what they wanted. She wouldn’t smile for the press and say something sweet and submissive like, “Calvin and I are so sorry to disappoint everyone today, but we’ve done some soul-searching together, and we really feel...”

That would be a lie. They’d done zero soul-searching, least of all together, and she wasn’t going to stand there, making the cad look like a decent man to protect his ambitions.

“I think I want some of that pie,” Lucille said, rising to her feet. “I’ll bring you a piece.”

Looking around that living room, Bernadette saw the worn patches on the sofa, the slightly shabby furniture, her aunt’s wide hips and grubby slippers. Lucille had walked away from the obligations and social demands that came with wealth and a privileged family, and she’d landed here, in a town called Runt River. Here, in the midst of ordinary. There were no maids or housekeepers. Everything looked faded and worn instead of chic and elegant. Personal indulgence came in the form of a mug of hot chocolate made from a pouch of powder, instead of European truffles or a crystal dish of chocolate mousse. Gone were the luxuries and comforts Bernadette had been accustomed to, because with a similar sense of outrage and commitment to utter truthfulness, Bernadette had done the same thing her aunt had done—defied Milhouse Morgan.

What have I done?


CHAPTER THREE (#u90d596ff-cb17-5f31-a66c-b92c58acaf9c)

IT WAS THREE in the morning, and Liam stood in the middle of his living room in a pair of pajama bottoms and an undershirt, with Ike screaming in his arms. When Leanne died, he’d gone down to her apartment and gotten Ike’s things—toys, clothes, diapers. Her parents had died years ago, and she had a cousin who had some addiction issues, but no one else. Liam hadn’t put together a funeral. Leanne had been cremated, and he’d sprinkled her ashes in a field.

She hadn’t owned her home or anything like that, so besides paying off her credit cards, there hadn’t been too much to deal with. He’d left the last of her things in the apartment for the landlords to clear out. It might not have been their job, but he’d done as much as he could with the help of his foster brother, Tim. He couldn’t face any more.

A few local moms had dropped off some hand-me-down clothes for Ike over the past few weeks, but the boy was wearing pajamas with trains on them that Liam had brought from the apartment. They were a bit small, but he seemed to sense that they were part of his life with his mom, and he wouldn’t wear anything else. Liam didn’t push the matter. The poor boy had enough change to deal with.

Ike’s face was wet with tears, and his crying hadn’t slowed. They’d both been up for an hour already.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, raising his voice above Ike’s wails. “Let’s talk about this.”

Ike didn’t seem so inclined, and Liam heaved a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, looking for his own calm. He understood Ike’s anger—his mom was gone, and he was with a bunch of strangers who couldn’t possibly make up for her absence. But Liam was trying.

For the past month, Ike had responded to being held, liked some stories. Liam had let Ike stay awake in front of the TV until he dropped off in exhaustion and slept through until daybreak. But tonight was different—something had triggered a meltdown, and Liam couldn’t help but wonder if it had been Bernie’s arrival. Ike had been raised without a father, and maybe right now he needed a woman’s touch.

Ike’s sobs weren’t abating. His hands were bunched into rage-filled fists, and he stiffened like a board as he howled.

“Hey, buddy...” Liam looked across the street, and there was a light on in the kitchen at Lucille’s place. That meant she was up, and he wouldn’t be imposing. Not too much, at least. Lucille had been here for him for all the bumps this month, and while he always swore he wouldn’t impose again, he always did. He picked up the cordless phone and dialed his neighbor’s number. It rang twice before a female voice picked up.

“Hello?” She sounded cautious, and was barely audible above Ike’s crying, but Liam could tell it wasn’t Lucille.

“It’s Liam, across the street,” he said.

“Hi, it’s Bernadette. Is the little guy okay?”

“Not really. I can’t seem to calm him down. I was trying to reach Lucille to see if she’d give me a hand. Is she up?”

“No, just me. Don’t worry. I’ll be right over.”

Liam blinked at the phone when he realized she’d hung up, not giving him a chance to decline. Not that he wanted to, exactly. He needed help; Ike needed help. He’d just preferred that help from the neighbor he knew.

“Come on, Ike,” Liam pleaded. “I know you’re upset...”

He really had nothing to offer, though. He couldn’t bring Leanne back—and maybe Bernie had reminded him of her. But something suddenly occurred to him.

There was a knock on the front door, and Liam pulled it open to see Bernadette standing there in a white terry cloth housecoat. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and she looked like a different woman from the tattered bride of earlier. Ike blinked at the new arrival in surprise, his howls stopped for the moment.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said softly. “Hug?”

Ike reached for Bernie, and she took the toddler into her arms, snuggling him close. Seriously? How did she do that? He’d been hugging the kid all evening, and again ever since he’d woken up at two in the morning. How did she simply show up and make it all okay? He resented that. He was the one Ike had, and he was doing his best, but tonight it wasn’t enough.

“If you could just hold him for a couple minutes, I have an idea,” Liam said.

He didn’t wait for an answer, he just walked away, his nerves completely frazzled. A crying kid was difficult in a way he’d never imagined before. Somehow, he hadn’t thought parenthood would be like this.

Liam opened the door that led to the basement stairs and flicked on the light. He’d shoved all the pictures of Leanne into boxes after she’d left and dumped them down here. He’d added the few boxes of personal items he’d taken from Leanne’s apartment after she’d died. He’d meant to go through it all eventually, but there hadn’t been time. While pictures of his estranged wife didn’t do much to comfort him, they might help Ike.

He had to rummage through a few boxes before he found what he was looking for—a framed photo of Leanne smiling into the camera. He’d taken it the summer before she left him. She’d probably already started her affair with the senator at that point.

He headed back up the stairs, and when he came into the living room, he found Bernie seated on the couch, Ike leaning his tear-stained face against her shoulder, his breaths coming in shuddering gasps.

“I brought something for you, Ike,” Liam said. “It’s a picture of Mommy. Do you want it?”

He held it up for the boy to see, and Ike stretched out one pudgy hand and pulled the picture against his chest. Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn’t, but he had to try. Liam was most definitely out of his depth here.

“So that’s her.” Bernadette craned her neck to get a glimpse of the photo.

“Yup.”

He couldn’t explain the pain attached to that photo. He’d still thought he had a happy marriage at that point, totally oblivious to the fact that her new interest in politics had more to do with the senator himself than with his political platforms. And he’d held on to that photo because deep down, he’d always hoped that she’d come back. She’d married Liam. The senator hadn’t left his wife. So maybe she’d come back eventually.

Some days he imagined her coming back to him and settling back in again, happy to have a decent, hardworking man instead of some philandering politician. Other days, he imagined getting the chance to tell her exactly what she’d lost, and he’d do the rejecting. The fantasies depended on his mood, but he still hoped she’d come back.

Obviously, she never had.

He leaned back, rubbing his hands across his face. How did Bernie manage to look so fresh in the middle of the night?

“Why are you up?” he asked.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She smoothed a hand over Ike’s sweat-damp curls. “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday.”

Yeah, that also made sense. He felt a wave of sympathy. He’d been dealing with Leanne’s betrayal for three years; she’d only started with Calvin’s.

“Did you see it coming?” Liam asked. “The cheating, I mean.”

She shook her head. “No. That’s the thing. I didn’t notice at all...until the last minute, that is.”

“That was the same for me,” he admitted. “I thought she was just really into politics. I didn’t know there was a problem until she told me she was pregnant and she was leaving me.”

“So there’s a chance Ike is yours?” she asked.

He wished. If he’d been the father, maybe it would have changed things for Leanne. Maybe she’d have seen something worth staying for.

“No. I can’t have kids.” That was uncomfortable to talk about, but it was the truth. When Leanne had announced her pregnancy, it had been like a kick in the stomach. He knew what it meant, and she’d been holding a suitcase at the time. He’d begged her to stay. They could figure it out. But she didn’t want to, and she’d walked out to the waiting cab.

“Do you still miss her?” Bernie asked quietly.

“Sure.” He nodded. “I guess I miss what we had—what I thought we had. We’d both changed over the last three years, so I doubt we’d ever have been compatible again, even if she’d lived.”

“Hmm.”

Bernie looked like she wanted to cry, but she was holding it back. Her eyes got misty, and she pressed her lips together.

“You want to know how long this is going to hurt, don’t you?” Liam asked.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

She was just at the beginning, and he knew exactly what that felt like—like being gutted and left alive.

“It’ll hurt for a while. But it’ll get better and easier. Some days you’ll forget. And guaranteed, the days you actually forget him are the ones he’ll call you up and remind you of his existence.”

“Did Leanne do that a lot?”

Leanne had never fully gotten over Liam, either, it seemed. She’d call about twice a year just to see how he was doing and tell him she missed him... That was hardest. It brought him right back to the starting line again for a day or so. For the first year, she seemed to believe that Vince would leave his wife since he was financially supporting Leanne, but then the senator must have tired of her, because he told her straight that he wasn’t leaving his wife and kids. His career depended upon his honesty and his credibility. At that point, Liam and Leanne had discussed possibly reconciling, but that hadn’t been possible. He couldn’t do it. There was no going back to blissful ignorance.

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

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

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

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

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

“Because my parents will side with Calvin.”

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

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

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

“What business is your dad in, exactly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll show you the way,” Liam said.

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

“Sure,” she said. “Lead the way.”

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

“Hi, Dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I couldn’t have.”

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

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

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

“You aren’t helping.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Runt River, Ohio.”

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

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

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

“She’s pretty harmless, Dad.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you threaten me.”

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

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

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

Except that Liam trusts her.

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

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

After their goodbyes, she ended the call and got out of bed. She needed to get dressed and face the day. One step at a time.

There was a tap on her door.

“Yes?”

“Everything okay?” her aunt asked.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Lucille peered at her cautiously, a folded, faded towel in her hands. “Sorry about the thin walls. Was that your father?”

So her aunt had heard that conversation? Bernie was used to more privacy than this.

“Yes.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Aunt Lucille, could you tell me something?”

“Sure.” Lucille deposited the towel on the top of the dresser.

“Why not just give my father the ring?” she asked. “It’s been, what, thirty-five years?”

“Forty,” her aunt countered. “And for the record, he didn’t want the ring to propose to your mother. This was before he met her. He wanted it to propose to one of the kitchen workers in our family’s home. Everyone was against it—even the girl’s family. It’s rather ironic that he had such a problem with Arnie, and he was a lawyer! Just not blue enough blood.”

Her father had wanted to marry the kitchen help? That didn’t sound like the Milhouse Morgan who hardly knew the names of the squadron of people who kept his home immaculate.

“And you were against that engagement, too,” Bernie surmised.

“They were all wrong for each other.” Lucille shrugged. “And she was after the money.”

“Oh.” All this time, she’d imagined that ring belonged on her mother’s finger, but the story was never quite what it seemed. “So why not give it to him now?”

Lucille was silent for a moment, then a small smile tickled the corners of her lips. “Because I don’t want to.”

Bernie stared at her aunt in surprise. That was it? She didn’t want to? A country of politicians pandered for her father’s support, and this one stubborn woman could thwart him with a whim? Laughter bubbled up inside her, and she shook her head.

“Okay, then,” she said.

“The towel is for your shower.” Her aunt turned back toward the hallway again. “The hot and cold are switched, and it takes a few minutes for the water to warm up. Not what you’re used to, I’m sure, but it does the trick.”

None of this was what Bernie was accustomed to, but she couldn’t help but feel mildly envious of the aunt who got to do what she wanted to and felt no obligation to the Morgan family.

But what did Bernadette want? She wanted to get to know this aunt who held odd family secrets, and she wanted to hide from all the fallout of her failed wedding. And now that she’d met Ike, she wanted to get to know this tiny Morgan who had lost his mother too early.

Family had to be about more than influence and politics, didn’t it?


CHAPTER FOUR (#u90d596ff-cb17-5f31-a66c-b92c58acaf9c)

IKE REFUSED ALL the breakfast options Liam had offered him the next morning. Liam was starting to get better at buying foods Ike would eat. So far, the kid was a fan of macaroni and cheese, toast, yogurt and scrambled eggs—but only if the eggs were room temperature and the perfect fluffiness.

He’d also been known to eat a banana, but only if it was just a smidge shy of being ripe. Five minutes past Ike’s liking, and he’d calmly walk to the couch and dump the banana onto it—his version of the garbage, it seemed. A lot of things ended up on the couch—apple slices, toast that was cut diagonally, grapes that were too soft, grapes that were too hard, the half of a cookie that got soggy in his hand... He was a picky kid.

When Liam finally brought Ike across the street to Lucille’s, Ike looked up at the older woman with big, unblinking eyes and whispered “Hungry...” in a tone so plaintive anyone would think he was kept in a cage in the basement, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The twin-size mattress on the floor in Liam’s bedroom was supposed to be for Ike, but the tables had turned somehow, and now Ike slept in Liam’s bed and Liam got the mattress on the floor.

Lucille shot Liam a curious look.

“I feed him!” Liam said defensively. “At least, I try to. I made him breakfast this morning. He just wouldn’t eat it.”

Most of it had ended up on the couch cushion. Liam rolled his eyes. They were being played by a two-year-old, but there didn’t seem to be any way around it.

“What would you like to eat, sweetheart?” Lucille asked. “Auntie will make it.”

They’d been calling her “auntie” from the start—a term of endearment for the woman taking care of him. Liam had never guessed how accurate that name really was. Apparently, Lucille had, though.

Liam glanced around the kitchen.

“Where’s Bernie?” he asked. He’d been thinking about her more than he should, but she was also one of them, and he didn’t trust that family.

“She’s having a late start,” Lucille said with a shrug. “She’s been through a lot. I’m just waiting for the tears to start.”

Liam nodded. He knew better than most what Bernie was going through.

“Well, be good for Auntie,” Liam said to Ike. “I’ll see you tonight, kiddo.”

Ike looked back at him wordlessly, and Liam headed for the door. He had Bernie’s car to evaluate, another couple of vehicles coming in for scheduled maintenance and while his part-time employee, Chip, would be coming in later in the afternoon to help him out, he wanted to get a good start on things before then.

Liam drove the eight minutes to the shop and parked in his usual spot. Life had gotten more interesting—more layered—since Ike’s arrival. Now, as he unlocked the office door and flicked on the lights, his mind was on the boy. He was wondering what he could get the kid to eat in the mornings. But now that Bernie was on the scene, he had even more to distract him from his work, and that frustrated him. He wasn’t supposed to be noticing her glossy dark hair or the way her eyes glittered when she was amused.

Liam let himself into the garage and ambled over to the Rolls-Royce. Pretty or not, Morgan or not, he had to fix her car. The white paint was dusty from the long drive from New York, but there was no muting the beauty of a well-maintained classic car. This was a Phantom V, and between 1959 and the late sixties, there had only been about five hundred made. He pulled open the front door and peered into the dim interior. Tan lambskin leather and burl wood veneer—true to the original design.

And Bernie had just hopped into this vehicle and driven off. He could only dream of taking a beauty like this for a spin, yet there were people for whom bombing around in a Rolls-Royce was nothing at all.

He opened the hood, and over the next few hours, he started evaluating the severity of the engine trouble. Troubleshooting engine problems was part “ear” and part mechanical knowledge. He started the car, listening to the grind in the motor, then turned it off and came back around to the engine. He could be lost in time while he tinkered, finding the problem. He liked engines—they were fixable. So many other things in life weren’t. Marriages, for example. People weren’t as easy to decipher.

Looking back on it now, he wished he’d been more flexible about their plans for children, but he had a feeling that their issues ran deeper than how to have a child—it was how they related to each other. The infertility had been taking a toll on Leanne. She’d been getting more withdrawn, and every time one of their friends or family members got pregnant, it seemed to stab her just a little bit deeper.

“Why not me?” she’d asked, tears glistening in her eyes. “Why won’t you let me have this?”

And that had felt like a direct attack on his manhood, too. For her to get pregnant, it wouldn’t be by him, and that bothered him a little. Maybe it wasn’t entirely fair, since an adopted child wouldn’t be his biologically, either, but it still rankled him that she needed that genetic link, no matter how he felt about it. For him, the priority had been to give a loving home to a child who might otherwise have been lost in the foster system. They’d never been able to find a solution that they were both happy with.

A man’s virility was a large part of his identity, too, and he’d had to come to terms with the fact that he’d never be a biological dad, so watching her grieve her lack of a baby hurt him, too. Deep down he knew it was a little different for Leanne, and looking back on it, he wished he’d considered using some donor sperm, given her what she wanted.

There was a tap on the garage door window, and he looked around the hood to see Bernie’s face in the glass. His heart sped up a little at the sight of her, and he glanced up at the clock. It was almost eleven. Had that much time really passed?

He went over to the side door and pushed it open. She stood in the yard, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that made her look younger, somehow. She wore a summer dress that was long and flowing with a busy pattern of pinks, reds and oranges. It was the perfect contrast to her big dark eyes. He had to swallow before he could say anything.

“Hi,” he said. “Come on in.”

She smiled and slipped past him into the shop, her perfume lingering in the air. How did women do that—make walking through a door somehow more than that. She crossed the garage and stood looking at her car, hands folded.

“So you’ve started,” she said.

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

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

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

“Hmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could use a bite, too.

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

“Sure,” she said. “My treat.”

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even after he cheated on you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Namely, your father,” he clarified.

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

“So what do you want?” Liam asked.

She smiled warily. “Does it matter?”

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

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

And yet, the silver lining to this whole ugly mess was the discovery of a little boy she’d never known existed—Ike. Funny to be bonding with her cousin’s illegitimate son, but she was glad that she’d had the chance to meet him. Now that she knew him, she’d make sure that he didn’t want for anything. He’d need family support, and she felt some responsibility in that respect. Now that she knew about this tiny Morgan’s existence, she couldn’t just turn her back on him.

They approached a small restaurant. The faded sign read Uncle Henry’s Restaurant, and Liam angled his head toward it, then led the way to the front door. He held it open for her, and the smell of sausage and eggs wafted out to greet her. She was hungrier than she’d thought, because her stomach gurgled in response.

The restaurant had a few patrons—mostly men past fifty wearing baseball caps. One waitress was taking an order, her pad of paper perched above a pregnant belly. Liam led the way to a table by the window, and he pulled out her chair for her before sitting in the other.

“You never did answer my question,” he said as they got settled. “What do you want out of this mess?”

Bernie leaned her elbows onto the table and considered for a moment. How much could she say without sounding unbearably rich? “My aunt Ellen Morgan runs a charity just outside the city for single moms in crisis. They provide medical care, groceries, baby supplies... They even have a residence where the girls can stay if they get kicked out of their homes. It’s called Mercy House, and she’s been passionate about it for years. If I could step away from the spotlight and do anything, I’d like to do something like that—an organization that makes a difference.”

Liam looked mildly surprised, and she shot him a rueful smile. Truth was, she didn’t just admire Mercy House—she was a sponsor. But being more personally involved had always appealed to her.





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