Fugitive Bride. Пола ГрейвсЧитать онлайн книгу.
hand loosen. “Must you always be so negative?”
She tightened her fingers around his again. “Yes. But sorry.”
He gave her fingers a light squeeze. “I suppose it’s part of your charm.”
“Sweet talker,” she muttered.
“So we’re agreed? We head for the cabin?”
“If it’s still there.” She looked up. “Sorry. Negativity.”
“If it’s still there,” he agreed. “And we’d better hope it is.”
The dark tone of his growly voice made her stomach turn a flip. “Why’s that?”
“You know how the wind has picked up?”
“Yeah?”
“I think the rain may be getting here a little earlier than expected tonight.”
Owen was right. Within a few minutes, the brisk wind began to carry needles of rain from which the spring growth overhead provided only partial shelter. Owen tried to tuck Tara under his coat, but the rain became relentless as daylight waned, darkness falling prematurely because of the lowering sky.
Tara wiped the beading water from her watch face. Nearly six. The wedding would have long been over by now, if she’d gone through with it. Robert must be going crazy, wondering what happened to her. Her car would still be in the parking lot, her purse in the bride’s room. The only thing missing was the bride and her puffy white dress.
Would everyone realize something had gone very wrong? Or would they assume that Tara had succumbed to cold feet and bolted without letting anyone know?
Was Robert thinking he’d just made a narrow escape from a lifetime with a lunatic?
Stop it, Tara. This is not your fault.
Owen was right. She was way too negative. She added it to her mental list of things she needed to work on, right behind cellulite on her thighs and—oh, yeah—running away from dangerous, crazy kidnappers.
“You’re thinking, aren’t you?” Owen asked. “I always worry when you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking I haven’t heard anything from the kidnappers back there recently. I’m also thinking that there may be ants crawling up my legs. And I’m thinking if I have to hide behind this tree for a minute longer, getting soaked to the skin, I’m going to run crazy through the trees, screaming I give up! Come get me! at the top of my lungs.”
Owen turned toward her, cupping her face between his hands. His fingers were cool, but the look in his eyes was scalding hot. “I know you’re scared. I know wisecracking and complaining is how you show it. And you’re right. We haven’t heard those guys recently. I don’t think they were eager to spend the rest of their day hunting you down in the woods when they know who you are and can take a chance on grabbing you another time.”
She stared up at him. “You really think they’ll try this again?”
“You said they asked for you by name.”
“But why? I’m not rich. Robert’s not even rich, not really. Not enough to warrant a risky daylight abduction.”
“I know. But even if you can’t think of a reason, they clearly had one.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “It’s time to make a run for it. You ready?”
“Born ready.” She flashed him a cheeky grin, even if she felt like crying. It earned her one of Owen’s deliciously sexy smiles in return, and he touched her face again. His fingers were cold, but heat seemed to radiate through her from his touch.
He grabbed her hand and started running, pulling her behind him.
Even though she’d convinced herself that their captors had given up and made their escape, every muscle in Tara’s body tensed as she zigzagged behind Owen, her heart in her throat. Every twig that snapped beneath her feet sounded as thunderous as a gunshot, even through the masking hiss of the falling rain.
Two hundred yards to the cabin, Owen had said. Surely they’d run two hundred yards by now. That was two football fields, wasn’t it?
Owen jerked sideways suddenly, nearly flinging her off her feet. He grabbed her around the waist as she started to slide across the muddy ground and kept her upright. “There,” he said, satisfaction coloring his voice.
Tara followed his gaze and saw what looked to be a ramshackle wooden porch peeking out from the overgrowth about twenty yards away.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
His lips pressed to a thin line. “Shelter is shelter, Tara.” He let go of her hand and started toward the wooden structure with a brisk, determined stride.
She stood watching him for a moment, feeling terrible. The man had saved her life, and she’d been nothing but a whining ingrate.
Lighting flashed overhead, followed quickly by a bone-rattling boom of thunder that shook her out of her misery and sent her dashing through the muddy undergrowth as fast as her ruined pumps would carry her. She skidded to a stop at the edge of the porch and stared at what Owen had called a cabin.
It was tiny. She didn’t have any idea how Owen and his fellow Boy Scouts had managed to squeeze themselves inside the place. The three shallow steps leading up to the porch looked rickety and dangerous, though apparently they’d managed to hold Owen’s weight, for he was already on the porch, peering inside the darkened doorway of the small structure.
“I remember it as being bigger,” he said quietly.
“You were eleven.” She made herself risk the steps. They were sturdier than they looked, though the rain had left them slick. At least the stair railing didn’t wiggle too much as she climbed to the porch and joined Owen in the doorway.
Years had clearly passed since any Boy Scouts had darkened the door of this cabin. What she could see in the gloom looked damp and dilapidated. The musty smell of age and disuse filled Tara’s lungs as she took a shaky breath. “The roof leaks, doesn’t it?”
Owen took a step inside. Almost immediately, he jerked back, bumping into Tara. She had to grab him around the waist to keep from falling.
Something small and gray scuttled out the door past them, scampered off the porch and disappeared into the undergrowth.
“Possum,” Owen said.
Tara grimaced. “So that’s what I’m smelling.”
He whipped around to look at her. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you. Again.”
She grabbed his hand. “You saved me. I wouldn’t have gotten out of there without you.”
He gave her hand a little squeeze before letting go. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have never gotten loose from that duct tape.”
And he’d never have been in trouble if she hadn’t called him to share her doubts about the wedding. Which maybe she wouldn’t be having if she didn’t still find Owen so darn attractive.
They could play this game forever, going all the way back to sixth grade when she saved Owen from a bully and he’d helped her pass math.
They were darn near symbiotic at this point.
“You’re thinking again,” Owen murmured.
“I am,” she said. “I’m thinking if we’re planning on hunkering down here until the rain passes, I’d like to make sure there’s no possum surprises waiting for me in there. Any chance we could find a candle or two in this godforsaken place?”
“Maybe.” Owen entered the dark cabin. A moment later, she heard more than saw him scrabbling around in a drawer. “Ha.” He reached into the pocket of his tuxedo pants and pulled out something. A second later, a small light flickered in the darkness.
“You