The Getaway Bride

  “You almost destroyed me,” Gabe said starkly

  About the Author

  Books by Gina Wilkins

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “You almost destroyed me,” Gabe said starkly

  Then suddenly Gabe had her in his arms, holding her in a desperate, almost painful grip, his face buried in her hair. Page clung to him, seeking something she was afraid to define.

  His skin was so warm. She’d almost forgotten how the muscles rippled beneath the surface, how the coarseness of his hair contrasted so deliciously with the sleekness of his flesh.

  His mouth closed over hers and Page lost herself in his kiss. Gabe worked his hands beneath her T-shirt to stroke her bare back. His palms were warm against her skin. Greedy. He wanted her. She had no doubt of that. But was there more? He had loved her once—did he still?

  “Page,” he said in a raspy voice. “I...”

  She drew back to look at him, straining to see him in the darkness. She saw only the feverish glitter of his eyes. The hunger. The need.

  A need that seemed to match her own.

  Page ran a fingertip over his bottom lip. “I’ve missed you so much, Gabe. Will you make love to me...one last time?”

  “Very seldom does a writer get a chance to revisit a favorite story line,” says talented author Gina Wilkins. “But in writing The Getaway Bride, I got to do just that. In 1995 I wrote I Won’t for Temptation’s Grooms on the Run miniseries. The books were so popular that the editors decided to try it again—with a twist. I hope you enjoy The Getaway Bride, my contribution to Temptation’s newest miniseries, Brides on the Run.”

  Books by Gina Wilkins

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  470—AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT

  486—JUST HER LUCK

  501—GOLD AND GLITTER

  521—UNDERCOVER BABY

  539—I WONT

  567—ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

  576—A VALENTINE WISH

  592—A WISH FOR LOVE

  620—A NIGHT TO REMEMBER.

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3

  Gina Wilkins

  THE GETAWAY BRIDE

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN

  MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  For John, my own hero and “technical adviser.”

  I couldn’t do any of this without you.

  Prologue

  GABE CONROY SMILED as he headed up the walkway in the Austin, Texas, trailer park. He held a bouquet of flowers in his work-roughened left hand, on which he wore a new gold wedding ring. He’d stopped at the supermarket on his way home and chosen the blooms himself. The small bunch of carnations and daisies had cost him five ninety-five.

  Someday, he told himself, he’d bring his wife roses. Just as, someday, he intended to give her a real honeymoon.

  His wife. The words still startled him when they crossed his mind. He’d been a married man for exactly three weeks, after a whirlwind courtship of just nine weeks. They’d been the happiest three months of his entire life.

  He stuck his key in the front door of the mobile home, sweeping his battered black Western hat off his sweat-dampened brown hair as he stepped inside. The familiar aroma of strawberries greeted him; his wife was a nut for strawberry-scented candles, he thought indulgently.

  “Page? I’m home.” His eager call seemed to echo in the trailer.

  He hung his hat on the brass-plated stand by the door, next to the wide-brimmed straw hat Page often wore to protect her fair skin from the sun. Blond and blue-eyed, she burned easily, and was very careful to avoid overexposure.

  Gabe was glad she wasn’t one of those women who tanned her skin to resemble tough leather; he loved the velvety soft feel of her. Besides, too much sun was considered dangerous these days, and Gabe wouldn’t want anything to harm his bride. He was taking his responsibilities as husband and protector very seriously, despite her teasing about his old-fashioned attitudes.

  “Page?”

  The tiny living room was impeccably neat. There was nothing out of place except the colorful paperback Page had been reading. The book was still lying on the sofa where she’d dropped it when he’d swept her into his arms and off to bed the night before. Gabe’s grin deepened when he mentally replayed the interlude that had followed.

  He headed for the bedroom. “Honey?”

  The bed was made, and the door to the closet-size bathroom stood open, revealing polished fixtures but no Page. He wondered why she hadn’t answered him. Even if she was in the kitchen, she’d have heard him.

  She wasn’t in the kitchen.

  He set the flowers on the tabletop and rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where in the heck she’d gone. She’d have been home from work at least a couple of hours ago. Had she run to the grocery store for something?

  When he’d parked his pickup at the curb, he hadn’t thought to look in the metal carport behind the trailer to see if Page’s little Dodge was there. He looked through the kitchen window. Sure enough, the carport was empty.

  He frowned. Though he certainly didn’t expect her to report her every movement, she usually let him know when she’d be out, so he wouldn’t worry. He’d already gotten into the habit of doing the same, calling when he would be late or checking with her before making plans. They’d agreed that such mutual courtesy would be part of their marriage routine.

  A covered basket on the counter caught his eye. He lifted the cloth napkin and sniffed appreciatively. Mrs. Dooley’s homemade bread, still slightly warm from the oven. He’d bet Mrs. Dooley would know where Page had gone.

  He stepped outside and crossed the tiny lot to the one next door. He knocked briskly on the back door of a blue and white trailer almost identical to his own.

  A heavyset woman with frizzy gray hair and smiling brown eyes opened the door. “Well, hello, Gabe. Page send you to borrow a cup of sugar?”

  “Actually, I wanted to ask if you’ve seen Page. I just got home and she isn’t there.”

  Mrs. Dooley chuckled. “You newlyweds. Can’t stand to let each other out of sight for a few minutes.”

  Gabe smiled sheepishly. “I suppose I’ve gotten spoiled. I’m used to having her greet me when I get home from work.”

  His neighbor patted his arm. “Don’t you go smotherin’ the girl, now. She needs a little breathing space.”

  “I know. Guess I overreacted. But she should have been home hours ago. When I saw your bread on the counter, I thought she might have told you where she was going. By the way, thanks. You know how I love your bread.”

  “Why do you think I made an extra loaf? Makes me feel good to know how much you enjoy it. I carried it over about an hour ago, and Page was there then. We didn’t get a chance to talk much. She had just thanked me for the bread when the telephone rang. It looked like she was having a serious conversation, so I signaled that I’d talk to her later and came on home.”

  Gabe wondered who had called, but he figured Page’d tell him later if she wanted him to know. “Thanks again fo
r the bread, Mrs. Dooley,” he said as he moved away.

  “You’re welcome, hon And don’t you be eatin’ it all up before Page gets home, you hear? I made it for both of you.”

  He grinned. “Then she’d better hurry home.”

  Mrs. Dooley laughed and shook her head as she closed her door.

  THE BREAD was still sitting untouched on the counter two hours later. Gabe paced the trailer, torn between worry and anger. Damn it, where was Page? It wasn’t like her to go off like this.

  He thought of Mrs. Dooley’s advice to give Page breathing room. But it wasn’t as if he would have forbidden her to leave if she’d told him she had plans.

  He expected her to have friends. Outside interests. Just because they hadn’t spent more than a few hours at a time apart since they’d met three months ago didn’t mean he planned to keep her shackled to the trailer. But surely Page knew he would worry if she just disappeared like this, with no explanation, no forewarning, nothing.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Page’s best friend, Betty Anne Spearman. Betty Anne and Page were both teachers at a local elementary school. Betty Anne could tell him if something had come up at school, though Gabe found it hard to believe his wife wouldn’t have called him if there had been a change of plans.

  Betty Anne hadn’t heard from Page. Nor had Page told her about any plans she’d had for the evening. Betty Anne agreed that it wasn’t like Page to be inconsiderate or absentminded. “I’m worried, Gabe,” she said. “Are you sure she didn’t tell you where she’d be this evening?”

  “I’m sure,” he answered grimly. “In fact, we’d planned to go out to a movie tonight. We talked about it at breakfast this morning. She seemed to be looking forward to it.”

  “Oh, Gabe, this doesn’t sound good. Do you...do you think you should call the police?”

  His stomach tightened. “Let’s not panic,” he said, trying to calm himself as much as her. “She’ll probably be home soon.”

  “You’ll have her call me when she gets in? Just to set my mind at rest?”

  “Yeah, Betty Anne, I’ll have her call.”

  He hung up the phone and started pacing again. Tiny kitchen. Minuscule living room. Narrow hallway. Small bedroom.

  It was hardly a palace he’d brought his bride home to, he thought wryly, but she hadn’t seemed to mind. She’d assured him she would be very happy here, at least until they could afford a bigger place for themselves and the children they both wanted.

  Cash was tight now, but Page seemed convinced it was only a matter of time until his fledgling business was a success. The faith she had in him was one of the things he loved most about her.

  Gabe had already asked an architect buddy to start drawing up some plans for a three-bedroom house that he wanted to build as soon as he was sure his construction company was securely established—which, he hoped, wouldn’t be much longer. Business had been good lately. Life had been good, as far as Gabe was concerned.

  Now, if only he could find his wife....

  He tried to think of someone else to call. Page had no family, and not many friends in this area. Her parents had been dead for several years and Gabe remembered being surprised that she’d been on her own a long time, though she was only twenty-five. He admired her self-sufficiency, even if he found her deeply ingrained independence a bit daunting at times.

  Without much optimism, he called his mother and his sister, Annie. Neither had heard from Page. Both expressed concern that she’d been missing now for more than three hours.

  He called the pastor of the church that Page attended faithfully. Reverend Morgan had married Page and Gabe in a tiny private ceremony in the church sanctuary, with little fanfare and only a handful of witnesses.

  Page had called it the most beautiful wedding any woman could have wanted.

  “I haven’t heard from her, Gabe,” the minister stated gravely. “Page isn’t a thoughtless person. Have you considered contacting the authorities?”

  Gabe thanked the man for his concern, his advice, and his promise of prayer. And then he hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands.

  He wasn’t sure what made him suddenly stand and walk back into the bedroom. He rounded the bed, which took up most of the meager floor space, and stumbled over something at the foot. Looking down, he spotted Page’s slippers. He picked one up, cradling the little satin shoe in his big, calloused hand. And then he opened the closet door.

  It was immediately apparent that some of Page’s clothes were missing. Not all of them; it looked as though she’d grabbed a few at random and stuffed them into the overnight bag that usually rested on the top shelf. The bag wasn’t there now.

  He could feel his heart start to pound, slowly, painfully. There was a strange buzzing in his ears, like the sound of an annoying insect. Or a nagging premonition.

  Stiff with dread, he opened the top drawer of the built-in bureau, the one in which Page kept her lingerie. It was empty, except for the small white envelope with his name scrawled across the front. It was all he could do to pick it up.

  She hadn’t wanted him to find it too quickly, he realized dully. Why?

  The note was brief, the writing hastily scrawled.

  Gabe,

  I’m so sorry. I can’t explain now, but I have to leave you. I know this will be hard for you to understand, but I’m doing this for your sake. Don’t try to find me. I can’t be with you now. Please believe that I never meant to hurt you. I’m so very sorry.

  Page.

  Gabe sank slowly to the edge of the bed, staring at the nearly incomprehensible note that seemed to become more blurry the longer he looked at it. It was a very long time before he moved again.

  I have to leave you. The words had sliced deeply into him. As he sat there, trying to understand them, the remnants of his youth bled from the wound. Not quite thirty, he had just lost the fire and enthusiasm with which he’d once faced the future.

  His bride had taken away much more than her clothing when she left him.

  1

  PAULA SMITHERS wasn’t exactly popular with the people she saw on a daily basis, and she knew it. In fact, she encouraged it. She went out of her way to hold them at more than arm’s length.

  She had no place in her life for friends.

  Every morning at exactly 8:00 a.m., she reported to work in the back office of a car dealership in Des Moines, Iowa, where she efficiently processed paperwork in almost undisturbed solitude for eight hours a day, five days a week. The sales staff contacted her only to give instructions and ask questions, and the other employees had given up trying to make her part of their friendly group after their early efforts had been firmly rebuffed.

  Paula was never actually rude to the others, but she made no effort to be particularly friendly, either. After five months here, she was convinced that her coworkers considered her an eccentric loner with no social life and little personality. She had worked hard to create that facade.

  Occasionally, some well-intentioned individual would try to reach her. Invite her to lunch. Make an effort to befriend her out of pity or kindness. Paula had her response down pat. A cool smile and an unwaveringly brusque rejection of any friendly overture.

  The barriers she placed between herself and the others were invisible, but obvious nonetheless. Eventually, even the warmest-hearted do-gooder conceded defeat and left her to her requested isolation.

  Blake Jones, the newest sales associate at the dealership, was proving to be more tenacious than the others had been.

  “‘Morning, Paula,” he said, sauntering into her cubbyhole office with a stack of paperwork. “Don’t you look nice today.”

  She was wearing a brown jacket dress that made her skin look sallow and did nothing to enhance her brown eyes. She hadn’t tried to soften the severity of the look with jewelry; she wore only a plain, leather-banded watch on her left wrist and a thin gold chain that disappeared beneath the high collar of her unflattering dress.

  She’d pul
led her mousy hair into a severe bun that would have been more suited to a woman twice her age. She wore no makeup, and her oversize glasses had slid down her short nose again, forcing her to push at them with her forefinger. Well aware of every detail of her carefully constructed appearance, Paula put little credence into Blake’s compliment.

  “Thank you,” she said coolly, reaching for the forms. Her tone implied that the conversation ended there.

  Blake didn’t take the hint. He’d worked for McElden Motors for just two weeks and had already broken all existing records for the most car sales made in the first month of employment. Tenacity was a plus in sales, of course, but he seemed to carry the trait over into everything else he did. And for some reason, he’d been determined to befriend Paula, despite her resistance.

  She’d sensed from the beginning that his interest in her was not sexual. A woman usually suspected when a man was genuinely attracted to her, and Paula knew that wasn’t the case with Blake. Yet he continued to try his best to draw her out. She could only guess his motive to be pity—or conceit. Perhaps he was the type of man who simply couldn’t stand it if a woman didn’t succumb to his considerable charms.

  He was definitely attractive. Boyishly tousled golden hair. Wicked blue eyes. Killer smile. A slender physique that nicely set off his penchant for loose shirts and softly pleated slacks. A thirty-something heartthrob.

  He had no way of knowing, of course, that Paula’s heart had long been locked away in a place where no one would ever make it throb again.

  “I was thinking about trying out that new Chinese place down the street for lunch today,” he said. “Would you like to join me?”

  “No, thank you,” she murmured, deliberately turning her attention back to her work. “I brought my lunch.”