veil off her head.
He didn’t turn to look at her. “Be my guest.”
Pivoting in the seat to stuff the netting in the back, she checked behind them to make sure no one was following. When she was satisfied that the highway behind them was clear of any familiar vehicles, she settled back into the seat again.
There was no sense worrying about it. It was done and over with. The only thing that worried her was her mama. But somehow, Carly knew Lily Mae Charpentier Albright would make out just fine. Maybe even better, if she went on with the plans they’d made about selling the mansion. Just as she would, herself. If only she had a plan.
“So. Where are we headed?” she asked over the muted strains of country music playing on the radio.
For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her. “Where can I drop you?” he finally asked. When she didn’t answer, he glanced at her. “At home? A friend’s? Relative’s?”
Going home was out of the question. At least for now. The chance was too big that James would look for her there. She couldn’t face him. And seeing family and friends would be more than humiliating. She felt bad about leaving her mama to deal with the backlash, but Mama could handle it with her usual Southern grace. Carly just wasn’t up to it.
She looked down at her hands, tightly fisted in her lap. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “You were there. You saw what happened.”
He was silent again, until a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Maybe you need some time. Would you like to go somewhere they can’t find you?”
She really hadn’t given it any thought, concentrating only on the wedding and how to stop it. “Well, yes, I guess I do.”
“Thought so. I saw you checking to make sure we’re not being followed. You can rest easy. We aren’t.”
Carly worried her bottom lip, imagining the mess she’d left back at the church. If she could trust Prissy, she’d call her, but since her best friend had taken it upon herself to avail herself of the groom’s sexual charms, she wasn’t the wisest choice for a confidante at this point in time.
Maybe she could start fresh somewhere, or at least wait until the uproar died down before returning home. After quickly reassuring herself that she was safer nowhere near Baton Rouge, at least for a while, Carly relaxed. One less thing to worry about and, hopefully, she would learn to be a better judge of people.
“We’re headed west?” she asked, looking to the future, instead of the past.
Nodding, he kept his eyes on the late-afternoon traffic. “To Texas?”
He briefly took his attention off the road long enough to glance at her. “What makes you think so?”
“Your Texas drawl.” When he glanced at her again, she felt more than saw his surprise. “It’s not the same as a Louisiana accent,” she quickly explained. “Or Georgia or Arkansas or Mississi—”
“Right.” His long fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “I never realized I still had it,” he muttered under his breath.
“That black hat’s a good hint.”
“Men wear Stetson’s in Louisiana, too.”
“But you’re not from Louisiana.”
This time his fingers gripped the steering wheel, and the hard, sharp angle of his jaw moved before he spoke. “Same thing as.”
Carly wished he’d do more than glance at her. Having a conversation with someone she couldn’t make eye contact with always made her uneasy. That’s what had started her wondering about James over the past week. It wasn’t that he never looked at her directly. He did, often. But lately there had been something in his eyes. Something that had begun to make her uncomfortable at times. He had never given her a reason not to trust him. In fact, he had swept her off her feet the first time she met him. She now understood what a whirlwind courtship was. Flowers, candlelit dinners, expensive trinkets and lots of attention. James certainly knew how to turn a girl’s head. And he had been more than a gentleman with both her and her mama. But although she had made it to the age of twenty-six without making a major mistake with a man, she knew now that her judgment, of men especially, was practically nonexistent. She had always considered herself a good judge of character. Not that her family and close friends agreed. Now she had proof they were right.
“You always lived in Louisiana?”
So lost in thought, his question startled her, and she answered automatically. “Born and raised in Baton Rouge, like all the Albrights and Charpentiers. I guess we’ve been here forever. I’d even bet we were here before the city was founded.” She turned to look at the man next to her. “What about you?”
“You’re a betting woman?”
It was the third time he’d answered a question with a question, and she didn’t like what it might mean. “No, what I meant was, where are you from?”
“Didn’t we just cover that?”
It was exactly as she had suspected. He didn’t want to answer her questions. What was he hiding? Was Prissy right? Was she too trusting? Well, she certainly had been where Prissy and James were concerned.
“Do you always do that?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t as gullible as everyone told her she was.
“Do what?”
She gave a nervous little laugh. He wasn’t making things look any better with his evasion. “Answer a question you don’t want to answer with another question.”
Once again the corner of his mouth turned up, and Carly wondered what a full smile looked like. Mercy goodness! She hadn’t even had a good look at him when he’d helped her into the vehicle. Pauvre Défunte Mamère, rest her soul, had told her time and again that she would come to a bad end if she didn’t curb her impulsivité. She had been in such a panic to get away from the church as fast and as far as possible, she hadn’t given any thought to what kind of man he might be. Only that he had come along when she had needed someone the most. He could be anybody. A kidnapper, for instance. Although why anyone would want to do that, since she and her mother didn’t have two nickels left to rub together, was beyond her. Things had been bad enough before the wedding, but after all the expenses, she wondered what would happen if she were held for ransom. Would he kill her? Or would he merely leave her in some horrid place to fend for herself?
“Should I be afraid of you?” she asked, suddenly praying that, if nothing else, this stranger was truthful.
“Are you?”
“See? You did it again. And that makes me wonder if I shouldn’t demand that you stop this second and let me out.” She had never done anything this reckless or foolish. But there hadn’t been time to think through the situation. She’d needed a way out of the worst moment in her life, and he’d been there to save her. What would happen if she now needed rescuing from her rescuer?
Making certain he was watching the road and not her, she slowly reached for the doorhandle, grateful that her bouffant skirt hid her movement.
She froze when he leaned over to grasp the wrist of her free hand. He kept his eyes on the road and
