Runaway Bride (6 page)

Well, he did. Despite the fact that he
was as about as far from wanting a woman around as anyone could
get, he found himself intrigued by this little misfit. She seemed
so vulnerable but he couldn't quite put a finger on why. She looked
so damned innocent all the time. No one was that innocent, he
warned himself.

He went to the back door and let his
hound in, Little Bit whined, his tail whipping about happily that
his master was home. Ben patted him and fed him, then settled back
into the living room. He checked his mail, got the paper off the
porch and sat back in his easy chair. It felt so good being
home.

He rubbed his chin absently. He still
hadn't shaven. He didn't like beards, but he hadn't had time to
shave and catch the bus back to Junction.

It was a long time before she came out
again. But when she did Ben was astonished. She looked so
different. Gone was all the grit and grime, replaced by a face that
wore little or no make-up, hair that shone like varnished pine, and
eyes wide and mysterious. The clothes didn't exactly fit either.
The t-shirt hung loosely to her upper thigh, but the jeans were
tight and showed every curve of her hip. Nice hips too, he
noticed.

And his groin tightened like a silly
schoolboy with his first crush. She was cute as a button and he
couldn't stop the immediate attraction he felt.

Still she was in protective custody,
and he began to wonder just how many might be out looking for her
this very minute.

"Well now, you look decent again. Glad
you had enough sense to take a shower," he muttered, trying his
best not to notice that all of her curves seemed to stick out at
him and yet he was more fascinated than ever with what he saw in
her.

"Sorry for using your facilities, but I
was a mess. You could have told me how dirty my face was, you
know."

"Wasn't any of my business. You can
call me Ben, I have a name, too you know," he barked not looking at
her. He didn't like what looking at her did to him.

"No, I'll stick with Sheriff, it fits
you better." she said with a deliberate sting.

"Whatever," he muttered. "While we're
at it, what's your name?"

"Savannah Kingsley."

"Savannah Kingsley." He rolled the name
over for a second. It sounded aristocratic. It sounded like money
to him. Judging from that piece of dress it had to be money,
another reason to stay far away from her. She was a blue blood, and
he was a blue collar.

"I guess you're hungry?" He asked after
a few minutes of sizing her up. It was his job to figure people
out, but this little lady was a puzzle.

Savannah shrugged, "A
little."

Just then he heard a strange rumbling,
it was her stomach, and she clutched it as though it had spoken out
of turn. He smiled.

"Sounds like it. Sit down and enjoy
your lemonade. After I shave, I'll rustle us up some grub." He said
and laid the paper down.

He needed an excuse to get out of there
anyway. The living room seemed so tiny since she came out of the
bathroom all scrubbed up and smelling sweet. It was probably that
damned lavender soap Mrs. Johnson was always laying out for him.
Didn't she know men didn't use lavender soaps?

He went into the bathroom, still
smelling the soap, and trying his best to ignore it. As he shaved
he warned himself not to get involved with this little gal. She
might be great as a roll in the hay, but she had that, "I want
marriage and kids," look about her.

This was definitely the kind of woman
he needed to stay away from. No problem, he thought to himself with
satisfaction, she'd be gone as soon as he got her car taken care
of.

There was cold fried chicken in the
refrigerator and potato salad, he remembered as he walked through
the house to the kitchen in the back. He brought it out and set the
table. Unused to having company, he tried to make the table look a
little nicer, even to the point of putting a daisy in water and in
the middle of the table. He grew daisies out in the front and every
now and then would bring them in to brighten the place. He had a
weakness for flowers he had to admit.

"It's ready if you're hungry," he
called to her some time later.

She didn't answer so he went looking
for her.

She was standing on the front porch,
perched against a corner of the house, looking out over the vast
countryside.

"It's pretty out here," she said in a
softer tone. She glanced at him, her eyes flashing with surprise at
his transformation. "Funny, I didn't expect your place to be
pretty."

"No? What did you expect?" He tried
ignoring the fact that she looked so fragile.

"Certainly not a beautifully manicured
lawn." Her gaze scanned the lawn and fields of fresh plowed
dirt.

He shrugged, "I liked this place the
moment I saw it. It's a little out of the way sometimes, but it's
all mine." Ben said with pride.

"You own it?"

"Yeah, Old man Johnson died a few years
back and I bought the place."

"So you've made Junction your home?
Where are you from, originally?"

"My second home, Amarillo will always
be home to me."

"Amarillo, huh?"

"Yeah." He watched her with renewed
interest.

She nodded and stretched, moving away
from him. Maybe she was just as nervous about being here with him
as he was with her.

"So Sheriff where's your wife and
kids?" She asked looking about the yards with a slight smile to her
lips.

"Don't have any, don't have any use for
marriage myself." he said quietly, glancing at the small flower bed
and realizing they needed watering. His rose bushes were suffering
from the heat. He walked to the side of the house, turned on the
hose and began watering the flowers.

She seemed stunned. "Why's
that?"

"Lots of reasons, I guess. I don't need
to get tied down. The kind of work I do, can be hazardous. Most
women don't want to deal with that."

"You mean in a town like Junction, your
work could be dangerous?" She mocked.

"Things happen every now and
then."

"So you don't intend getting married at
all?"

"Hadn't thought about it that much, but
I don't see it in my immediate future, if that's what you
mean."

"There are a few things you can't do
alone, Sheriff ..."

His glance slid up and down her
quickly. "Maybe, but you don't have to marry to have that
either."

"I see. Maybe you're just gay then?"
She blurted out.

He glanced at her and frowned, "I beg
your pardon?"

"I said, are you gay? I mean, you don't
seem to like women, so I thought maybe you were gay."

"No," his eyes narrowed into a frown.
Whatever possessed her to ask that question, he didn't know.
Nothing seemed to fit with this gal, she managed to surprise him at
every turn. Where had that question come from? "I'm not gay. I'm
just a cautious man, and she'd have to be awful special to rope and
hog tie me."

"Rope and hog tie you?" Her expressive
eyes narrowed on him, like a green laser beaming at its target. "Is
that how you see marriage?" She was almost indignant. "But the
flowers ..."

When he cocked his head she continued.
"It doesn't all fit."

"What, you've never known a man to like
flowers. I planted these myself," he said quietly as he brought the
water hose around from the side of the house and continued to water
them. Turning the water off minutes later, he looked up at
her.

"A big tough Sheriff like you plants
flowers?"

"Something wrong with that?" He asked
moving to stand beside her, intimidating her with his
size.

"No, of course not. You just don't look
like the type to do something like that." She moved away
quickly.

Ben nodded. "I guess I have my Mama to
blame for that. We used to plant flowers together every
spring."

"Used to?" she watched him
closely.

"Yeah, she's dead, has been for a long
time."

"I'm sorry." She flushed and seemed
embarrassed to have blurted out so. "I shouldn't have
pried."

"No reason to be sorry. My life's
pretty much an open book. I have a younger sister at home, she
lives with my dad."

"I have a brother and two
sisters."

"Where you from?"

"Dallas."

"Big city, huh?" He asked leading her
back across the porch by the elbow. A touch that sent signals to
his brain to lay off touching. Why this particular woman was
affecting him so, he didn't understand. It was new to him and
curious all at the same time.

"Never thought of it like that, but
yes, I guess so." she said, her tone much lighter, almost
friendly.

"What are you doing out here?" He
needed some answers, not idle conversation.

"A person doesn't plan where they are
going when they are running away, Sheriff?"

"Then you really are a runaway bride?"
He regarded her carefully, watching her every move.

"In a matter of speaking," she
muttered, flicking an imaginary piece of fuzz from her t-shirt. She
went inside, he followed. "But I did let at least one person know
where I was going. If that's any consolation. I watch the news and
I'm not silly enough to run off without a little thought. I
wouldn't want search parties after me, too."

He dragged a chair out for her at the
table. She hesitated, looking at him strangely. "And just who did
you leave word with?"

"The groom." she uttered.

He let that information soak in. At
least she had confronted the groom before she ran out on him. He
had to give her credit, she had guts.

"What do you photograph, with your
camera?" he asked passing her the chicken as he pulled up a chair
beside her. He'd have to notify authorities and let them know she
was okay.

"I do animal photography, mostly." she
answered, taking the chicken eagerly and motioning for the salad.
"I've worked with magazines some."

"I'm impressed. But looking at you, I
figured you'd be in front of the camera, not behind it," he said
casually.

Her head jerked about and those ultra
grey-green eyes narrowed on him with nothing short of surprise.
"Me?"

"Yeah, I mean you've certainly got
the—the figure and face for it," he said so matter-of-factly she
nearly dropped her fork.

"Boy, you've been out here in the
boonies too long, Sheriff."

"I only meant it as a
compliment."

"Really, well stick me in front of a
camera and you might think otherwise. One of the first things a
model learns is that the camera adds about ten to twelve pounds
every time you step in front of it."

"Well, I don't think ten or twelve
pounds would hurt you a bit." He eyed her for a minute, sizing up
the honesty of that statement. After all, all he saw was curves and
more curves, how could that be bad, camera or no. "So, do you have
any plans?"

"As a matter of fact, I do... I needed
to get away from the hum-drum city life for a while. I've got an
aunt I'll be staying with, not too far from here. Maybe you know
her, Lucy Kingsley?"

He nodded, "Lucy? That's where that
name sounded so familiar. Yeah, I know her. But you are completely
out of luck if you plan to stay with her. She's gone to Europe with
a church friend."

"Europe? Oh...no. This can't be. I was
so counting on her being there. Well, surely, I could stay at her
house, while she's gone?"

Ben eyed her a moment, despite the fact
that she was pure trouble, he felt just a tad sorry for her and
knew if she could furnish some identification he'd take her out to
Lucy's place.

"I suppose you could stay, if you can
identify yourself, that is. I mean, I really don't have any way of
knowing if you are who you say you are."

Savannah's eyes rounded. "Well, I'm
sure...I've got something..."

"Yeah, a driver's license, social
security card, anything." Ben took a bite and watched
her.

* * *

But Savannah had left her
identification in her luggage, at home. She didn't even have her
driver’s license and if he found that out, she was sunk. How could
this be happening? All she wanted to do was get away from that
church, that wedding, and her parents long enough to figure out
what to do next.

"Look Sheriff, you aren't going to
believe this..."

"You don't have any identification?"
his eyes narrowed on her now, a frown forming.

"Well, yes, I do. But not with me. I
mean...come on Sheriff; I was running from a wedding. Give me a
break..."

"Not even a driver’s
license?"

"Well...I...no!" Savannah sighed, and
held out her arms to him.