The Rancher and the Runaway Bride. Susan Mallery

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      Prologue

      Brides were supposed to be beautiful and happy, Randi Howell told herself as she smoothed the front of her white satin wedding gown. Or at least reasonably attractive and content. Panic was not on the list of acceptable emotions. She didn’t want to think about what she must look like, but she had a bad feeling her eyes were wide and filled with a hunted expression. Gee, at least a “deer in the headlights” look would make the wedding photos interesting.

      “It’s not so bad,” she said aloud, wishing her voice sounded more confident. “After all, I’m marrying Hal. He won’t be a horrible husband.”

      Despite the nerves banging around in her stomach and the alternating urge to throw up or break out in a rash, she had to smile at that one. Hal would be annoyed if he knew she thought of him as “not so horrible.” Hardly praise every groom dreamed about.

      Randi paced the length of the room. It was all of eight steps. The small meeting room, one of many at the far end of the Squaw Creek Lodge, had been converted into a temporary “bride’s room” for the wedding. Although the ballroom had been festooned with flowers, candles and beautifully set tables for the reception, the decorations didn’t extend this far back. The tiny room contained only an oval mirror in the corner, a florist’s box with her bouquet, a folding chair piled high with her street clothes and nothing else. At least the room was carpeted. The hallways weren’t. The only bright spot in an otherwise dismal situation was that she was alone.

      Her mother had wanted to spend these last few minutes giving Randi instructions and reminding her how socially important the wedding would be, launching Randi into Grand Springs society. Randi grimaced at the thought, pleased she’d insisted on spending this time by herself. The only place she wanted to be launched was to another continent.

      “Stop it!” she told herself firmly. “You’re getting married. Hundreds of women do this every day. Love is a difficult concept at best. How do you know you don’t love Hal?”

      She stopped in midpace and slowly faced the mirror. The medieval-style gown clung to her from shoulders to hips, then flared out to the floor. The heavy satin swayed in counterpoint to her movements, creating grace from her tomboyish walk.

      She raised her gaze higher, past the pearls her mother had given her to wear, to her face. Despite perfect makeup, she was pale, her skin nearly the color of ash.

      The realization began slowly, a small kernel of knowledge that sprouted, then grew quickly, like one of those time-lapse images on television. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Hal, she wasn’t sure she even liked him.

      She’d СКАЧАТЬ