Fugitive Fiancee. Kristin Gabriel

over it. Her lips were soft and warm against his palm. He felt a touch of moisture, like dew, on his skin, when she tried to speak. He shook his head, his body tightening at the thought of her small pink tongue touching him, tasting him.

      She looked at him with those blue eyes, then finally nodded slowly in understanding. He removed his hand, suddenly aware of how close Mimi was to him. He could feel the silky wisps of her blond hair tickling his cheek and the soft fullness of one breast pressed against his upper arm. She was so warm and so very, very soft. One of her legs had tangled with his during their fall, her creamy skin rubbing against the rough fabric of his jeans. He didn’t dare move, even as a hot, tingling sensation shot through his veins to other parts of his body.

      He looked into her eyes and found her still staring at him, their faces only a hairbreadth apart. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in months—and his body was reminding him of that fact. His heart pounded, and his breathing hitched.

      “Garrett?” The voice below called again, closer now. “Are you up there?”

      His muscles tensed as his attention was drawn away from Mimi. He held his breath, letting it out slowly when he finally heard the sound of receding footsteps. The barn door creaked once again.

      Venna was gone.

      He immediately put a healthy distance between himself and the bride. That’s when he noticed her hands were shaking.

      “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

      Without thinking, Garrett reached out and clasped her small hands in his. Her fingers were as cold as ice. “You’re not fine.”

      He hauled her off the floor and began roughly brushing strands of golden straw from her wedding dress. The roar of an engine drew his gaze to the window. He watched with relief as the pickup peeled out of his driveway toward the country road. Then he turned to Mimi. “It’s safe now. We can go to the house and you can call someone to pick you up.”

      “That’s not necessary,” she breathed. Her fingers clutched the skirt of her wedding dress so tightly her knuckles matched the pearly white fabric.

      “Believe me, it is.” He strode toward the ladder, then waited for her to follow.

      She stayed rooted to the spot. “I can’t leave.”

      “You can’t stay,” he countered, his tone registering his impatience.

      She looked at him and licked her lips. Panic flared in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I…I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do.”

      He heard the edge of desperation in her voice and moved closer to her. “It’s all right,” he said softly, using the same tone he used to gentle a spooked horse. “Everything will be all right. Come with me to the house. We’ll figure out what to do.”

      Her tense shoulders relaxed a fraction. She took a deep breath, then gave him a shaky nod.

      Garrett gently grasped her elbow and led her toward the ladder. She gathered her voluminous skirt in her hands, then carefully climbed down the wooden rungs. Her knees buckled when she reached the barn floor, and Garrett watched her grab on to a wooden support beam to steady herself. He jumped down the last few rungs and hurried to her side.

      “I’m all right,” she assured him. “I haven’t eaten anything all day and the…excitement must be catching up with me.”

      Damn. Bad enough he’d found a citified bride stowed away in his barn. Now she was about to pass out from hunger. How could she leave his ranch if she was unconscious? Without bothering to ask her permission, Garrett bent and scooped her into his arms. He ignored her sharp gasp of protest as he gathered her close to his chest. A little closer than necessary. But he couldn’t resist the urge to inhale her unique scent and feel all that softness against his body one last time.

      His horse Brutus emitted a high-pitched whinny as Garrett headed for the barn door, a sputtering bride in his arms. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the big bay gelding was laughing at him.

      AS SOON AS Garrett carried Mimi out of the barn, the wild Texas wind snatched at her veil and whipped it across his face. He spit three layers of tulle out of his mouth, then muttered an oath under his breath.

      “You can put me down now,” she said, more than a little unnerved by his brute strength. She weighed one hundred and thirty pounds, and the man wasn’t even breathing hard.

      “This is my ranch,” he bit out, shifting her slightly in his arms as he strode toward the house. “I’m the one who gives the orders.”

      Mimi clenched her jaw and held her tongue. She couldn’t afford to antagonize him. She couldn’t keep staring at him, either. It wasn’t proper for a woman who’d almost married another man less than four hours ago. And Mimi Casville had been raised to be a proper young lady. To behave perfectly in every social situation. She’d always tried to follow the rigid dictates of high-society etiquette.

      Until today.

      Running out of your own wedding was not considered polite behavior in Austin society. Or anywhere else, for that matter. A well-bred, proper young lady did not abandon her groom at the altar. Or leave four hundred guests crowded together in the overly warm sanctuary.

      But Mimi had done exactly that. And now she was in the arms of a cowboy. A very handsome cowboy who was partly to blame for the weakness in her knees and the erratic beat of her heart. She blinked at him, unable to look away. His face was tanned and rugged, testimony to long days working under the hot Texas sun. The shadow of stubble on his square jaw matched the russet hair almost hidden beneath his black felt cowboy hat.

      Her cheeks blazed when his green-gold eyes caught her staring at him. She blinked and quickly looked away. But not before his gaze touched something in her soul. The way he looked at her… If her fiancé had ever looked at her that way, just once, she might be a married woman right now.

      Mimi closed her eyes, pushing thoughts of her duplicitous fiancé out of her mind. She couldn’t think about him. Not now. Instead, she leaned her head against Garrett’s broad chest and focused her attention on the ranch house.

      It was a rustic, two-story stone-fronted structure, fifty years old or so, but well-maintained. Black shutters accented every window, and small wisps of smoke curled out of the stone chimney. An inviting wraparound porch held a porch swing and a small doghouse. Wood creaked as Garrett climbed the steps that led to his front door.

      Like most girls, Mimi had always dreamed of her wedding day. In her mind’s eye, she’d seen a magnificent cathedral full of friends and family. A reverent candelight service. A handsome, adoring groom.

      She sighed. So far, it hadn’t turned out at all like she’d planned. She’d certainly never imagined being carried over the threshold by a cantankerous cowboy. Although the stranger holding her in his arms had a solidness about him that she’d rarely experienced before. A gentle strength that inexplicably made her want to nestle closer to him.

      At least until he marched through the front door and dumped her on the beige leather sofa in his living room. Then he turned on his heel and left without a word.

      Mimi lay there stunned for a moment, listening to the clomp of his cowboy boots in the next room. Then she struggled to sit up. It was difficult to do anything in her five-thousand-dollar wedding dress. One hundred and ten silk-covered buttons ran down the back of the dress from her neck to her tailbone. Steel ribbing cinched her middle like an old-fashioned corset. It made her waist look impossibly tiny and her breasts impossibly big. It also made it very hard to breathe. Little wonder she’d almost passed out.

      When she finally managed to pull herself upright, she took a long look around the room. A sturdy oak coffee table separated the sofa from two oversize leather armchairs. A handwoven rug with rich hues of blue, green and burgundy stretched across the polished hardwood floor. Another rug lay in front of the stone hearth, where a small fire glowed. A rustic Christmas