The Getaway Bride

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?”