The Maverick's Accidental Bride. Christine Rimmer

ran to the sofa in the sitting area and snatched up her dress and shoes from where he’d set them before they ate.

      “Jordyn, come on. We need to stay calm. We need to—”

      “Stop talking, Will.”

      “But—”

      “Stop. Please. I can’t take any more. I’ve got to get dressed. I’ve got to get out of here.” And with that, she ran into the bathroom and shut and locked the door.

      * * *

      “The county courthouse and offices are closed for the three-day weekend.” Will eased his quad cab to the curb in front of Strickland’s Boarding House. “They open again tomorrow. First thing in the morning, we’ll head for Kalispell and straighten this craziness out. Maybe that license isn’t even filed yet. Maybe we can make this whole thing just go away.”

      Jordyn stared out the windshield. For the moment, the street was quiet. No kids out playing, no neighbors working in their yards or walking their dogs. If she moved fast, she might get up the steps and in the front door before anyone spotted her going in wearing the same blue dress and high heels she’d been wearing the night before.

      Will caught her arm as she leaned on the door handle. “Jordyn. Tomorrow?”

      She gulped and nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow morning. Okay.”

      He stared in her eyes as though looking for a sign from her—but a sign of what? She had no clue. His cell started ringing, which was great because he let her go.

      “Tomorrow,” he said again, the phone already at his ear.

      She made her escape, jumping to the sidewalk, shoving the door shut and then turning to sprint along the walk and up the stairs of the ramshackle four-story Victorian. She had her key out and ready when she hit the door. All she wanted was to get in and get up the two sets of stairs to her room on the third floor without having to talk to a soul.

      But no.

      As she fumbled to stick the key in the lock, the door swung open. Sweet old Melba Strickland, who owned and ran the boardinghouse, stood on the other side wearing one of those floral-patterned dresses she favored and a pair of very sensible shoes. Melba was at least eighty, but spry. She had a warm heart, a willing hand—and a staunch moral code.

      Melba believed in the power of love. She also believed that sex should only occur between two people married in the sight of God and man. She’d made it way clear from Jordyn’s first day at the rooming house almost two years ago now that there would be no hanky-panky on the premises. Yes, it was the twenty-first century, and Melba’s old-fashioned ideas didn’t stop her tenants from hooking up, anyway. They just did it discreetly.

      Coming home in the middle of the afternoon in last night’s bridesmaid’s dress, looking like something the cat dragged in?

      Not exactly discreet.

      “Honey, are you all right?” Melba took Jordyn’s hand and pulled her inside. “When you didn’t come down for breakfast, I assumed you just needed a little extra sleep after the big party last night. By eleven or so, though, I began to worry. You’re not the kind to sleep half the day away.” Jordyn saw no judgment in Melba’s eyes—nothing but affection and honest concern.

      Again, the image of her and Will in front of Carmen Lutello last night rose up in her mind’s eye. Had Melba been there?

      No. If she had, she would have known why Jordyn didn’t come down for breakfast. Plus, it had happened pretty late in the evening, hadn’t it? Melba and her husband, Old Gene, rarely stayed up past ten.

      Melba patted her hand. “Darling, what’s wrong? What’s happened? You look so pale.”

      “I’m all right,” she baldly lied. “There’s nothing wrong.”

      “Have you eaten?” The old woman started herding Jordyn toward the arch to the dining room.

      “I had some tea and toast.” Gently, Jordyn eased free of Melba’s grip. “I’m not hungry.”

      “You sure, now?”

      “Yes. I’ll, um, be down later and get something then.” She headed for the stairs and took them at a near run, never once pausing or glancing back until she’d reached the third-floor landing, where she halted, breathing fast, her stomach roiling, listening for the sound of Melba’s sensible shoes coming up behind her.

      But Melba stayed below. With a sigh of relief, Jordyn hurried along the third-floor hall to her room. She’d barely shut the door and sagged against it when her cell started ringing.

      “What now?” She dug it out of her clutch and tossed the clutch on the dresser nearby. The display read Will. Just Will. She couldn’t remember having Will’s cell number—and if she had, she’d have programmed in his last name.

      Which was now her last name.

      “Oh, God.” With an unhappy moan, she answered it. “How did you get my number?”

      “I have no idea. I’m guessing we probably exchanged numbers last night.”

      “Of course.” They’d exchanged so much last night. Phone numbers. Wedding vows. Possibly bodily fluids. She moaned again.

      “Jordyn, are you okay?”

      “No, I am not. Where are you, Will?”

      “Out in front, in my pickup.”

      “Why aren’t you gone yet?”

      “Because I got a call from Craig.” Craig was the oldest of Will’s brothers.

      “Why does that sound like very bad news?”

      “Look. I just think you should know. Craig was there last night, when we got married. So was half the town, apparently.”

      Half the town? Lovely. Half the town knew more than she did about what she and Will had done last night. “I know there were people there. I told you that. This isn’t news, Will.”

      “Yeah, it kind of is.” He sounded scarily grim.

      She kicked off her sparkly shoes and slid down the door till her butt hit the floor. “Just tell me.”

      “Craig says everyone’s talking about it, about the ceremony in the park, about our, um, smoking-hot kiss—you know, the one that sealed our vows?”

      Her headache had come back. With a vengeance. “So we kissed. Of course we kissed. That’s what you do when you get married. Is that all?”

      “Er, no.”

      “Then what else?”

      “We made the Rust Creek Falls Gazette.”

      “What are you talking about, Will? I don’t understand...”

      “Apparently, there’s this column called Rust Creek Ramblings written by some mystery gossip columnist. Does that ring a bell?”

      Nobody knew who the columnist was, but he or she always had the scoop, was always outing the personal, intimate and romantic business of people in town. A low moan escaped Jordyn. “Oh, no...”

      “Yeah. Craig says this morning’s column is all about you and me. All about our surprise wedding. It’s, uh, not all that flattering, Craig says.”

      “Not all that flattering. What does that mean?”

      “I’m not sure yet. I’m going to go get a copy of the Gazette and find out.”

      Jordyn cast a longing glance at her bed with its pretty white eyelet bedspread. All she wanted at that moment was to get in and pull the covers over her head.

      “Jordyn, we really need to talk some more. We need to give careful consideration to how we want to handle this. We have to—”

      “Will.”