and from what Liam knew, he was Bernadette’s cousin. The Morgan money had funded more than one illustrious political career. The wedding between Bunny Morgan and Calvin McMann had been splashed all over the news for weeks now, and Liam hadn’t been able to completely avoid it, much as he tried. The Morgans left a sour taste in his mouth, but then he had personal reasons for his resentment.
“Bunny Morgan?” he asked cautiously.
“Pleasure to meet you. But I prefer Bernie. And I’d appreciate it if you could keep all of this quiet. The reporters are already hunting for me, I’m sure.”
He wasn’t sure what to think, but while this woman was related to Vince Morgan, she hadn’t been the one to tear his marriage apart. What was he supposed to do, kick her out?
“Are you okay?” he asked at last.
“No.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Not at all.”
Okay, that was fair. He grabbed a box of tissues from under the counter and pushed them in her direction. She took one and wiped her eyes.
“What did he do?” he asked after a moment.
“Who?” she asked.
“What’s his name—the McMann fellow you were supposed to marry.” Avoiding news about the Morgans wasn’t really possible.
“Senator McMann,” she clarified, as if the title were important. She looked like she wasn’t going to say anything more, then she sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I caught him making out with his ex-girlfriend in the room where he was supposed to be getting dressed for the ceremony.”
Ouch. If something were going to end a wedding, that would be it. Looked like Senator McMann and old Vince had their philandering in common, even if they weren’t officially family.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Me, too.” She smiled weakly. “But I made it here, and that’s something. I’m looking for my aunt. She’s supposed to live in this town. Her name is Lucille Neiman. Do you know her?”
“Your—” He swallowed. “Lucille is your aunt?”
“Yes...” She cleared her throat. “I don’t really know her myself. I just thought...maybe you could give me her phone number or address?”
Liam had known Lucille since he was a kid, and she was a fixture around Runt River.
“She’s my neighbor. I’ll swing you by when I’ve got all your information and I get the car into the garage,” Liam replied. “I’ve got to head on over there anyway.”
Bernadette Morgan had stumbled into town a month after her two-year-old relative had been left with him. Liam was a practical man, and he didn’t believe in coincidences this huge. Had Lucille called her? Maybe the Morgans would acknowledge the kid after all, and Ike would go to his biological family.
An image rose in his mind of that curly-headed boy, his eyes glistening with tears, whispering those plaintive words, “I want Mommy.” Leanne had died, leaving behind an innocent kid to whom she was the whole world. He’d had a month to get attached to Ike, and caring for him had awakened his fatherly instinct. When Ike had first arrived, Liam had considered what it would mean for the boy to go live with his biological family, and the thought had left him unsettled. Liam knew just how corrupt the Morgans were, and handing an innocent child over to people he didn’t trust—that wasn’t right.
Now, Bernadette Morgan was in town, and while she seemed to be here for totally different reasons, Liam’s suspicions were piqued. Things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
AFTER THE PAPERWORK had been completed and the mechanic pushed Bernie’s car into the garage, he heaved that old door shut again. He stood there in cowboy boots and surprisingly clean blue jeans, squinting slightly in the lowering sun.
“I’ll drive you over, if you want,” he said.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Bernie tried to sound confident, but she didn’t feel it. She’d never met her aunt before, and all she knew was that Lucille had been part of a big family squabble that had started before Bernie was born and had only grown over the years.
The mechanic opened the door of a rusty, old pickup truck, and gestured for her to get in. It was a far cry from the lambskin seats in the Rolls-Royce. Bernie gathered her skirt, then stepped onto the rail to hoist herself into the truck. Was it a good idea to trust a mechanic driving a wreck? That vintage Rolls-Royce was from her father’s personal collection, and if it didn’t come back in mint condition, that vein in his forehead would burst. Mind you, she’d just walked out on the society wedding of the year. That vein had probably already blown.
The mechanic held the door open for her as she clambered up. Her wedding dress was ruined. She plucked at the place where her ring had snagged the gauze. A hole had spread, large enough to poke three fingers through. She’d dreamed about what her wedding day would be like, and nothing like this had ever occurred to her... Right now, if things had unfolded differently, she’d be at her reception, dancing with her handsome groom, making small talk with the who’s who of New York, turning toward camera flashes and cutting cake.
The mental image of Calvin and Kimberly entwined in each other’s arms was sickening...and she couldn’t quite banish it from her head. She’d been numb to the full impact of what she’d seen, but it had slowly hit her as she drove the long stretch between Manhattan and Runt River.
This wasn’t the future they’d all planned: Calvin was going to run for president down the line—he had Bernie’s father’s financial support, the backing of the Republican party and a boyish grin that charmed even the stoutest Democrats. He’d be the first from the Morgan family in the White House if he were elected, and the Morgans wanted this so badly that they salivated.
They’d been trying to get Vince groomed and ready to run for president, but her cousin wasn’t quite clean enough. He’d had too many affairs, hired too many hookers, thinking no one would notice if they left by a back door... Calvin had been a compromise—a senator they could not only get elected, but who could be in the Morgans’ debt by virtue of how much they could do to support his rise to power. As his wife, Bernadette could supervise him... Bernadette wasn’t interested in running for office, but had she been willing, her father would have made ample use of her, too. But all those political plans mattered very little to her right now. She would never be his First Lady, and she sincerely hoped he never made the White House. And how had she not noticed that he was cheating?
“I’m Liam Wilson, by the way,” the mechanic said.
She hadn’t asked, she realized belatedly. She shot him an apologetic smile. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.” He slammed the door shut behind her and ambled around to the driver’s side. She followed him with her eyes for a few seconds, taking in his relaxed good looks. Where Calvin had been smooth shaven and smooth-talking, this man had stubble on his face and grease-stained hands. The inside of the truck was like a furnace, and sweat sprung up across her forehead. Liam hopped up into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She pushed the button to lower the window, the outside air meeting her face to provide some relief.
“How
