“You aren’t responsible for what happens to me, Garrett.”

“You became my responsibility the moment I brought you home,” he refuted gruffly.

Jenna was touched by his chivalrous sentiment, and startled by the deeper layer of resentment she detected in his tone.

“Why did you do it?” she asked quietly. “You could have left me to fend for myself.”

He scoffed at that. “Sweetheart, you were far from being able to take care of yourself. You were in no shape to be left alone, and your options were limited. I was your safest bet.”

“Thank you.”

He shrugged off her gratitude. “So, what do you plan on doing now?”

“You mean now that I’m no longer someone’s bride?”

Almost at the altar—will these nearlyweds become newlyweds?

Welcome to Nearlyweds, our brand-new miniseries featuring the ultimate romantic occasion—weddings! Yet these are no ordinary weddings: our beautiful brides and gorgeous grooms only nearly make it to the altar—before fate intervenes and the wedding’s…off!

But the story doesn’t end there…. Find out what happens in these tantalizingly emotional novels by some of your best-loved Harlequin Romance® authors over the coming months.

To Catch a Bride

by Renee Roszel

#3660

The Wedding Secret

Janelle Denison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my niece, Brianna—may you find a hero as strong and handsome as your dad. As always, to Don, for being all that, and more.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

THE bride had the face of an angel and the body of a goddess, all wrapped up in yards of shimmery white fabric that spilled like liquid satin all around her. The incongruity of so much lily white material in an establishment where sinful fun was a Saturday night invitation made Garrett Blackwell do a double take as he slid onto a vacant stool at the bar.

He wasn’t the only one staring at the lone bride occupying the far corner booth, drinking, or rather gulping, dark liquid from a snifter. Leisure Pointe was rocking with loud music and rowdy as ever with good-natured arguments and boisterous laughter, but the main attraction seemed to be the lady in white. The women eyed her with curiosity and speculation, while any one of the men looked willing and eager to stand in for the nonexistent groom.

Garrett couldn’t blame them. She was a head-turner, the kind of woman a man could make a real fool of himself over. Huge blue eyes, full lips that begged to be kissed, and flawless, satiny skin that seemed to glow with warmth. Hair the color of sun-dappled wheat was pinned on top of her head, half of which had escaped to fall in a riot of springy, spiral curls around her face and down her back. The off-the-shoulder design of her wedding gown, dazzling with pearls and sequins, dipped low enough to hint at nicely rounded breasts, then nipped in to what appeared to be a tiny waist. He imagined she had long, slender legs to match, and cut off his thoughts before they traveled to more forbidden territory. What skimpy lingerie she might be wearing beneath that dress was none of his business.

“She’s a looker, isn’t she?”

Garrett finally turned on his stool and faced Harlan, the burly man who tended the bar and owned the joint. Harlan wore a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, old worn jeans, and suspenders to hold them up, though the thick girth of his belly could have done the job just as easily.

“What she looks like is someone who made a wrong turn off of Interstate 44 coming out of St. Louis.” No one as city-polished and elegant as her would deliberately head to the small town of Danby, Missouri, unless they’d gotten lost. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Damned if I know.” Harlan pried open a long-neck and set the bottle in front of Garrett, knowing his preferred drink. “Nobody seems to know who she is or where she came from. Never seen her around Danby before tonight, and she’s got a face and a body no healthy, red-blooded man would forget, if you know what I mean.”

Oh, Garret knew exactly what Harlan meant. He didn’t have to turn around to remember what she looked like, to recall the wild crush of hair a man could lose his hands in, full breasts made more lush by her slim waist, or to experience that unwanted stirring of desire that had skirted the edges of his own sanity. Shifting in his seat, he lifted the bottle of beer to his lips and took a long drink of the cool, malty liquid in an attempt to banish his wayward thoughts. “So, where’s the groom?”

Harlan cleared dirty glasses off the counter and set them in the soapy water filling the sink behind the bar. “Haven’t seen one, though she’s had a few marriage proposals from the young bucks here tonight. They’ve been swarming around her like flies on a horse’s tail, and making a general nuisance of themselves.” He shook his head, something fiercely protective lighting his brown eyes, the kind of look one would expect from the father of three teenage daughters nearing the dating age. “I finally had to tell them to back off and leave her alone. She doesn’t look like she’s interested in the kind of company they have in mind, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from sending her drinks. Five snifters of Amaretto. I just told Becky to cut her off and not to accept any more orders from her admirers, unless it’s for coffee.”

A smile twitched the corner of Garrett’s mouth. Harlan appeared and acted like a big, gruff grizzly, but he was a kind and fair man. He ran his establishment efficiently and didn’t begrudge a person a good time. But it was also known by anyone who frequented the place that Harlan didn’t like trouble in his bar, didn’t allow arguments to escalate into brawls, and he always looked after the patrons who’d imbibed beyond their limit.

Like the bride without a groom.

Harlan moved to the opposite end of the bar to fill drink orders, and Garrett found his gaze sliding her way again. She was a fascinating feminine creature, made more intriguing by the mysterious circumstances that had brought her to Danby, and how out of place her presence was in Leisure Pointe. Dressed like a fairy princess, and possessing a natural beauty that was as stunning as it was arousing, she was like a glittering diamond nestled among drab rhinestones. She didn’t belong, and had city sophistication written all over her.

When Harlan returned, Garrett expressed his thoughts out loud. “Who in their right mind would drop her off here?”

“Her limousine driver.”

Garrett frowned. “I didn’t see a limo out front.”

Grabbing the bar towel slung over his shoulder, Harlan dried a beer glass and set it in the rack above him. His mouth stretched into a tight line of disgust. “The guy didn’t stick around. He followed her in with a suitcase and told me that she asked him to stop here. The prissy fellow said his contracted time was up, that he wasn’t waiting around, and she was on her own.”

“That’s it?”

“He did mutter something about having to drive all the way back to St. Louis, so I’m assuming that’s where she came from.”

But it explained little else.

Harlan sighed and braced a beefy forearm on the bar surface. “I need you to do me a favor, Blackwell.”

Garrett lifted a brow. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like what you have to say?”

“Aw, come on,” Harlan groused. “I just want you to go over there and ask the lady who we can call to pick her up.”

The request was simple, straightforward, and required minimal interaction, but Garrett didn’t do damsels in distress—not anymore. Not when the last woman he’d rescued had taken advantage of his generosity and duped him in a very life-altering way.

His expression must have conveyed his grim thoughts because Harlan was quick with a response. “I’m sure I could get a line of volunteers to do the deed if I asked, but I suspect that most of the men in here would proposition her instead. Considering the frame of mind she’s in…”

Garrett scowled. Harlan’s words didn’t paint a pretty picture. Dammit all, anyway, he thought irritably. He’d come to Leisure Pointe to relax and unwind, have a few beers and shoot the breeze with Harlan and some of the old cronies who’d been his dad’s buddies before he’d died. The same old boring Saturday evening routine—so unlike his brother’s weekend of partying, women, and generally raising hell with his own friends.

Rylan. Seeing a way out of Harlan’s well-meaning intentions, Garrett squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke in the bar, searching for a dark, tousled head of hair and a quick charming grin that belonged to his younger brother.

“Why don’t you find Rylan and get him to do it?” Garrett suggested. Though his brother enjoyed the fairer sex, and they flocked around him like bees to honey, he’d never take advantage of a woman. The honor and respect their mother had instilled in her boys was deeply ingrained, but Garrett doubted Charlotte Blackwell would ever have anticipated the steep price her eldest son had paid for being so chivalrous.

His eight-year-old daughter was a constant reminder of just how honorable he’d been. Too bad Chelsea’s mom hadn’t been equally responsible, or faithful—to him, or the little girl she’d never truly cared about.

“Your brother left with Emma Gentry over an hour ago,” Harlan said. “And he didn’t look like he was going to be back any time soon.”

Garrett wasn’t surprised. He and his brother shared the same house, which Garrett had inherited from his mother when she’d moved to Iowa to live with her sister four years ago. But at twenty-six, Ry came and went as he pleased. More often than not, Friday and Saturday nights were spent elsewhere. Garrett didn’t care with whom, as long as Ry stayed out of trouble.

“How about Otis?” Garrett eyed the man sitting at the far end of the bar. “He’s pretty harmless and can do the job just as well as I can.”

“Otis is a randy old fart.” Harlan glanced at the other man, then back at Garrett, a dark frown bunching his bushy brows. “Just look at him. He’s gawking at her, his mouth is hanging open, and he’s all but drooling! Do you honestly think he’d be able to put together a coherent sentence when he’s so obviously tongue-tied?”

Garrett couldn’t help but laugh, and as his gaze scanned the males sitting at nearby tables, he realized that Otis wasn’t the only one lusting over the voluptuous bride. Amazing that one woman could have such an effect on so many men.

“For crying out loud, Blackwell, I’m not asking you to marry the girl.” Harlan was back to arguing, and his brand of good-natured harassment, all the while mixing drink orders on the pad in front of him. “It’s getting late, and if she lives in St. Louis, it’s going to take someone a good hour to come and get her.”

“Fine,” Garrett said, feeling duly chastised for resisting such a quick and simple task for a friend. “You owe me, Harlan.”

“Yeah, yeah.” A sudden twinkle entered Harlan’s eyes, one that matched the slow, satisfied grin on his face. “Go on. I’ll have a cold one waiting for you when you get back.”

Garrett grumbled one last complaint that did nothing to change Harlan’s mind. Sliding off his bar stool, he headed toward the corner booth. The sooner he got this awkward errand over with, the sooner he could resume his mundane Saturday night activities.

Many curious eyes watched Garrett’s progress across the room, making him uncomfortably aware of how conversations stalled as he passed by tables. This was a first…Garrett Blackwell approaching a woman in Leisure Pointe. It was a known fact that he didn’t consort with the females in Danby beyond a polite nod or greeting. The few bolder, wilder ones that had attempted to pursue him he’d turned down as tactfully as possible, no matter how enticing the offer.

He’d never been one for gratuitous sex, but he wasn’t a monk, either. Far from it. The few women whom he’d had affairs with over the years lived in other towns where gossip and speculation couldn’t touch them, or his family. The women he chose to date also knew and accepted up front that he wasn’t looking for anything serious. He had no intention of letting any woman manipulate his emotions again.

Blowing out a deep breath, Garrett severed those thoughts and opted to slide into the booth opposite where the bride sat, instead of standing at the edge of the table to conduct his business. The cozy corner table afforded him and the woman a modicum of privacy, away from most prying eyes and ears. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass her, or provide entertainment for the masses.

She’d been staring into the depths of the dark liquid swirling in her snifter, looking so lost and dejected. Confused even. As soon as his jeans-clad legs tangled with the froth of satin beneath the table she glanced up, startled by his sudden appearance.

He opened his mouth to speak, and found himself broad-sided by the color of her eyes. At a distance, he’d been able to detect that they were blue, but up close and personal, they were incredibly striking—a soft shade of periwinkle, rimmed in a darker sapphire with the tiniest threads of gold shot through the middle. Her lashes were long and thick, her brows delicately, perfectly arched. A natural beauty mark just above her lip on the left side drew his gaze to her full, soft mouth. A mouth that inspired a dozen provocative thoughts.

Despite the symbol of purity and innocence her wedding gown implied, there was a natural, subtle air of sensuality about her. A contradiction of guilelessness and allure that aroused a man’s basic interest. Yet he got the distinct impression that she wasn’t aware of her appeal, didn’t know the mesmerizing effect she had on men. She didn’t flaunt herself, didn’t tease or flirt to attract attention. She didn’t need to. Mother Nature had blessed her—or cursed her, depending on how she viewed the situation—with a perfect face and body and a vibrancy that seemed to naturally radiate outward.

And then she wet her bottom lip with her tongue. Nothing sly or calculated about the gesture, but it certainly grabbed his attention and caused an unmistakable heat to thrum through his veins.

He suddenly felt ridiculously tongue-tied.

A sweet smile lifted her enticing mouth, but it didn’t erase the haunting shadows in her eyes. Blinking slumberously, she slouched onto the table and propped her chin in her palm. She stared up at him in a dreamy sort of way, an effect he attributed to the alcohol she’d consumed.

“Hi.” The one word floated to Garrett on a husky sigh of breath, wrapping around his already overloaded senses like a silky, physical caress.

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to remember his manners. “Ma’am. Are you okay?”

“I’mmm…fine,” she said brightly, and gulped the last little bit of liquor in her snifter. “I’m jus’…great.”

She was far from fine, and closer to the despair fringing her false bravado. “How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Her brows creased as she thought about his question. “Yeah, I think I could use some coffee. Lots of cream and sugar.” She yawned, and her lashes drooped. “No more Armar…etto. It’s making me sooo seepy.” She giggled at her slur, then tried, “I mean ti-erd.”

Stifling a grin, he motioned for the bar waitress and ordered the woman a cup of strong, black coffee. When he glanced back at the bride, he found her brushing at an unmanageable curl along her cheek, which kept springing back into place. A look of utter disgust flitted across her face.

“I hate my curly hair,” she grumbled, blowing a frustrated stream of breath at the unruly strand. “Stupid curls never stay where I put them. Did you know I wanted straight hair when I was a little girl?”

“Uh, no.” How could he have possibly known something so personal when he’d never met her before this evening?

Her eyes drifted closed, and just when Garrett thought she’d fallen asleep she spoke in a soft, wistful voice. “Every birthday I’d blow out the candles on my cake and wish for straight hair like my friend Cindy. It never happened.”

He took in the long, lustrous hair she seemed to curse, too fascinated by those springy, natural curls and the way they might cling to his fingers…or how the caress of the sun might turn the strands to rich gold.

Her eyes fluttered open a moment later, a wealth of vulnerability shining in their depths. Unsure how to reply to her strange conversation, and feeling way out of his element, he played it safe and remained quiet.

“My other wishes didn’t come true, either,” she confessed quietly. “I was supposed to marry a prince charming, and live happily ever after. I guess I’m just not very good at making wishes.”

Becky arrived with the coffee, saving him from having to formulate some kind of response. He knew the liquor was partially responsible for loosening her tongue, but he sensed her babbling about prince charmings and wishes somehow tied into the reason why she’d skipped out on her wedding day.

“Today was suppos’ to be the happiest day of my life,” she said once they were alone again, her soft voice quivering with emotion. “That’s what my mom told me before she died, but it’s the worst day of my life. All I wanted was a teensy-weensy bit of re-spec-ta-bil-ity, but I’ll never, ever be respectable.”

Aw, hell. What offense had she committed that was so awful she believed herself unworthy of respect? Compassion stirred within him, along with a good dose of curiosity over her comment. He quickly stifled both, refusing to tangle himself in this woman’s emotional turmoil. Once he gleaned some pertinent information from her so Harlan could contact someone to pick her up, his duty would be done and he could get back to that cold beer Harlan had promised him.

And forget about this complex, periwinkle-eyed angel who seemed so lost and alone, and very vulnerable…and a possible scandal waiting to happen. The last thing he wanted or needed was speculation into his private life, and this mysterious woman would definitely provide that.

Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, he reached for the cream and sugar and poured a generous amount of each into her coffee, as she’d requested, and pushed the mug in front of her, urging her to drink.

She took a great shuddering breath, and lifted her troubled gaze to his. “Do you think when I wake up tomorrow this will all be just a bad, horrible dream?”

He wished he could offer her that assurance, but instead tried to console her with an easy smile. “If you don’t drink some of this coffee, tomorrow you’re gonna end up with a bad, horrible hangover.”

A frown marred her delicate brows and she picked up the mug, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic. “I’m fine. Jus’ great.”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed, humoring her, knowing if she tried to stand at the moment she’d fall flat on her pretty face. Resting his fingers beneath the bottom of her mug, he guided it toward her mouth. Her lips settled over the rim, and she took a drink and cringed, at the sweetness or the strength of the coffee, he couldn’t be sure.

“What’s your name?” he asked, figuring he’d start with simple questions and work his way up to the more difficult ones as her mind cleared.

“Jenna Chestfield…” Confusion etched her expression as she considered that name, then she shook her head, causing more of those unruly strands to spill from the top of her head and curl on the soft swells of her breasts straining the bodice of her gown. “No, we never said ‘I do’, so I guess I’m still just Jenna Phillips.”

Just Jenna Phillips. There was a story in that, Garrett was sure, one he didn’t want to get involved in, he reminded himself as his gaze drifted to her left hand. The absence of a ring on her finger backed her claim that no marriage had taken place.

She propped her chin in her palm again, as if her pretty head was getting too heavy for her shoulders to support. Her eyes grew soft, slumberous. “What’s your name?”

“Garrett,” he replied, deciding to keep things between them on a first-name basis.

“Garrett,” she repeated, her husky voice making his name sound very intimate coming from her lips. “That’s a nice, strong, respectable name. Are you respectable?”

Abrupt laughter rose in his throat, but he had the good manners to catch it before it escaped. Wanting to get his chivalrous deed over with, he asked, “Jenna, is there someone we can call to come pick you up?”

She didn’t have to think long. “No.”

He found that hard to believe. “Any family?” Remembering that she’d mentioned that her mother was deceased, he prompted, “Your father, or other relatives?”

She blinked, and an inexplicable sadness filled her eyes, a deep-rooted loneliness that struck a chord in him. “Nope,” she whispered in an aching voice. “No one.”

“How about your fiancé?” he asked. “Can we call him?”

She flinched at the mention of the man who would have become her husband, and her distress returned. He caught a wealth of regret, remorse and insecurities in her eyes before she cast her gaze downward.

“No, he wouldn’t want me anymore,” she said in a voice choked with certainty. “Not after the way I humiliated him and his family. I can’t ever go back.”

Another frustrating surge of sympathy gripped Garrett, and he valiantly tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to care about this woman and her predicament, or why she believed she was such a big disappointment to the man she’d been engaged to marry.

Great. Now what should he do? He glanced over at the bar and met Harlan’s questioning gaze. Other than the woman’s name, and learning that Jenna Phillips was seemingly as much of a loner as himself, he didn’t have much more information on her than he had when he’d first sat down.

Well, he’d done his duty. Now, it was up to Harlan to figure out what to do with the lone bride for the night. He started to ease back out of the booth, but she grabbed his arm, which immediately stopped him. Her hand was soft and very cool against his heated skin, throwing images into his mind of how supple the rest of her body might feel beneath his calloused fingers, against his lips. He inwardly cursed—had he been that long without a woman that a stranger, and someone else’s bride at that, could make him burn with a mere touch?

She’d latched on to him for security, that much was obvious. Meeting her suddenly desperate gaze, he banished those former thoughts from his mind, reminded himself he was done rescuing women, and tipped his head in inquiry.

“Are you leaving me?” Panic tinged her voice, as if she’d just realized that she was in a strange, distant town, in a rowdy, honky-tonk bar filled with men eager to take the place he was about to vacate.

“I just need to go talk to Harlan. Nobody will bother you,” he promised, feeling uncharacteristically protective toward this woman he didn’t know. Not a good sign. He wanted to say it was the same kind of paternal feeling he experienced with his daughter, but there was nothing nurturing about the awareness Jenna evoked. No, his response to her was all male and too threatening to the secure, stable life he’d built for himself and Chelsea the past six years.

And the sooner she found her way back to St. Louis and the life still waiting for her—a life certainly more sophisticated and exciting than this small, mundane town of Danby—the better off they’d all be.

He nodded toward her mug. “You finish up that coffee, all right?”

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “You’ll come back?”

He wanted to say no, but the beseeching way his damsel in distress looked at him got under his skin, made him feel things he hadn’t felt in too many years. “Yeah, I’ll come back.”

If only to help her out to a cab, or to make sure she was safe somewhere for the night, he told himself. That would be the extent of his involvement with this lost, complex bride.

“Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?” Garrett gaped at Harlan as he absorbed the bartender’s absurd suggestion. “I can’t take her home with me!”

“Come on, Garrett,” Harlan said, giving him a what’s-the-big-deal kind of look. “I’m sure she’ll be in a better frame of mind in the morning, and she’ll realize her mistake and go back to wherever she came from. One night, Blackwell, not a lifetime.”

One night was one night too many in Garrett’s mind—not when this runaway bride affected his libido and emotions so strongly. “Find someone else to be your scapegoat, Harlan.”

The bartender’s gaze swept the rowdy room of patrons, and returned to Garrett on a serious note. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

A vein in Garrett’s temple throbbed with frustration, and he rubbed the offending spot with his fingers. “I don’t do strays,” he bit out in a last-ditch effort to convince Harlan that he was the wrong man to take care of Jenna Phillips. The only women he ever wanted to feel any obligation toward were his daughter, his mother, and his sister, Lisa.

Harlan swiped his towel over the gleaming mahogany surface of the bar, and sighed in resignation. “Then I guess I’ll just have to call the sheriff to come and pick her up, and she’ll have to spend the night down at the station in a holding cell.”

Harlan moved away to fill a drink order, leaving Garrett with a restless unease tightening his belly. He glanced toward Jenna, who looked so bewildered and lost, and imagined this beautiful, soft-skinned, city-bred bride waking up in the morning on a narrow cot, disoriented and fearful, and without a shred of that respectability and dignity she’d wished for earlier.

Indecision warred within Garrett, and he struggled with those more gallant tendencies his mother had instilled in him. He didn’t need the responsibility of taking care of this confused female, he argued with his conscience. He didn’t need the complication of embroiling himself in her problems, he thought irritably. And he sure didn’t need the distraction of her sleeping in his house, even for a night.

During Garrett’s silent brooding, Beau Harding, a drifter who worked at the lumber mill in town, sidled up to the bar. Garrett nodded toward the other man in polite acknowledgment, but there was something about Harding Garrett didn’t like, or trust. The young man was too arrogant for his own good. A month ago he’d come by Garrett’s company, Blackwell Engineering, looking for work for the summer. Though Garrett had been considering adding on an extra man to his crew, he’d gone with his gut instinct and turned him away.

Beau cast a leer over his shoulder toward Jenna, then grinned wolfishly at Harlan as the bartender returned to their end of the bar. “Hey, Harlan, what’s up with that lovely bride over in the corner?”

“We’re just trying to figure out what to do with her,” Harlan replied, very reluctantly.

Beau’s pale gray eyes glimmered with interest. “You need someone to take her to a motel for the night?”

The innuendo in Beau’s voice was unmistakable. The mere thought of this man touching Jenna, or possibly taking advantage of her current state, made Garrett feel unexpectedly territorial.

“No,” he snapped before Harlan could respond. “She already has a place to stay.”

Harlan’s brows rose in surprise, considering how adamantly Garrett had refused any involvement with the bride only moments ago.

Beau’s insolent gaze slid to Garrett. “Just thought I’d offer my assistance,” he drawled, then sauntered away.

Garrett just bet Beau would like to assist Jenna. His temper flared like wildfire in his blood, startling him with the level of possessiveness she inspired. The last time he’d experienced such an overwhelming reaction had been over another woman. Chelsea’s mother, to be exact.

And that encounter had led to nothing but grief, heartache, and a lingering bitterness over being used and betrayed.

“I’ll go get her suitcase from the storeroom,” Harlan offered, then quickly disappeared to retrieve Jenna’s luggage, as if he feared Garrett might change his mind if he didn’t hurry.

Garrett drew a deep, calming breath. One night, he told himself, and then this bundle of trouble would be gone, out of his life and back to St. Louis where she belonged.

It could be no other way.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR the first time in six years, Garrett was taking a woman home. He found it more than ironic that the woman in question had been someone else’s intended bride, and was currently passed out on the front bench seat of his truck, her frothy, satiny wedding gown enveloping her like a shimmering cloud.

Minutes after he’d pulled out of Leisure Pointe’s parking lot, without compunction or any serious thought to what she was doing, she’d stretched out, rested her head in his lap, and promptly fell asleep. Obviously, the long day she’d had, and the Amaretto she’d consumed had finally caught up to her.

That she trusted him to take care of her unsettled him. He was a complete stranger, after all. Though he’d never take advantage of a woman, he was sure if Jenna Phillips was sober and thinking clearly she never would have left Leisure Pointe with him so willingly. But considering the way she’d chosen to drown her sorrows, she’d had little choice. And as Harlan well knew, Jenna was safer with him than Beau, or even at the local motel.

The ten-minute drive to Garrett’s place seemed to take thirty, and every inch of the way he tried not to think about the woman with her cheek pressed intimately against his tense thigh, but discovered he could think about little else. Her slender hand was curled just above his knee, and with every deep breath she exhaled his skin heated through the heavy denim of his jeans, electrifying his nerves. And then there was all that wild, curly hair spilling all over his lap like rich, luscious honey.

Unable to resist the temptation, he touched one of those golden strands, rubbed it between his fingers, not at all surprised to find it silky-soft, and warm as sunshine. The impulse to sink his fingers deeper into all that warmth was strong, but he didn’t dare take that liberty.

Finally arriving at his two-story house, he turned into the drive and parked his truck near the front porch. A hush fell over the cab, except for Jenna’s deep, even breathing. Hating to disturb her, but knowing she’d be far more comfortable once he had her in a bed, he lightly touched her bare shoulder and gave her a gentle shake.

“Jenna?” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to startle her. “C’mon, you need to get up.”

Murmuring something about princes in her sleep, she rubbed her cheek against his thigh, snuggled closer to him, and sighed contentedly. He gritted his teeth as his body responded to her cuddling, ruthlessly reminding him that he’d been too long without a woman.

More determined to awaken this sleeping beauty, he gave her a firm jostling she couldn’t ignore. “Wake up, Jenna.”

With a groan, her lashes fluttered open, and she slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. Brushing her hair from her face, she blinked to clear her vision, then glanced from him, to the darkened house in front of them.

She frowned in confusion. “Where are we?” she asked, her voice sleep-husky, and incredibly sexy to Garrett’s ears.

Taking advantage of the reprieve, he opened his door and stepped out into the moonlit night. “We’re home,” he said, retrieving her one paisley-print suitcase from the bed of the truck.

He offered his hand to help her out of the vehicle, but she didn’t move. Instead, she shook her head, her expression heartbreakingly bereft and desolate. “I don’t have a home anymore,” she whispered.

Surely she was kidding, or being extremely emotional—the latter of which made the most sense. Even if she hadn’t married her fiancé, she had to live somewhere, have friends and family who would miss her, and a life she needed to return to soon.

“Since you can’t think of anyone we can call to pick you up, you can stay here for the night. We can sort everything out in the morning, when you’re feeling better.” He had the sudden thought that she might be a bit apprehensive about staying at his house with him. “Are you okay with that?”

Nodding, she drew a shuddering breath and secured her hand in his, allowing him to assist her, and that mile-long train of her wedding dress out of the truck. She wobbled when both satiny shoes hit the pavement, and he automatically wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, then ushered her toward the porch.

He helped her into his house, thankful that Chelsea had stayed at his sister’s place, and that his brother had most likely found other accommodations for the night, as well. Both would be home early in the morning though, and he’d explain their extra guest then. With luck, she’d be gone before Sunday’s sun set over the horizon.

He flicked on the living room lamp, giving him the illumination he needed to guide them up the stairs. Even before they arrived on the second landing, he was debating where to put her. After a quick grappling with his conscience, he decided on the most logical choice—his master bedroom, which had an adjoining bathroom just in case her stomach decided to rebel during the night. As for him, he’d sleep in Chelsea’s bed next door.

Thanks to Chelsea, his bed was neatly made, and the clothes he normally tossed over the chair in the corner had been dropped into the hamper, giving his room a semblance of order. His little imp of a daughter was only eight, but took her chores seriously since she’d dubbed herself the “woman” of the house, though that didn’t stop her from reminding him that he needed a wife, and she wanted a mom.

Unfortunately, he had no intention of marrying again. One wife had been more than enough for him and taught him a lesson he wouldn’t be repeating with any woman, including this one, as enticing as she may be. As for a mom, his sister, Lisa, was a fine substitute for that maternal influence Chelsea needed.

Jenna’s gaze took in his masculine furnishings without a hint of worry over whose room she might be occupying. Once she was seated on the four-poster with her wedding dress pouffed around her, he put her suitcase next to the dresser, figuring she could handle everything else on her own.

“The bathroom is right through that door,” he said, dragging his fingers through the thick, dark strands of his hair. “And if you need anything, just call for me. I’ll be in the room right next to this one.” He turned to go.

“Garrett?” she called softly, halting him before he could make a quick escape.

He exhaled heavily and glanced back at her, instantly steeling himself against that lost look in her eyes. “Yeah?”

Her satiny pumps hit the floor as she toed them off one at a time. “I…I can’t undo the buttons on my dress by myself.”

She slid back to her feet, turned around, and gathered her luxurious hair over her shoulder, presenting him with a row of at least two dozen pearl buttons that started between her shoulder blades and marched all the way down to the curve of her bottom.

He stood there, paralyzed by the thought of helping her to undress. His first instinct was to tell her to sleep in the gown, but knew that suggestion was ridiculous. She had to be extremely uncomfortable, and she had to get out of the gown sooner or later.

Resigned to the inevitable, he came up behind her. With hands that were none too steady, he fumbled with the small, slippery buttons, unable to ignore the ever-widening expanse of smooth, pale skin he revealed. As the material loosened, she crossed her arms over her chest, holding it in place. She wore what looked like a white, satin corset, and he unhooked that, too, knowing she’d never be able to do it on her own.

Finally, he completed the intimate task just as the lacy band of her panties came into view. He stepped back, wanting to bolt from the room, from his tempting reaction to this woman, but realized that she seemed unsure of what to do next, or how to step out of the bulk of her wedding dress without getting tangled up in the yards of heavy material.

She looked to him for help—and the next step was getting her into something she could sleep in for the night.

He stifled a groan. Not wanting to take the time to sort through the garments in her suitcase and possibly end up with something flimsy and more befitting a honeymoon night, he grabbed one of his chambray shirts from his closets and thrust it toward her. Gratitude filled her eyes, and as soon as her fingers curled around the soft material, he turned around, giving her privacy to change.

A minute later she said softly, “I’m done.”

He turned to face her again, relieved to find all the important, voluptuous parts of her decently covered—though he couldn’t help but appreciate how well she filled out his large shirt. Her unbound breasts were full and high, grazing the soft, faded cotton. The hem flirted around her slender thighs, drawing his gaze to those long, graceful legs of hers covered in ivory stockings, prompting fantasies he had no business imagining.

Awareness rumbled through him, settling in his belly like hot coals. Needing the distraction, he helped her from the crumpled dress, then pulled down the covers and gave the firm mattress a pat.

“In you go,” he said lightly, the words echoing his nightly routine with his daughter.

The very grown-up woman with centerfold curves sat on his bed, but before he could yank the covers up to her chin, she glanced down at her legs dangling over the side of the mattress. “My stockings and garter,” she murmured, a perplexed frown creasing her brow. “I can’t sleep with them on. I want them off.”

Garrett’s jaw clenched with restraint. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t notice her stockings, and he was willing to bet that as soon as her head hit the pillow she’d be out like a light and nothing would disturb her, not even that extra lingerie. But there was a sudden stubborn glint in her eye that told him his torment wasn’t over. He stepped back to let her do the deed, and crossed his arms over his chest so he wouldn’t be tempted to help. Without modesty, she hiked up the hem of his shirt and reached down, swaying off balance. She managed to catch herself, just barely, before she toppled over.

Her tenacity would have amused him if she didn’t arouse him so much.

For a sober woman, the task should have been a simple one, and possibly even a provocative striptease. For a woman who was all thumbs and couldn’t get those thumbs tucked beneath the band of her stockings, the deed was a monumental one. Her frustration mounted as her fingers slipped, and a choked sound escaped her. When she glanced up at him, hopeless tears brimmed in her eyes, turning them to a velvet shade of blue.

She bit her trembling bottom lip in a valiant attempt to hold her emotions at bay. “I can’t do anything right today.”

If she hadn’t looked so beaten, he might have been able to resist the silent plea in her gaze. This was no calculated attempt to seduce him as he’d come to expect from most women, but a raw, honest need for his assistance.

Breaking his vow not to touch her, he brushed her hands away and hooked his fingers into the lacy band of her stocking with as much indifference as he could muster. His mind managed to remain detached from the situation, but when the calloused pads of his fingers accidently stroked her silky, delicate skin on the way down her leg, his body burned with a long denied hunger.

Irritated with his response to this woman, he finished the intimate task quickly. “Lie down and get some sleep,” he ordered in a gruff tone, anxious to get out of his bedroom.

She eased back on the pillows, her hair floating around her head like a halo of gold. Her expression softened as she blinked up at him slumberously. Glancing away, he lifted the covers beneath her arms and tucked her in. Just when he would have straightened and turned to go, she grabbed his shirt, holding him inches above her.

Heart pounding, he waited to see what she intended to do.

A multitude of emotions shifted across her face, too many to pinpoint just one. “Garrett,” she said, the drowsiness stealing over her making her voice husky and warm. “Thank you.”

Her lips were inches away, inviting and lush, and that sexy beauty mark beckoned to him. Had he ever wanted something so badly as to settle his mouth over Jenna’s and taste her?

He swallowed, hard. “For what?” he managed, his voice low and raspy.

“For taking care of me.” An achingly tender smile curved her mouth. “It’s been so long since anyone has been so kind to me, so caring.”

Garrett tried to straighten to break the physical and mental hold she’d seemed to cast over him, but couldn’t move. He felt himself being inexorably pulled toward her, not by the strength of her hands fisted in his shirt, but by his own damnable weakness, and the lure of what her soft, parted lips might offer.

Sweetness. Surrender. And a passion he suddenly craved more than his next breath.

He never meant for the kiss to happen. Never meant to allow himself to get caught up in needs and desires he’d buried long ago. But when she slowly slid one hand up around the back of his neck and into the hair curling over the collar of his shirt, then brought his mouth to hers, his senses spun. Her lashes fluttered closed, and resisting her became a distant thought. A Herculean effort he didn’t have the strength to battle.

The gesture itself was chaste enough, an expression of gratitude, he knew, but the way her lips molded so perfectly to his made the embrace seem more sensual than an overtly provocative kiss. Her mouth was warm and incredibly plush beneath his, so giving and sweet.

So full of the kind of promises he stopped believing in long ago.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back. She made a token sound of protest as their lips drew apart, but her hands fell away and her eyes never opened. Giving in to the exhaustion he knew she’d been fighting, she settled back into his pillow. With a soft, dreamy sigh she drifted off to sleep, leaving Garrett to wonder if she’d remember any of this in the morning.

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

With a groan that seemed to reverberate through Jenna’s aching head, she rolled to her side and pried her eyes open against the sunlight filtering into the room…and stared into the face of a pretty little girl with long, straight blond hair Jenna instantly envied, inquisitive green eyes, and a contemplative expression. The girl was on her knees at the side of the bed, elbows propped on the mattress, and her chin bracketed between her palms, as if she’d been there for a while, waiting for Jenna to wake up.

“Why are you sleeping in my daddy’s bed?” she asked, more curious than accusing.

Not recognizing the girl and startled by her question, Jenna’s heart leapt in her chest as she frantically searched her disoriented, foggy memory, trying to remember where she was, and how she’d gotten in this strange room and this large bed that seemed to envelop her in a subtle, masculine scent she recognized as belonging to the prince who’d rescued her last night.

Jenna squeezed her eyes shut. Last night, and the devastating events that led to her fleeing to a town where no one knew her flooded her memory like a tidal wave. She’d been so overwhelmed by shame that she’d leapt into the limousine waiting to take her and Sheldon to the country club for their reception, and hysterically ordered the chauffeur to Just drive! She hadn’t cared to where, just so long as she put as many miles as she could between her and the disgraceful past she couldn’t seem to escape. A past that would forever haunt her. A past that marred her chances of ever being respected, or respectable. What made her believe she could fit in to Sheldon’s affluent life and be the wife to a prominent surgeon? She’d tried to conform, but she couldn’t erase the mistake she’d made. His well-to-do family and their elite circle of friends weren’t willing to dismiss what she’d done, either.

An hour outside of St. Louis, in the small town of Danby, the annoyed limo driver had pulled into the parking lot of Leisure Pointe and informed her that he hadn’t been paid to take her on a trek across Missouri. Knowing there was nothing left for her in St. Louis, she’d climbed out of the limousine, entered the rowdy establishment, and sank despondently into a booth in a far corner—feeling more heavy-hearted and isolated than ever.

She remembered faceless men sending Amaretto her way. She remembered the bartender keeping those same hounds at bay when it was obvious she wanted to be left alone. She remembered Garrett, with his deep, dark blue eyes, and the way he’d made her feel safe and secure when she’d believed she’d never feel safe and secure again.

Her hand fluttered to her lips, and her belly tumbled, not from the aftereffects of consuming too much Amaretto, but from something far more pleasant, and far more frightening. Most of all, she remembered kissing her gorgeous, raven-haired prince and the sweet, tender acceptance that had filled her in that fleeting moment.

And then she remembered nothing as deep sleep consumed her. Jenna felt a gentle tug on her hair, prompting her to leave her private thoughts behind and lift her lashes to deal with her unexpected visitor. The little girl had a strand of Jenna’s hair corkscrewed around her finger, seemingly fascinated with the way it clung so naturally.

“How come you’re sleeping in my daddy’s bed?” she asked again, more insistent this time.

Still absorbing the surprise of finding a pixie watching over her, she chose her answer carefully. “Well, I needed a place to sleep for the night, and your daddy let me use his bed.” That much she remembered.

“Oh.” Her little nose scrunched up as she thought about that. “And you’re wearing his shirt, too.”

She glanced down, confirming that the nightshirt she wore wasn’t the silky chemise she’d packed for her honeymoon. More memories tumbled through her foggy mind, of Garrett helping her to undress, and the intensity in his deep blue eyes…

The little imp tilted her head to the side. “What’s your name?”

“Jenna.” She offered a small smile. “What’s yours?”

“Chelsea Blackwell.” Pushing away from the bed, she strolled over to the froth of satin draped over the chair in the corner of the room and stroked her hand over the shimmery material. “This is like a fairy princess dress,” she said in awe.

Too bad her dreams hadn’t come true like they did in fairy tales, Jenna thought, unable to fend off the sharp sting of disappointment she experienced. “It’s a wedding dress,” she said in a tight, achy voice.

“Did my daddy marry you?” Chelsea glanced back at Jenna, her green, guileless eyes round with hope. “Are you my new mom?”

Jenna immediately shook her head to ward off the child’s line of questioning. “No, your dad didn’t marry me, honey, and I’m not your new mom.” Gingerly sitting up, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and waited for her head to stop spinning. She hated bursting the little girl’s bubble of excitement, and offered the only consolation that came to mind. “But I’d like to be your friend.”

“Okay.” Seemingly satisfied with that compromise, Chelsea grinned, revealing a dimple in her right cheek. “Does that mean you’re staying here?”

Jenna honestly didn’t know what she was going to do, and hoped over the next few weeks she’d be able to figure out which direction her life would now take. No matter her decision, she doubted it encompassed staying in this house with Garrett and this adorable little girl.

Before she could formulate a response, booted steps echoed up the stairs, then her prince from last night entered the room. In the light of day, and without any alcohol to impair her brain or vision, she came to the stunning conclusion that he was even more gorgeous than she recalled. Dressed in faded jeans that molded to his lean hips and a casual shirt that was fitted to a nicely muscled chest, he exuded a rugged masculinity that was a sharp contrast to the preppie, button-down image Sheldon and his friends preferred. This man was earthy and physical, with jet-black hair that set off his striking blue eyes, and a sensually cut mouth that made him all the more breathtaking and much too appealing.

Though his demeanor was reserved and distant, his warm gaze swept over her, taking in her disheveled hair, and making her all too aware that she was wearing his shirt. His eyes lingered briefly on her bare legs, prompting restless memories of him removing her stockings, and his hands caressing her skin.

Then he glanced toward Chelsea. A smiled curved his lips, softening his expression and captivating Jenna even more.

“Hey, there you are, pup,” he said, his deep voice rich with affection. “I wondered where you’d disappeared to.”

“I came in here to make your bed and found Jenna sleeping in it.” She hurried over to her father, clasped her hands together beneath her chin, and looked up at him beseechingly. “Can she stay with us? Pretty please?”

“She’s not a stray pet for you to keep,” he said with gentle humor. “Jenna only needed a place to stay for the night, and I’m sure now that she’s rested, she’ll be heading back home.” He tapped a finger beneath Chelsea’s chin. “Why don’t you go downstairs to the kitchen and I’ll be there in a few minutes to make breakfast.”

Chelsea did as she was told, and once she was gone, the room filled with silence. Jenna’s gaze connected with Garrett’s, and her stomach fluttered, not with nausea, but an awareness that took her completely off guard. The last thing she needed to deal with was this unexpected attraction to a man she barely knew, not when she was trying to come to terms with everything that had happened yesterday, along with her uncertain future.

She drew a stabilizing breath. “I take it ‘pup’ is your daughter?”

He nodded, and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable now that they were alone. “Yeah, she’s mine,” he replied, an odd, possessive note to his voice. “I call her pup because ever since she took her first step she’s followed me around like a puppy.”

It wasn’t difficult to imagine Chelsea tagging along behind her father. Though Garrett’s parental love was unmistakable, and his daughter’s devotion just as strong, there was no physical resemblance between the two. His pitch-black hair and vivid blue eyes were an obvious contrast to Chelsea’s blond hair, green eyes, and fair, enchanting features.

“Chelsea must look like her mother,” she said, speaking her thoughts out loud and attempting to make idle conversation.

Her comment startled him, and his dark brows drew into a frown. “No, not really,” he muttered.

His curt tone didn’t invite further discussion of Chelsea’s mother, and Jenna decided the best course of action would be to steer clear of the subject, which appeared to be a touchy one. “Well, your daughter is sweet, and adorable. And very precocious. She thought you and I got married.”

He visibly winced, but remained across the room, keeping an appropriate amount of distance between them. “Chelsea’s mom died when she was barely two, so she doesn’t remember much about her, and lately she’s been asking for a mother. I suppose seeing your wedding dress and finding you in my bedroom led her to the wrong conclusion.”

“It was a very hopeful conclusion,” she said softly, understanding the little girl’s need to replace her missing parent. Jenna had grown up never knowing her father, and though her mother had been a good single parent despite their struggles, she’d never had a dependable male influence in her life, and that was a loss she still felt.

“Well, it’s best that she doesn’t entertain those kinds of thoughts, and I don’t encourage them, either,” he replied meaningfully. “How are you feeling?” he asked, smoothly and effectively changing the topic once again.

“A little fuzzy, but overall okay, all things considered.” She dragged her fingers through her tousled hair, feeling contrite for disrupting his life, even for one day. “Garrett…I’m very sorry about last night.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” He shrugged those broad shoulders of his. “You weren’t in any shape to go anywhere and I gave you a place to stay.”

“No doubt I ruined your evening. I intruded on your home life and family, and I even slept in your bed. And from the bits and pieces that I can remember, I know I made a fool of myself at the bar.”

She recalled babbling on about silly things like hating her curly hair and making wishes to marry her own prince charming and living happily ever after—not that Garrett would understand the hopes and dreams she’d carried with her since childhood.

She ducked her head, and absently toyed with the hem of the shirt she wore. “And contrary to my behavior last night, I’m not in the habit of kissing strangers.”

Except Garrett hadn’t felt like a stranger. He’d been warm and receptive, and no matter how wrong, she found it difficult to regret that sweet, tender kiss, which had made her feel so safe and secure. There had been no pretenses, no expectations, just the kind of acceptance she’d craved for so long.

And Garrett probably thought she was a brazen hussy for allowing such liberties just hours after leaving her groom at the altar.

Shaking her head of those thoughts, she lifted her gaze back to his. “I am sorry about that kiss,” she said softly.

“No, I’m the one who should apologize.” Though his tone held a gruff certainty, his irises had taken on a dark, sensual shade of blue that belied his attempt at disinterest. “It won’t happen again.”

He sounded so determined, Jenna couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, possibly, he’d been just as affected by that kiss as she’d been.

The moment was shattered by the front door slamming shut, and someone bounding up the stairs. “Honey, I’m home!” a deep, masculine voice called out, his tone laced with carefree humor.

Jenna’s gaze widened in surprise, and Garrett groaned, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. A good-looking man briefly glanced inside Garrett’s room as he passed, then the heavy steps came to an abrupt stop, and he backed up, filling the doorway with his presence.

The man, who looked like a slightly younger version of her prince—albeit more tousled—glanced from Jenna, to Garrett, and grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned, big brother. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who got lucky last night.”

Jenna’s face warmed at the insinuation, and Garrett grimaced. “This isn’t what you think, Rylan,” he quickly corrected.

Rylan’s dark brows rose incredulously. “You mean to tell me you had a beautiful woman in your bed and you didn’t—”

Garrett held up a hand, effectively cutting him off with the gesture and the warning look he shot his way. “No, we didn’t, and I’ll explain everything downstairs.”

The other man didn’t budge. “Don’t I even get an introduction?”

Garrett sighed, the sound rife with impatience. “Jenna, this is my younger brother, Rylan. Ry, Jenna Phillips.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, finding the other man amusing, and not nearly as serious as his older sibling.

“Likewise.” He scrutinized her face, making her feel self-conscious. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, she’s from St. Louis,” Garrett replied before she could respond, then headed toward his brother to usher him out of the room. “And she won’t be around long enough for you to start flirting with.”

“To heck with flirting,” he said with a gregarious grin and a wink at Jenna. “I was going to jump right to asking her out on a date.”

Garrett’s expression turned surprisingly fierce. “Tired of Emma Gentry so soon?”

Rylan shrugged. “Emma and I aren’t exclusive.”

“And Jenna isn’t interested,” Garrett countered, pointing toward the door. “Out, Ry.”

Jenna bit back a chuckle at the good-natured bickering, and the fact that Garrett felt the need to protect her virtue from his fun-loving, but womanizing brother.

Once Rylan was out of the room, Garrett turned back to her and said wryly, “Welcome to the crazy Blackwell household. As you might have guessed, having a female guest in the house, and especially in my bedroom, is a novelty.”

Though he’d injected humor into his voice, his comment said a lot about Garrett, himself—that he was a man of integrity, which he’d proved by rescuing her last night and giving her a safe place to sleep, and he was very discreet when it came to his family and personal life. She appreciated those qualities, even as she realized just how much her indiscreet past would clash with his admirable values.

The thought of embroiling Garrett and his family in the scandal that would forever nip at her heels brought reality crashing down around her. Despite enjoying the Blackwells’s warmth and friendliness, the last thing she wanted to do was take advantage of their hospitality.

She drew a breath that did nothing to dispel the ache in her chest, and slid off the bed. “I’d like to take a shower and change, if that’s okay.” At his nod, she smiled and added, “I’ll be downstairs just as soon as I’m presentable.”

“Breakfast will be waiting.” He backed toward the bedroom door, but not before giving her bare legs one last warm lingering glance she felt as strongly as his touch last night.

Then he was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

BREAKFAST wasn’t the only thing waiting for Jenna downstairs in the kitchen. She came to an abrupt stop when she found herself alone with a pretty, but very pregnant woman who was in the process of clearing the table. One look at her striking blue eyes and straight, glossy black hair that brushed her shoulders, and she was fairly certain she’d just encountered another Blackwell.

The other woman wasn’t shocked to find a strange woman in the house, but her kind gaze did a quick head-to-toe inventory of Jenna’s blue linen short outfit and matching heeled sandals, which obviously were not the kind of attire suited to a relaxing Sunday around the house. But, the outfit had been one her fiancé had selected, and was the most casual thing she’d packed for their honeymoon because she knew Sheldon preferred she always dress stylishly and looked the height of sophistication.

She suddenly felt like a fraud. The woman wearing the fashionable outfit was who she’d tried so desperately to be for Sheldon’s sake, and even on some level for her mother. But the glaring truth remained. Beneath the fancy trappings, Jenna was a plain and simple woman, and she suddenly wanted to be accepted for who and what she was, without pretenses, and without being judged by her past mistake—if that was even possible.

“Good morning,” the other woman greeted her, smiling amicably as she set the dishes she was carrying into the sink. “Would you like some coffee, or breakfast? Garrett left you a plate of pancakes warming in the oven if you’re hungry.”

Though her head had cleared from her shower, the thought of food made Jenna’s stomach tumble. “Maybe in a little bit. Just coffee for now, thank you.”

She watched the woman bring a mug down from the cupboard and pour steaming liquid into the cup then motion to the ceramic containers next to the pot. “Help yourself to cream and sugar.”

Jenna came up to the counter and sweetened her coffee. “Where’s Garrett?” she asked curiously, having expected her host to be in the kitchen.

“He’s outside with Rylan and my husband, Duane, poking around under the hood of our truck to check out a problem with the water pump. He’ll be back up to the house anytime. And Chelsea is playing out back.” She rested her hand on the swell of her very large belly. “And since I can see that you’re wondering who I am, I’m Lisa, Garrett’s sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she replied, shaking Lisa’s offered hand. “I’m Jenna Phillips, but I’m assuming you already knew that.”

“Yes. Garrett told us why you’re here and what happened last night at Leisure Pointe.”

Surprisingly, there wasn’t any judgment or criticism in Lisa’s tone, but Jenna was certain the other woman was wondering why she’d run out on her groom on her wedding day. An explanation was complicated, and the humiliation and shame that accompanied her reasons wasn’t something she wished to discuss with anyone.

She returned to stirring her coffee. “Considering my frame of mind yesterday, I appreciate his kindness in taking me in for the night.”

“Yeah, well, it’s nice to see that my brother is still capable of doing a noble deed for a woman when the situation calls for it,” Lisa said wryly.

Jenna followed Lisa to the kitchen table with her coffee, and took a seat on one of the pine chairs. She found Lisa’s comment ambiguous and odd, with an underlying intimation she couldn’t quite grasp. For as hospitable as Garrett had been to her last night, and despite his noble deed, their earlier conversation had given her the distinct impression that he fully expected her to be on her way back home today. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything left for her in St. Louis, unless bad memories and a sense of failure counted for anything.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she dropped her gaze to Lisa’s pregnant belly and changed the subject. “When are you due?”

Lisa gingerly lowered herself onto one of the chairs next to Jenna’s. “Not soon enough.” She laughed, and Jenna did, too. “I’m having twins, and they aren’t due for another four or five weeks, according to my last doctor’s appointment, but I feel like Jacob and Janet are ready to make their debut into the world now.”

“Twins, and a boy and a girl at that,” Jenna marveled, tucking a springy, loose curl behind her ear. “How wonderful.”

Lisa rubbed her stomach lovingly, though exhaustion lined her features. “Yeah, it is wonderful, but I have to admit, the thought of having two at once is very intimidating.”

Despite those legitimate fears, Jenna envied the other woman and the family of her own she’d have very soon. That was something she’d wished for herself, had hoped would happen with Sheldon, but she’d forfeited that particular dream when she’d left him at the altar—and he’d done nothing to stop her from leaving.

She cleared the sudden tightness from her throat. “I’m sure maternal instincts will kick in and you’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself, too.” Lisa shifted in her seat, her bulky girth seemingly making it difficult to find a comfortable position.

A few minutes later, Garrett finally entered the kitchen. His gaze landed on Jenna first, and he took in her sophisticated short suit and heeled shoes with a combination of interest and mild scrutiny before glancing at his sister.

“The water pump is temporarily fixed until you can get the truck in for repair this week,” he told her, heading to the sink to wash his hands. “Duane is waiting for you outside, and he’s ready to go. Thank you for watching Chelsea last night.”

“It was my pleasure. She’s a joy to have over, you know that.” Lisa struggled to stand, and Garrett was immediately at her side, gently grasping her arm to help her up. Once she was steady on her feet, she laughed breathlessly. “All three of us thank you for your assistance.” She pressed a hand to the base of her spine. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there early,” he replied. “I have an estimate to work on and I won’t be heading into the city to check on the Leiberman project until eleven. Since there’s nothing pressing going on in the morning, take your time getting there.”

“I’ll be there early, too,” she said, reaching for her purse. “I’ve got a stack of payables that need to be entered into the computer and—” An unexpected “oomph” cut Lisa off midsentence. Her hand shot to her lower belly, and she grimaced at the discomfort her babies had caused.

Garrett’s mouth thinned into a tight line. “I think it’s past time you went on maternity leave. You should be at home resting, not at the office working.”

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