And, I don’t know why I’m worried about helping you or your sister when you’re so dead set against working with me.” His eyes softened. “Maybe I’m just not used to saving brides on their wedding day.”
He reached over and took her right hand in his. The unexpected intimacy of the touch surprised her. Even more, she was amazed that she wanted to tell him the truth, at least as much of it as she knew.
But she didn’t dare trust the law. Not in this. Ricky had warned her. The only one she could go to now was Charles and pray he would forgive her for running out on their bargain.
She shifted her gaze from Branson to her feet. “I can’t tell you anything.”
He let go of her hand. “Then I guess we may as well call it a night. Can I drop you somewhere?”
Her insides quaked sickeningly at the thought of returning to her future husband.
Branson’s gaze was fastened on the darkened parking lot. He was probably convinced she and Kate were both kooks. Frankly, she wasn’t sure at this point that he was far from wrong.
Branson took her by the elbow and led her down the steps and over to the parking space where they’d left his truck. “Don’t look now,” Branson said as he opened her door, “but we have a fan sitting a few cars to the right of us in a red Jaguar. He’s been watching us ever since we walked out of the hospital.”
Her heart plunged to her knees. “Early forties, sandy hair and wearing glasses?”
“Bull’s-eye.”
She twisted in her seat and located the last man she’d expected to see in the hospital parking lot. The reality of the fact twisted in her brain, sending stabbing pains to both temples, destroying her resolve. Did Charles know Kate was in this hospital? And if he did, how did he know it and why hadn’t he told her that Kate had been shot?
Branson brought the engine to life. “I take it the man is someone you know?”
“Apparently not well enough. That’s Charles Castile.”
“Your husband?”
“No. The groom I left at the altar.” She lay a hand on Branson’s arm. “I’ve changed my mind, Sheriff. Buy me a steak, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Well almost, anyway.
Chapter Four
Branson sat across from Lacy, sipping his iced tea and watching her chew appreciatively on a bite of her filet. She’d ordered it rare, with a baked potato and salad. A real meal and she was eating like a real person, not nibbling at it as if a normal-size bite would choke her delicate system.
He liked that about her.
He shifted in his chair and scanned the room. He didn’t need things to like about Lacy Gilbraith. He needed to do his job. In the few hours he’d known her, he’d already found out that she was not the kind of citizen who went out of her way to help a lawman.
But something had changed her mind in a hurry tonight. One minute she didn’t have a thing to tell him, the next she was promising “will talk for food.” The dramatic change had come as a result of finding her jilted groom in the parking lot of the hospital. The second he’d mentioned a red Jag, her eyes had grown wide, and the muscles in her face had clenched.
Fear, anger, irritation? Maybe a little of all three. Which made him think that whatever had precipitated her running from the wedding had to do with more than just the absence of her sister at the planned ceremony. Especially since she’d run before she had exchanged the vows.
Branson had expected Charles to follow them when they left the hospital, but apparently he’d seen enough. He hadn’t caught sight of the Jaguar again. Branson would make it a point to find out a lot more about Charles Castile tomorrow. As for tonight, he had yet to learn any more from the beautiful woman in front of him than what she’d told him initially.
“You do know how to feed a woman, Branson Randolph.”
He turned back to his dining companion as she put down her fork and took a sip from the tall glass of iced tea at her fingertips. “You’re not giving up now, are you? There’s still food on your plate.”
“If I eat another bite, I’ll never be able to button Kate’s jeans around my waist. They’re already seriously interfering with my breathing capabilities.”
“Then you better stop eating. It wouldn’t do to pass out from lack of oxygen. As you already found out, buttons are not my strong suit.”
Lacy smiled as she picked up her napkin and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. The red lipstick she’d been wearing when he’d first encountered her had all worn off, leaving her mouth a dusty pink. Delicate. Paired with the wild mass of auburn curls that framed her face, she was a picture of innocence.
He stretched his legs under the table. Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t lie.
“Are you ready to answer a few questions now, or would you like dessert first?”
Her smile disappeared. “You know, for a few minutes there, Sheriff, you had me going. I thought there was a real man sitting across the table from me instead of a cop.”
“I’m real enough.” Too real, and too much a man, although he’d almost forgotten the fact himself until he’d started disrobing her this afternoon. He fingered the end of his fork. “But I don’t think you accepted this dinner invitation because of me at all, Miss Gilbraith. I think it was the steak you were courting.”
She nodded. “I admit it. I was famished. I hadn’t eaten all day and I’m not sure about last night.”
“Wedding-day jitters?”
“Or as it turned out, my unwedding-day jitters.” She wadded the napkin in her hand, squeezing the fabric between fisted fingers.
“I guess it’s rough on a woman when her dream day turns disastrous.”
“My dream day?” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My dream day would involve walking on a secluded beach somewhere. I’d have cool waves splashing around my ankles and a blue sky overhead.”
She released the napkin, letting it slide from her fingers and drop to the white tablecloth. “Actually.” Her tone grew agitated. “You could throw in a couple of sharks, and it would still beat the ceremony I almost had.”
So his assumption had been accurate. “It sounds like this match was not made in heaven.”
“To say the least.” She pushed her plate back a few inches. “Castile came into this world with a silver spoon in his mouth. Me, I was gagging on trouble from the day I was born.”
“Does this story go back that far?” He patted the small notebook in his shirt pocket. “If it does, I’ll need a bigger pad of paper.”
“No.” The spark of life and humor he’d glimpsed earlier gave way to shadowy sadness. “Some pasts are better forgotten, or at least buried.”
