Bride on the Run--A Clean Romance Read online

  “You have a runaway bride?” Monty thought that only happened in movies. “Ah, sorry, no.” He would not laugh. He would not. The poor guy looked seriously stressed out.

  “Her name’s Sienna. I don’t know where she went or why. I need her to come back.”

  “I’m sure if she loves you, she will.” Monty had the strange urge to pat the guy on the shoulder.

  “If she what?” For an instant, the man looked confused. “Oh, love, right, yeah. Of course.”

  Uh-huh. Monty refrained from rolling his eyes, much in the way his teenage goddaughter, Mandy, often did. “Good luck, buddy.” Yeah. Sienna the runaway bride was gone for good.

  He started whistling again, not an easy task when he couldn’t quit grinning. He was a lucky, lucky man. The only thing he had to worry about was living his dream; Wind Walkers Tours was operating in the black and he was already booked halfway through summer, and it was only early April. His sister was about to settle down—first time that had happened ever—and he was gaining a brother-in-law he considered a good friend. Add to that the happy nuptials of his best friend Sebastian with his first love, along with the girders going in at the butterfly sanctuary back home, and Monty didn’t have a care in the world. He certainly didn’t have a runaway bride to worry about.

  Whoever that poor guy was, his fiancée sounded like a mess of trouble.

  Monty paused on the dock, taking a moment to appreciate the worn fiberglass hull, faded padded seats and fraying lashings. She’d had a good life prior to his purchase, the last ten years of which had been spent moored right here in this berth, but he was going to give her an even better life now. One where she was appreciated, cared for and, most of all, used.

  Fifty-footers like Nana’s Dream weren’t meant to be stabled. They were meant to be out there on the water, riding the waves, steering into sunsets and dreams.

  Monty tossed his bag onto the deck, but was more careful with the groceries, then he walked the width of the dock to give Dream one last check. Tomorrow morning was the perfect time to head out, right when the sun was peeking over the horizon. A cup of hot coffee, the last of the homemade bagels Ezzie Salazar had packed in his bag yesterday when he’d flown down to San Diego and the wheel in his hand. There truly was no better way to start the day.

  Nor was there a better way to end a day than with a good eight to ten hours of shut-eye. He stretched his arms over his head, pulled off his jacket and threw it on top of his bag.

  The runaway bride—or rather, her absence—was causing a major ruckus on the dock. He kept his ears open as he stepped onto the boat, then slowed to get a good feel for her while making mental notes as to what needed to be repaired or replaced. When he caught sight of a group of the tuxedoed men heading in his direction, he rested a foot on the railing and leaned his elbows on his knee.

  “Something I can help you with?” It was obvious they wanted him for something. The question was, what?

  “Someone said they saw Sienna get on your boat,” the man he’d spoken to earlier accused, any grudging politeness having evaporated. “I want to search it.”

  “Do you?” Normally Monty would have told him to have at it, but the man’s snotty attitude had him thinking otherwise. “It’s a shame you didn’t ask nicely.”

  “Richard.” An older man stepped forward as Richard scowled at Monty. Monty simply arched an eyebrow. He’d dealt with dozens of guys like this Richard dude. They didn’t faze him. They barely entertained him. Rich, privileged and happy to run over anyone they thought was an obstacle. Monty much preferred to be the immovable boulder. “I’m sorry,” the older man said, offering his hand. “Vincent Fairchild. It’s my daughter, Sienna, we’re looking for. She’s...fragile. We just want to make sure she’s all right.”

  “Monty Bettencourt.” Monty shook the man’s hand. “How about I take a look myself? You’ll understand if I’d rather not have you all traipsing around my boat.”

  “Of course, thank you.”

  Monty silently sighed. Good manners didn’t hide Vincent’s irritation. Clearly the older man didn’t appreciate Monty’s suggestion. He also was probably used to getting what he wanted. All the more reason for Monty to needle him. He didn’t have anything else to do at the moment. “Be back in a sec.” He gave Richard a quick grin before he turned toward the stairs that led below to the cabin. Instantly, his blood pressure spiked.

  From his vantage point above, he could see, in the middle of the floor, a solitary sparkling white shoe with rhinestones. A seriously sexy shoe. But that wasn’t his only surprise.

  The closet door opened, inch by inch, hinges creaking. A long, tanned arm reached out, and pink-tipped fingers grasped the shoe’s strap.

  “Something wrong?” Vincent stepped onto the boat and Monty spun around.

  “No. I have this inner ear condition.” He pretended to sway. “I move too fast and I get all... Be right back.” He hurried down the ladder just as the closet door closed, arm and shoe out of sight.

  His mind raced as he feigned searching for his stowaway. He opened doors, slammed them shut, all the while asking himself what he was going to do about the woman in his closet. Clearly she didn’t want to go with Vincent and Richard. She knew they were here yet remained hidden. Having met the guys, Monty could understand her reticence. He could at least play along with her for a while. Maybe long enough for her to make a real getaway.

  He rapped his knuckles on the closet door as he passed and thought he heard a yelp, then he returned up the stairs.

  “Sorry. I didn’t see her.” Not a lie. He hadn’t seen—well, at least not all of her. “You sure they said my boat?”

  “They did.” Richard bolted forward again, but Vincent stopped him with a hand on his chest.

  “She’s not here, Richard,” Monty said, erasing all humor from his voice. “Unless you plan on calling me a liar and having the police conduct a legal search, I suggest you get off my property.”

  “It’s fine. It’s fine,” Vincent repeated when Richard started to argue. “She can’t have gotten out of the club without someone seeing her. She’s here somewhere. We’ll just have to look elsewhere.” He faced Monty. “Thank you for checking. If you do see her—”

  “I’ll send up a flare.” Monty shoved his hands in his back pockets and smirked at Richard. Depriving him of even a bit of triumph felt like an accomplishment.

  Monty waited calmly, watching as the men retreated and disappeared into the yacht club. Only when he was sure no one was watching did he let out the breath he’d been holding and head to the cabin below.

  This time he didn’t spare a knock, but yanked open the closet door, only to stare into the most stunning brown eyes he’d ever seen in his life. She stared back at him, unblinking, defiance shining as she struggled to keep hold of her monstrous dress and one sparkly shoe.

  “Sienna Fairchild, I assume? Monty Bettencourt.” He bowed slightly and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SIENNA WAS RARELY at a loss for words. Nana had often told her she’d been born talking; it had just taken a few years for people to be able to understand her. It was, perhaps, the one quality she’d gotten from her father that she actually appreciated. She could talk to anyone. About anything. Except for now.

  She felt her mouth move, a bit like a goldfish struggling for air—open, close...open, close—as if the words couldn’t quite settle on her tongue. Maybe it was delayed shock from her escape. Maybe it was the fact she was crammed into a linen closet to the point that she may very well have suffocated. Or it could be that the man looking down at her had one of the most disarming, carefree, friendly smiles she’d seen in a very long time. A smile that set his stunning green eyes twinkling brighter than her emerald engagement ring.

  Careful, she warned herself. The last time she’d let herself be charmed by a smile like that she’d ended up t
russed into a wedding gown that attempted to smother her.

  Finally, she managed to respond with a slightly strangled sound that had the color rushing to her cheeks.

  His smile faded. “Are you all right?”

  “Mmm.” She nodded, noticed his open palm. Never in her life had she wanted to accept an offering more. Her right hand flexed around the bundle of fabric and the strap of her shoe. Her left tingled at the fingertips.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said in a serious tone.

  She frowned. Funny. That thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. It probably should have. He was a stranger. They were in a confined space together. And she was in a rather vulnerable and ridiculous situation. Yep. Sienna took a deep breath. Just a typical day in the life of Sienna Fairchild.

  She gripped his hand, ignoring the tiny jolts of excitement that danced across her palm when his skin touched hers. He gave a gentle tug. Sienna shifted too quickly, tried to get her feet under her before she dropped from the shelf.

  “Careful!” His warning came too late. She felt her dress catch, heard a distinctive rip and before she knew it, she’d landed face-first on the floor of his boat.

  She raised her head and coughed. The worn carpet, which was the color of rusted metal, smelled like it had been laid at the turn of the century. Before she could even think of righting herself, he’d scooped both hands under her arms and hoisted her up.

  “Whew.” That almost sounded like a word. She stepped to one side and shoved down her skirt, only to have her ankle give way and send her toppling over. “Ooooow!” She tried to break her second fall in as many minutes, but missed the closet door handle by inches.

  He caught her again, this time locking his hands around her arms and pushing her back against the bulkhead. “Better now?” He hadn’t released her; seemed a bit reluctant to, given his furrowed brow.

  “Better.” She nodded, then winced when she tried to put weight on her foot. “Ah, except for that. Ouch!” She would have hopped if she hadn’t thought she’d give herself a concussion on the overhead. “I must have twisted it when I got my shoe caught in the planks.”

  “Best get your weight off it until we’re sure it isn’t broken.”

  He swept her off her feet and deposited her on one of the padded benches surrounding a scarred Formica table. “It’s fine,” she protested when he bent down on one knee. Given her billowing skirts and his gallantry, Sienna felt as if she’d been caught up in a nautical version of “Cinderella.” Except, instead of obnoxious stepsisters, she had an overbearing father and fiancé. Although...she didn’t have them. Not since her escape. What on earth was she going to do now?

  She shivered against the skim of Monty Bettencourt’s fingers as they pressed and prodded her ankle. His hair was the color of tamed fire, with hints of sun-kissed red and yellow intermingling beneath darker hues of brown. Such an odd combination. Her fingers itched to touch it, to see if it was as soft as it appeared. He had the look of a man who spent time outdoors with tanned skin and biceps that appeared to be challenging his navy T-shirt. His hands were firm, yet rough and calloused. Honed by physical labor. He had lifted her as effortlessly as if she’d been a feather.

  Sienna flinched when he flexed her foot. It no longer hurt, just throbbed in protest. “I don’t think it’s broken.” The rumble of his deep voice had her quivering inside.

  “No.” She shook her head and almost laughed as he extricated himself from beneath the white fabric of her dress. “I, um, thank you. For not telling them where I was.”

  “Wasn’t that difficult,” he said with a flash of that heart-tugging smile. He pushed to his feet, took two steps away and pulled open the door to a small refrigerator under the counter. “Fortunately, ol’ Richard made it an easy decision.” He produced an old-fashioned metal ice-cube tray and dropped it upside down into the sink.

  “Scoot back.” He motioned for her to sit back in the booth and once her foot was up on the bench, he tied the towel-encased ice cubes with a rubber band and plopped the makeshift ice pack onto her injured ankle. “Better?”

  “It will be, thanks.” He was acting as if strange women stashed themselves in his linen closet every day. “You’re being awfully nice about this.”

  “About what?” He hurried off, then returned with a duffel bag, jacket and stuffed recyclable grocery tote. He tossed his duffel through the opening under the ladder into what she assumed was one of the berth compartments.

  “About finding a stowaway on your boat.”

  He shrugged. “It beats finding a leak. Are you hungry?” After setting the groceries on the chipped counter, he began unloading the items.

  “Starved.” Tabitha had put her on such a strict diet this past week, Sienna couldn’t remember the last time she’d chewed.

  “I don’t have a huge selection I’m afraid. I can get by on peanut butter most days.” Her stomach growled and he smiled again, chuckling. “Peanut butter it is. Strawberry jam okay?”

  “Sounds great.” Tears burned the back of her eyes and she tried to distract herself by looking around the cabin. It was...homey, she supposed. Clearly, he had interesting interior-design ideas, no doubt inspired by classic 80s television. “Are you a renter?”

  “The Dream?” Monty turned slightly and she could watch him slathering the bread. “Nope. This beauty is all mine now. Just finalized the purchase. Heading home come sunrise.”

  “Oh.” So much for offering to buy him out of his lease so she could stay. Not that the thought had been a serious one. It was more than slightly pathetic, hiding on a stranger’s boat because she couldn’t stand up to her father. Still. She caught her lip in her teeth. This did seem like the perfect hiding place while she tried to figure out what she did now that she most definitely was not going to marry Richard.

  “That’s a disappointed oh.” Monty slapped another piece of white bread on top of his swirled masterpiece and slid the sandwich onto a napkin. He set it, along with a butter knife, on the table for her.

  She blinked and a solitary tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Is it your ankle? Are you in pain?” He shifted toward the ice pack, but she shook her head.

  She tried to smile and swiped a hand under her eye. “My nana used to fix me peanut-butter-and-jam sandwiches when I was having a rough day. She died a few months ago.” She touched a finger to the pillow-like bread. “I really miss her.” Her voice hitched. “Sorry. I’m such a mess. If you don’t mind me hanging around until the club closes, I’ll sneak out of the marina after dark.”

  He finished making his own sandwich, grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the bag and joined her at the table. “I’m no expert, but I don’t think you’ll be sneaking anywhere in that dress.”

  She pulled her sandwich closer, looked down at the embroidered top of her gown and sighed. “I guess I will kind of glow in the dark.” Still, what choice did she have? She couldn’t go home. Her father would find her there immediately. She couldn’t think of one friend or acquaintance she had who would understand what she’d done.

  After all, Richard Somersby was considered one of the best catches in singledom. She was probably going to be labeled a pariah the second that word got around she’d ditched Richard at the altar.

  She needed a plan. And fast. But for now, she’d do the one thing that was completely in her control and enjoy her sandwich and pretend as if she hadn’t just pitched her entire life into the ocean.

  As expected, the second she bit into the bread she felt better.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Monty said, breaking the silence. “Let’s give your bridal party some time to clear out, then I’ll hit the gift shop. I’m sure I saw some sweatshirts and stuff in the window.”

  Suddenly it became very difficult to swallow. Sienna nearly choked in her rush to answer. “You don’t have to do that. Why would you...? I mean...” What did she mean?<
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  “I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.” He grinned over his water, then cringed. “Wait! Scratch that. My sister would strangle me for even thinking of using that phrase. Let’s just say I like to help where I can. If it makes you feel better, I’ll give you my info and you can send me the money when you’re able to.”

  It did make her feel better. Now if she only knew how to retrieve her purse and cell phone, which, if she was lucky, were still up in the bridal suite at the club. She was literally up a creek without a paddle. “Are you and your sister close?”

  “As close as siblings can get. Frankie’s my twin. Older by a few minutes, which she never lets me forget.”

  Sienna had envied her friends who’d had siblings growing up. Tabitha had been a close cousin, but despite the time they’d spent together, Sienna had never really considered her a real friend.

  So much of Sienna’s life had been put on hold during her grandmother’s illness, including her friendships. She wanted to explore that life now, figure out exactly what she could do. What she wanted to do. Despite the chaos she’d caused, for the first time, she truly felt free. No guilt, she ordered herself. She rejected even the notion of it.

  “Shoot.” He snapped his fingers and brought Sienna out of her reverie. “I need to make a phone call. Be right back.”

  Sienna nodded, pretending not to listen in on his phone call, but she welcomed the distraction of someone else’s life. She should, she supposed, be grateful that Richard had been so adamant about finding her. That must mean he actually cared about her, right? Or did he just care about appearances and not disappointing her father? Given their business connections, and her luck, she could guess the answer.

  In between bites of her sandwich, she removed bobby pins from her hair. With each one she set on the table, she felt remarkably lighter as her hair fell in waves around her shoulders. The tightness in her skull eased. The tension in her shoulders melted away and soon she was looking at a stack of pins amid the scattered crumbs of her PB and J.