Fugitive Fiancee. Kristin GabrielЧитать онлайн книгу.
the flames dance on the wall.
Mimi’s instincts told her Garrett was definitely a bachelor. There were no fussy feminine touches in the room, although she found she liked the Spartan simplicity surrounding her. It was an improvement over the ostentatious Colonial-style mansion she’d grown up in.
Tears pricked her eyes. She might never see that home again. Never see her father, who was no doubt bullying his way through Austin right now searching for her. Her throat grew so tight it was almost painful. She couldn’t let him find her. Not until she had time to straighten out the mess she’d made of her life.
The day seemed like a blur. Or rather like a nightmare. One you couldn’t escape by waking up. It was all too real. The betrayal and the lies. The careful scheming and the furtive whispers. All designed to make Mimi believe an illusion. Only now her eyes were wide open.
She’d never been this alone before. No, that wasn’t true. Once. Just once she’d been even more frightened, more desperate. It was a time she didn’t like to think about. A time that made her heart ache. Ten years ago. She closed her eyes and swallowed her tears. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce about lost hopes and broken dreams. She had to stay strong. Had to figure a way out of this mess.
After taking several deep breaths, Mimi opened her eyes, more composed. She couldn’t worry about the past or the future. Right now the present demanded all her energy.
Garrett entered the room carrying a tray with two steaming wooden bowls on it and a crusty loaf of bread. He set it on the coffee table, then handed her one of the bowls. “Eat every drop.”
Mimi sat up and reached for the spoon, assuming this to be another one of his orders. She was much too hungry to think about disobeying it. The savory aroma of the stew made her mouth water. She spooned up a hearty bite, blew gently on it, then put it in her mouth, closing her eyes in appreciation as the delicious flavors mingled on her tongue.
“This is wonderful,” she said, spooning up another bite. It seemed so peaceful somehow, eating stew with a perfect stranger. Away from all the pressures that had built around her for the past few weeks.
“Anything tastes good when you’re half-starved.” He sliced a thick slab of bread from the loaf and handed it to her.
So Garrett didn’t take orders or compliments well, Mimi thought as she watched him cut a slice of bread for himself. He didn’t take kindly to finding stray brides in his barn, either, judging by his earlier reaction.
He looked up and caught her staring at him again. “Eat.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she immediately dropped her gaze to her bowl. She sensed that Garrett, like his adorable dog, was all bark and no bite. The little black schnauzer had growled ferociously at her when she’d first stepped foot on the ranch. Of course, the pup had ruined his guard-dog act by licking her ankles and rolling over on his back for a belly rub.
Not that his master could be so easily pacified. An unbidden image of Garrett licking her ankles flashed in her mind, and Mimi choked on her stew. Heat washed up her face as Garrett looked at her.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she replied, hoping he’d blame the steaming stew for the fiery flush on her cheeks.
To make matters worse, he pushed away his empty bowl, then leaned back in his chair and slowly rubbed one hand over his taut stomach. Maybe he enjoyed belly rubs as much as his dog.
She tried to swallow the giggle bubbling up her throat, but it erupted in a very unladylike snort. He scowled at her, and Mimi didn’t know what to do. Laugh? Cry? Both seemed equally tempting at the moment.
But now was not the time to become hysterical. She could save her tears for later. It wasn’t proper for a dinner guest to weep over her food. So instead she took a deep, calming breath and endeavored to make polite dinner conversation.
“This bread is delicious.” Mimi had never baked bread in her life, but she knew after the first succulent bite that it was homemade. Still warm from the oven, the bread was crusty on the outside and tender on the inside.
“Venna made it.”
“Venna?” Mimi wiped her buttery fingers on her paper napkin. “Is she your cook?”
“Nope.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he turned his gaze to the fireplace. His silence only made her more curious. Mimi wasn’t naturally nosy, but for some reason, this man intrigued her more than most. Maybe because he didn’t know anything about her or her illustrious family. He wasn’t trying to impress her or charm her or do anything to draw himself closer to the Casville fortune.
He might even like her if he got to know her. Like her for herself, instead of what her family’s money and power might do for him.
She spooned up more stew. “Then she must be your fairy godmother.”
That got his attention. He turned his gaze from the fire to her. “What?”
“This mysterious Venna. I thought she might be some kind of fairy godmother who magically makes fresh-baked bread appear on your table every evening.”
He scowled. “There’s nothing mysterious about her. Venna Schwab was the woman in the barn.”
“The woman you were hiding from?”
“I wasn’t hiding,” he said, not quite meeting her gaze. “I just don’t happen to like unexpected company.”
She chose to ignore the innuendo. “Why? I’d think a person would get pretty lonely way out here—with nothing but cows and coyotes to keep you company.”
“That’s the way I like it,” he countered. “Although a ranch is no place for a city girl like you.”
She blanched. “How did you know?”
“I can spot a city girl a mile away. Not many women out here waste money on a fancy manicure.” He motioned to her polished pink fingernails. “Or wear silly shoes like the ones you’ve got on.”
She lifted her feet a few inches off the floor. “These silly shoes happen to be imported from Italy. They’re designer originals!”
“Well, they’re not worth two bits out here. Between the dirt and the gravel and the scrub brush they’ll be ruined in no time.”
She shrugged and placed her feet on the floor. “I didn’t have time to change. I left in rather a hurry.”
She expected him to ask her why, but instead he swept the bread crumbs off the coffee table into his empty bowl. Then he looked at her. “Finish your stew.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about me?” she asked, ignoring his latest order.
“No.” He settled back in the armchair and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve learned the hard way that curiosity can be a dangerous thing. Now, do you need a ride back into Austin, or did you drive out here?”
“I drove.” She licked the last few bread crumbs off her fingers. “At least, until I ran out of gas. Then I walked.”
He arched a brow. “Walked? In those shoes?”
“Of course not. I took them off and carried them.”
He leaned forward. “You mean you walked barefoot on these gravel roads? Exactly how far did you go?”
She shrugged. “Five or six miles. I lost count.”
He rose and moved toward her. Then he knelt in front of the sofa and picked up her foot. She winced as he carefully removed her right shoe.
“Damn,” he breathed. Beneath the shredded sheer stocking, raw blisters and tiny cuts covered the sole of her foot. Without another word, he carefully pulled the stocking away from her skin, then ripped it apart with his powerful hands. It split all the way to her knee.
Mimi