Stop The Wedding!. Lori Wilde

deal, maybe he wasn’t, but Boone was determined to see for himself firsthand. He hadn’t been able to look after Jackie when they were kids, but he was definitely going to make up for it now.

      He had a breakfast of eggs and oatmeal, worked out his upper body with weights, took a shower and then went to the computer with little expectation of a reply. Already he was thumbing through a list of his acquaintances who might be in a position to drive him to Key West. The list was pitifully short.

      He opened his email and pop!

      There it was. A reply to his ad. Yes. Eagerly, Boone read the message.

      I am moving to Miami next week. I can take you that far if your trip can wait until Monday.

      Disappointment stiffened his spine. He posted back.

      That’s too late. Is there any way you can leave today instead of next week?

      He pushed back from the desk, not expecting a quick reply, but the person must have been at his or her computer, because he’d no more than gotten to his feet than his computer pinged, letting Boone know that he had a new message.

      Sorry, no, I still have to pack and load my things into a U-Haul. The soonest I could leave would be Thursday afternoon.

      Boone did the math. If they left on Thursday afternoon and drove straight through they could arrive in Key West early Saturday morning, but with his knee, there was no way he could ride in the car for thirty-eight hours nonstop. He would have to factor in at least another day. The latest he could leave was Wednesday afternoon. He sat back down and typed.

      What if I paid to have someone come pack your things and load the U-Haul today? Could you leave tonight?

      Feeling antsy, he hit Send and waited.

      Sounds like you have an emergency situation, but Mercury is in retrograde. I try not to travel when Mercury is in retrograde. It messes with travel plans.

      Seriously? Was this person for real?

      What if I threw in five hundred dollars on top of everything else? Will that overcome your fear of Mercury?

      It went against his sense of economy, but this might be the only opportunity he had.

      It took a few minutes, but then the reply came.

      All right. You have a deal.

      Relief had him splaying both palms across the top of his head. Whew.

      Done, he wrote. Where do you live?

      There was another pause, this time so long that he started worrying. Had he scared off the prospect? Maybe it was a woman leery of driving with a man she didn’t know. He couldn’t blame her. It was smart to be prudent. In this case, honesty was the best policy.

      I’m a war vet with a bum knee so I can’t drive myself. My sister is about to make a big mistake, marrying a guy she barely knows, and I need to get to Key West before the wedding to talk some sense into her.

      He held his breath. If honesty didn’t work, he was back to square one, and he was running out of time. He stroked a hand over his jaw, drummed his fingers on the desk.

      Come on, come on, just say yes.

      He thought of Shaina, of how young and dumb they’d been, blundering into marriage without any real knowledge of what it meant to commit to one person fully and completely. Then he thought of Jackie, knowing how easy it was to fool yourself into thinking you were in love when it was nothing more than lust. He could not let her make a mistake this big. He had to get to Key West no matter what he had to do.

      His computer pinged and he returned his attention to the screen.

      Boone?

      He blinked at his name. Who was this?

      Yes.

      Small world. It’s me. Tara.

       2

      Tuesday, June 30, 1:00 p.m.

      BOONE STOOD OFF to one side of Tara’s driveway clothed in an army-green T-shirt and camouflage cargo shorts, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, supervising the movers like a high school principal monitoring the hallways. His brow was knitted in a dark scowl, his right leg encased in a heavy metal brace.

      “Hey, Toliver. You oughta get a patent,” Tara teased as she breezed past him, her arms loaded with boxes.

      “Patent?” he growled. “For what?”

      “That broody frown. James Dean and Marlon Brando combined got nothing on you.”

      His glower deepened.

      “Yup, watch out, you’re heading for Darth Vadar territory.”

      “Darth Vadar wore a mask.”

      “Exactly.”

      His face relaxed. Just a bit. “Total mystery.”

      “What is?” Tara loaded the boxes into the back of the U-Haul, turned and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the back of a hand.

      “You.”

      She smiled big, pleased.

      Boone shook his shaggy head, two months past the point of needing a good haircut. But that was okay. Overgrown hair gave a stylist something to work with. She canted her head and imagined how he’d look in different cuts—slicked-back undercut, Brit-rock indie, men’s quiff. Who was she kidding? He’d probably spoil her fun and insist on a military buzz.

      “It’s not a compliment,” he said.

      “What are you so prickly about?” She dusted her hands against her back pockets.

      “I hate this.” He hissed the last word through clenched teeth.

      “What?” She studied him. He was in so much pain—both physical and mental—that it wrenched her heart. But she also knew he had no use for pity. How many times had he rebuffed her when she’d tried to help? Boone was one of those proud protector dudes who thought he was invincible. He hadn’t handled life’s curveball very well. Poor baby.

      “Having to stand here and watch you carry boxes when I should be the one doing it.”

      “Oh, so you’re responsible for the whole world? Good to know.”

      “Not the whole world, just my slice of it.”

      “Newsflash, Hercules. I’m not part of your world and I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own boxes.”

      “If I were healthy you would not be carrying your own boxes.”

      “If you were healthy, I wouldn’t be driving you to Miami. Besides, I’m not some helpless damsel. I know how to take care of myself.”

      “You sure know how to wound a man, Duvall.”

      “I’m not in the military. You can call me Tara.”

      “Okay, then let the men I hired do the heavy lifting…Tara.”

      The sarcastic way he muttered her name didn’t get to her. She knew he was a big softy underneath all the gruffness. She’d seen Boone tenderly cradle their neighbor’s new baby when Mrs. Winspree had brought her infant over to show him off. She’d seen him struggle not to shed a tear at his father’s funeral. Had watched him drive his friends away because he was too proud to admit he needed help. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she was the one person who kept him from disappearing into himself completely, even though he did his best to keep her at arm’s length. What would happen to him once she was gone? Probably turn into a hermit and holler at kids for walking across his lawn.

      Tara smiled sweetly and gently bumped Boone with a playful hip as she walked past him on her way to