of Venna as easily.
“Damn,” he breathed as he watched her try the doorknob, then enter the house. He’d left the door unlocked and a light on in the living room, as well as a slow cooker full of beef stew simmering in the kitchen. All signs that might encourage her to wait for his return. Which meant he could be stuck in the barn for most of the evening.
He turned away from the door and strode down the center aisle of the barn. None of the six horses even gave him a glance, recognizing his familiar step. They stood in their wooden stalls, three on either side of the aisle, chewing contentedly on their evening ration of oats.
“At least the animals on this ranch get to eat,” he muttered, his stomach rumbling. He climbed the plank ladder that led to the hayloft, figuring he might as well catch a few winks on a soft bed of straw while he waited. It beat staying awake and listening to his stomach growl.
The flutter of birds’ wings and admonishing squawks greeted him. No doubt his presence disturbed some of the nesting barn swallows, who didn’t like anyone invading their home.
He knew just how they felt.
“Hope you don’t mind if I join you,” he called to the birds as he reached the top of the ladder.
“Not at all.”
Startled, Garrett lost his grip on the ladder and almost toppled off. When he regained his balance, he stared slack-jawed at the vision in front of him. Sitting atop a stack of golden straw was a bride.
He blinked and looked again. It was a bride, all right. He recognized all the warning signs—the white wedding dress, the gauzy fingertip veil, the white satin spiked heels on her dainty feet. Not to mention the lacy blue garter belt, revealed by the voluminous taffeta skirt bunched up around her thighs.
Before he could get a good look, she hastily pushed her skirt down, concealing the garter belt as well as a pair of long, slender legs.
For one brief moment, Garrett had an irrational impulse to shinny down the ladder and make a run for it. But run where? The house wasn’t safe, and he’d be spotted out in the open. Besides, this was his ranch. His barn. His hayloft. If anyone was leaving, it was the bride.
He climbed the last two rungs, then stepped onto the loft floor. Without giving the woman another glance, he sidled over to the dusty window and looked down at the driveway. The pickup was still there. Hubert was there, too, dutifully marking all the tires.
“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here,” she said, breaking the long silence between them. Her voice was smooth and soft, like a warm, gentle breeze.
“I can guess.” He clenched his jaw as he turned to face her. No doubt Shelby and Lana were to blame. His sisters had been hinting that his place needed a woman’s touch ever since his housekeeper had retired. They’d brought up the subject again during Christmas dinner last week, even offering to play matchmaker for him.
Despite his irritation, he couldn’t help but be impressed with their choice. Quality stock, no doubt about it. Tall and slender, with generous curves in all the right places. Her blond hair was swept up off her neck, a few errant strands curling around her cheeks. A tiara encircled the intricate bun on the top of her head, the tiny crystals sparkling in the fading sunlight.
She wore only a touch of makeup, and that was marred by the tiny smudge of dirt on her nose and another on her chin. The almost regal way she tilted that dirty chin made him want to smile. But she might take that as a sign of encouragement, which was the last thing he needed.
Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Deep, blue eyes like the Texas sky after a storm. They held him. Captivated him. Something in his belly twisted, but he told himself it was just hunger pains. He’d been working since dawn, not bothering to stop for lunch. That explained the ache deep inside him. He needed food. Rest. He needed to be alone.
Garrett forced himself to look away from her as he brushed the dust off his denim jeans. “My sisters sent you here, didn’t they?”
“No, I—”
“Then it must have been Michael,” he muttered, rubbing one hand over his jaw. “Or Jake.”
“Michael or Jake?” she echoed, looking perplexed.
“My brother and my former friend, if he’s behind this.” Michael Lord and Jake Maitland were once diehard bachelors who had avoided marriage as vigorously as Garrett. But they had accidentally let down their guard, and two determined women had snatched them up. Of course, the fact that Garrett happened to like both their wives very much was beside the point.
Lately they’d been dropping broad hints that Garrett should follow in their footsteps. But a bride in his barn? So much for subtlety.
Only what the hell did he do with her now? If he kicked her out of his hayloft, it might call attention to his presence. Better to wait until the coast was clear.
“I believe I owe you an explanation, Mr.…”
“Garrett.” He bit the word out.
“Well, Mr. Garrett…”
“Just call me Garrett,” he interjected. He didn’t stand on formality. And even though he’d carried the Lord name for more than twenty-five years, lately it had only served to remind him that he’d had another last name once. A name he still didn’t know.
“All right, Garrett. You may call me Mimi.”
He wasn’t planning on calling her anything, except a cab. Which made him wonder how she got way out here. He hadn’t seen any strange cars around the place. Though his ranch was located only a few miles outside Austin, it was tucked deep in the hill country, accessible only by a winding backroad. Had she been en route to her wedding at some quaint country church and lost her way?
She certainly looked lost. Not only was she over-dressed for the barn, but her manicured fingernails and those dainty shoes on her feet told him she was completely out of her element. He studied her face, noting the creamy smooth complexion, which obviously hadn’t seen any days working in the sun and wind. Her cheekbones were high, her nose finely shaped and tipped just slightly at the end. Her eyebrows and lashes were slightly darker than her hair, like burnished gold.
She licked her lips. “I know the last thing you expected to find up here was a bride sitting on your haystack.”
He swallowed a groan. It was worse than he thought. Bad enough he’d found a bride in his barn. She was a city girl, to boot. “You’re sitting on straw, not hay.”
A golden brow lifted. “Really? What’s the difference?”
“Wheat straw is yellow and used for livestock bedding. Hay is cut from grasses, like brome, and is fed to the stock. It’s green, and your pretty white dress would be, too, if you were sitting on hay.”
“I’m learning all kinds of fascinating things today,” she said, her tone telling him she wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.
Well, he wasn’t thrilled, either. Not only was he stuck in the barn for who knew how long, he was stuck here with a city girl. A worried city girl, judging by the way her perfect teeth kept nipping that lush lower lip. Shadows clouded her blue eyes as she looked at him.
A
