Page 18 of Runaway Bride’s Husband

My heart started pounding. The front door was wide open and I sure hadn’t left it that way. Swallowing past the rush of fear that swept through me, I ran through my options, but it didn’t take long. If I called the cops, I would have to give them my name.

If I gave them my name, I would have to explain how I’d gotten access to a house that didn’t belong to the Pembrokes and I couldn’t even claim to have rented it because surely I would have to provide proof, which I didn’t have.

Also, not for nothing, but my name would probably also be logged on a system somewhere and that wouldn’t do, so I went for what was behind door number two. My grandfather’s old musket.

I had no idea if it worked and even less of an idea how to use it, but whoever was in that house didn’t know either of those things. Creeping up to the side of the house, I slipped in through the open door and grabbed the musket, surprised by its weight, but I held it in both hands and prayed to everything that was holy that intruders who meant a person harm wouldn’t park right in front of the door.

My chest grew tighter with every step I took, my hands trembling even with the heavy musket in them. I wanted nothing more than to run the heck away from whoever was in here, but I couldn’t. This was my home now, and if I left it, I was screwed.

Every room I checked was empty, until I stepped into my grandfather’s study and found a man in there. My heart leaped and a blood-curdling, full-animal scream tore straight out of my lungs. The man looked up at the exact same time, and weirdly, he started screaming too.

It took a solid five seconds for my brain to register through the shock and the fear that I recognized the face I was staring at. It was Ryan Thayer.

The sound streaming out of my mouth suddenly cut off, but I was still breathing hard as I scowled at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He lunged to push the musket away when it accidentally swung toward him, that previously styled dark brown hair falling in a mess across his forehead with the force of the movement. “Holy shit, Maggie. Put the gun down.”

“Don’t come any closer,” I said breathlessly, my heart still racing and my entire body still trembling. “I’m not putting it down until you stop breaking into my house!”

“This is not your house!”

“It is now!”

Ryan finally managed to get his hands around the musket and pulled it away from me, but I let him have it. I’d been about to drop it on the floor anyway, shaking too hard to keep a good grip on it.

“It’s Marcus’s house,” Ryan said once he’d set the gun down on the cluttered old desk behind him.

Sunshine mottled by puffy clouds filtered in through the windows, illuminating the dust motes swirling lazily through the air and the thin layer of it covering almost every surface. On the verge of passing out if I didn’t remember how to breathe properly, I focused on all that for a moment, the sunshine casting pools of light across the pocked wooden floors and the piles of random documents stacked around the room.

Finally, when my gaze snagged on an old, yellow picture of my grandfather on the wall, I felt my heart rate starting to calm down. Marcus might’ve inherited this place, but he’d never even been here and that man in the photograph had been my grandfather too.

If he’d known how things were going to turn out for me and how much I was going to end up being like him, he probably would’ve left it to me anyway. Slowly, I dragged in a few deep breaths and then turned to face Ryan again.

He looked ridiculous in his tailored suit and shiny shoes in this dusty old study, but before I could demand—again—to know how the hell he’d even found me, he smirked. “Were you actually going to shoot me?”

“I was going to do whatever I needed to do to protect myself from someone breaking into my house.”

“Again, this is Marcus’s house.” He motioned toward the musket before folding his arms and turning back to me, amusement suddenly dancing in his eyes. “More importantly, that thing isn’t functional.”

I blinked hard. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a replica.”

I shook my head, folding my own arms and taking a step forward. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I know what a functional firearm looks like.”

“Fantastic.” I scoffed. “Congratulations.”

“What the hell were you doing wandering around here alone with a fake gun?” he asked, drifting back toward the open balcony doors for every step I took toward him. Almost like he thought I might smack him if I got too close. “You could’ve been hurt, Maggie. Anyone could’ve been in here.”

“You’re the one who broke in.”

He snorted. “I didn’t break in, actually. The door was open, which makes this a lot worse. You have no idea how dangerous it can be in a remote home all by yourself, do you?”