A Bride for Jericho Bravo. Christine Rimmer

as Jericho was concerned.

      By the time he reached the street, Tessa’s disturbed sister was long gone. He rolled down all the windows so he could hear the bike if he got anywhere near it and he turned the car in the direction she’d been headed when she passed in front of Ash’s study.

      At the corner, a T intersection, he took a wild guess and went right, figuring a rider unfamiliar with a big bike would take the easy turn, given a choice. After that, he went straight until the fork in the road, where he veered to the right again and tried not to think about the damage that could be done to an expensive piece of machinery with a crazy woman riding it.

      And what about the crazy woman herself? What could happen to her was even scarier. At least she’d been wearing his helmet when she drove past the front window. If she ended up eating pavement, she might break every bone in her skinny little body—but just maybe she wouldn’t kill herself.

      He kept going, ears tuned for the bike’s distinctive sound. As he turned the circle around a doughnut intersection where five streets came together, he heard the familiar rumble.

      From there, he just followed the sound.

      He caught up with her as she turned—right again—onto the street that circled the park. She wasn’t going very fast, which was really good news. Plus, the street was essentially deserted. Two pickups went past going the opposite direction, headlights cutting the thickening darkness. But no vehicles blocked the space between the Mercedes and the bike.

      Once he found her, it was simple. He got a bit too close, showing her some wheel, and she guided the bike nearer to the curb, wobbling a little as she went, to let him pass.

      But he didn’t pass. He just got up parallel with her and drove along at a matching crawl. Any slower and she’d kill that big engine. In fact, how she’d managed not to kill it before then was a mystery to him.

      She glanced over, her face all pinched and pissed off inside his too-big helmet. And she saw it was him. The surprise on her face might have been funny, if he hadn’t been more than a little freaked that she would hit the gas and lose control.

      But the fates were kind. The sight of him had her easing off the throttle rather than gunning it. The bike sputtered and died. She rolled toward the shoulder. When the bike stopped, she put her feet down. He pulled the Mercedes in behind her.

      Leaving the car’s engine running and the headlights on to see by, he was out the door and heading for her as she lowered the stand and climbed off. She undid the helmet strap. Her light brown hair caught static and crackled when she lifted the helmet free of her head.

      He reached her. Moving slowly and carefully, she set the helmet on the seat. And then she turned and met his eyes. He had all kinds of things he was going to yell at her, all kinds of names he was going to call her.

      But those big blue eyes looked so sad and so lost, he forgot about how he thought she was crazy. He even let go of the proud rage she had stirred in him when she took him for a burglar in his own brother’s house.

      It seemed only natural. Just to hold out his arms. She stared at him for a moment, a small space of time that somehow became endless. In the headlight’s hard glare, her expression showed surprise. And then, in an instant, acceptance.

      With a heavy sigh, she sagged against him. He gathered her in.

      A couple more cars went by as they stood there, embracing in the wash of bright light. She hooked her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest. A soft, wordless sound escaped her. He felt the warmth of her breath, easing its way through the cloth of his shirt, touching his flesh.

      And then she pulled back. He had the strangest urge to keep holding on. But he tamped that urge down. He let her go and she stepped away.

      She hung her head. “I didn’t even have the guts to go fast.”

      “And that’s a good thing.” He spoke sternly. “It would have been a seriously bad idea to do that.”

      “Yeah. I guess.” She pulled something from her back pocket and held it out. It was the bike’s ignition cap.

      He took it from her, suddenly remembering that her father was a mechanic. He’d met Patrick Jones at Ash’s wedding. “Your dad runs a garage, right?”

      “Uh-huh. He taught me a thing or two about engines. Enough to make me dangerous, I guess.” She was still looking down, subdued now.

      He just didn’t get it. “I gotta ask. What’s this about? Why would you steal my bike? What’s the point?”

      She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

      “Try me.”

      “My boyfriend dumped me.”

      “I heard. I’m sorry. But … why take it out on me?”

      She sent him a narrowed glance, and then looked at the pavement some more. “Because … I’m insane and possibly a drug addict?”

      “What?”

      She looked up again, a flash of anger in her eyes and then, as before, back down. “I heard what you said to Ash.”

      He winced. But still, she shouldn’t have been listening in. “You were eavesdropping.”

      “No, I wasn’t. It just … happened. I left my purse on the front hall table. Don’t ask me why, I don’t why. But when I realized I’d left it there, I went back to get it. I heard you guys in the study, talking. I knew I had to go past the open door to get to the table. I knew you would see me, and I would feel foolish to have wandered off without my purse—the family idiot on the loose without a keeper. It would be just one more proof that I’m a can short of a six-pack, you know? So I hesitated. That was when I heard what you said.”

      Regret tugged at him. “Look, I really am sorry. I can see now I had it all wrong about you.”

      “Yeah, well. It seriously ticked me off at the time. But now that I’ve cooled off a little, I guess I have to admit that I completely get why you would think I’m out of my mind.”

      “So this, taking my bike, was payback?”

      Still staring at the pavement, she shrugged. “In a totally wussy, pitifully ineffective sort of way, yeah.”

      He touched her strong little chin with his finger, guiding it up so that she was looking at him again. “We can call it even from here. Start fresh. How ‘bout that?”

      She made a disbelieving sound. “You sure you don’t want to have me arrested?”

      He held her gaze. “It’s tempting, but I’ll pass.”

      “Maybe a little time in jail would do me good,” she said half-jokingly, mocking herself.

      And suddenly, he wanted to shake her. She didn’t have a clue about what happened behind bars.

      His exasperation must have shown on his face. Her eyes widened. “Yikes. What did I say this time?”

      Gruffly, he advised, “You don’t want to go to jail. Take my word on that.”

      “Uh. Okay.”

      He gentled his tone. “So, you think you can drive Ash’s Mercedes back to the house without running into anything?”

      She hung her head again. “I could. If I could only find my way there.”

      He understood. “You’re lost.”

      “Oh, yeah. In more ways than one.”

      He felt a surge of something that could only be called protectiveness. It surprised him. He wasn’t the protective type. “Here.” He took her small, soft hand, turned it over and put Ash’s keys in it. “You’re gonna be fine.”

      “Oh, I hope so.”

      “Just follow me.”

      Marnie