Normally Gracie, a giant German shepherd mix with only one ear, was hesitant around new people but jumped onto the couch next to Ryan and immediately tried to burrow under his arm. Marlin, her adorable and bucktoothed bulldog, plopped down on one of Ryan’s sneakers.

  “Gracie, off,” Meredith commanded.

  The dog’s ear popped up, and she reluctantly hopped to the floor.

  “I appreciate you coming with me,” she said, approaching her dogs and her hot-doctor neighbor. “Joey and I had a misunderstanding that veered a bit south. I didn’t try to kill him.”

  “Good to know,” Ryan said, leveling her with a look that said he believed she had it in her.

  Maybe she did. Honestly, she rarely let herself get close enough to a man to know.

  “I’ll take you home,” she offered.

  His thick brows lowered over his eyes as if he were weighing something in his mind. “Tell me the story of tonight, first.”

  “It’s nothing,” she lied.

  “You practically broke down my front door, drove me over here like you were some kind of renegade storm chaser and then gave the man who you apparently attacked advice on his dating life that sounded like something my mother would have said. There’s a story. I missed the end of the Hurricanes game, so I’d like to know I gave it up for a good reason.”

  Her mouth went dry at the intensity in his gaze, like he expected her to reveal the dark secret she’d shared with no one. Like he might already guess what she was hiding.

  She gave an exaggerated eye roll and plopped onto the chair next to the sofa. “I’ll share it, but you’re going to be disappointed. It’s really nothing.”

  At least, the version she planned to tell him.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Runaway Groom by Lynne Marshall.

  Copyright © 2021 by Michelle Major

  Runaway Groom

  by Lynne Marshall

  Prologue

  Mark Mendoza shuffled the cards and groused to his brothers. “I can’t believe Rodrigo isn’t here tonight.” Here being the tasting room at the family winery in Austin, Texas.

  “He’s stubborn, you know that,” Carlo, his older brother, didn’t waste a beat to reply.

  This was how Mark wanted to spend his last night as a bachelor, playing poker with the guys he loved and trusted most in the world, his brothers Chaz, Carlo, Rodrigo and Stefan. But Rodrigo had refused to come tonight, and more unbelievably, to his wedding tomorrow. It hurt.

  He dealt, but before he picked up his cards, he took another drink of thirty-year-old whiskey, compliments of Chaz. Smooth, smoky, with just the right amount of heat as it went down. Then he reached for the lit Dominican cigar Stefan had provided and took a puff, enjoying the full-bodied aroma while he studied his cards. It struck him as ironic that winemakers who preferred clean air were sitting in a confined space beneath a cloud of smoke. But, hey, it was a bachelor party for a thirty-five-year-old guy who had finally realized how much he wanted to get married and have a family, and this was exactly how he wanted to spend it—man time with his hermanos.

  “He thinks I’m making a mistake, but I’ve thought everything through,” Mark said, determined more than ever to convince his brothers that he didn’t want to make the same mistakes his parents had made—marry for love and passion, drive each other crazy with jealousy, then slip into infidelity, making each other miserable until they finally divorced.

  “He doesn’t agree with your plan, that’s all,” Chaz said, starting off this hand of the card game with a mediocre bid.

  “Says you’ve made it more like a business deal,” Stefan added, as he passed.

  Mark held cards in one hand, and the cigar in the other. “And I ask, is that such a bad idea?” he said as he raised the stakes.

  “Nothing beats love,” Carlo said as he took his turn. Married to Schuyler, he thought he was an expert.

  The game continued around the table.

  Mark had figured out the best way to choose a good woman to spend the rest of his life with, and it had nothing to do with love or a matchmaking website. Like a fine cigar, a marriage was something you developed a taste for.

  “Let’s use Rodrigo’s example, then, and think of marriage as a successful business deal. Each party knows exactly what is expected of them and they follow through on the plans.” He lifted his brow when Carlo raised his bet, then Mark called but didn’t miss a beat with his explanation. Because it mattered to him that his brothers understood. That, and the fact he didn’t want to give away his great hand. “The key is being honest,” he touted before demonstrating with a huge grin as he laid down his full house.

  But victory was brief when Carlo showed his four of a kind. “Don’t forget you have a tell, little brother,” Carlo teased. “You sniffed and scratched above your eyebrow when you made your bet. I knew you weren’t as positive as you pretended to be.”

  “Yeah,” Stefan said. “I noticed earlier you sniffed when you mentioned how excited you are to marry Brianna, too.”

  “Guys, this is not how a bachelor party is supposed to go. You’re supposed to be happy for me, support me, let me win.”

  They shared a group laugh on the last part. Still, the secret message about his tell and having used it when talking about Brianna tore at his confidence about doing marriage his way with logic and reason. Love would come later. Wouldn’t it?

  He liked Brianna a lot and had no illusions about how she felt about him. She wanted someone to take care of her—someone stable and with a steady job. Mark wasn’t dumb, he knew “steady” was code for lucrative, and he’d keep his end of the bargain there. He was part owner of the family winery, with a marketing side business breaking into new venues every week. They had also agreed on having a family as soon as possible. His practical approach to achieving a mindful marriage would ensure a stable home for their future kids, which he hoped would be many. Brianna was as excited as he was to have a big family, too. He’d seen plenty of passionate romances crash and burn, so, in Mark’s view, friends with benefits was the only way to go.

  Carlo claimed the poker pot. “What if this approach to marriage backfires?”

  “Oh, now I see you’ve been talking to Rodrigo, who you may have noticed is not here.” He didn’t try to hide his frustration or impatience.

  His younger brother Rodrigo had begged him to reconsider, but Mark insisted he knew what he was doing. Bottom line, he didn’t want to wait much longer to start that big family.

  “Maybe he’s right,” Stefan posed.

  “He’s just ticked off I’m beating him to the altar. And now you guys are trying to ruin my last night as a single man. Are we playing poker or what?” Mark lifted his glass for Chaz to give him a refill and took another puff of the cigar. His brothers nodded. “Then let’s shut up and deal. Okay?”

  An hour later, having lost the card game and developed a coughing spasm from smoking the “fine” cigar, which had begun to taste like wet acidic tobacco in his mouth, Mark let more doubt seep in. Rather than spend the night tossing and turning, he’d make a plan. Another plan. Who cared if they said it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding? He didn’t believe in luck, he believed in plans. Besides, they weren’t getting married for the usual reason—love—so why follow tradition. Theirs would be a solid untraditional approach to happily-ever-after. Just like in marketing where you followed the accepted steps to success and got results. This was his plan, and he was excited to get married and start the next phase of his life—together with his bride.

  To put an end to the doubt his brothers had stoked with their stogies and whiskey and cards night, he’d sneak off to see his bride before the wedding tomorrow afternoon. He’d surprise Brianna and make one final analysis on the marital collaboration, to confirm that they were still on the same page about their marriage and family deal.

  It was a simple plan that was bound to reassure him his unique strategy was the only way to go.

  Chapter One

  Ashley Fortune glanced around the busy restaurant and smiled. Saturday nights at Provisions in Rambling Rose had been booked solid for the entire month and nothing could make her and her other two triplet sisters happier. But her smile faded as her line of vision stumbled across the entrance and over the man standing there looking like the walking dead. He wore a tux with the jacket and vest both unbuttoned, and the silk bow tie loosened around his opened collar, like someone who had stayed a week too long at a wild party. With his hair windblown in a mad-scientist kind of way, the man was indeed the epitome of the phrase “a sight for sore eyes.” But something about him was familiar. Mendoza familiar. He resembled her fiancé Rodrigo, but a little shorter. Still not sure, due to the backlighting, she squinted to see better.

  Wasn’t that Mark Mendoza? And wasn’t today supposed to be his wedding? He was obviously dressed for it. The wedding. That was supposed to have happened—she glanced at her watch—three hours ago. But where was his bride? Brianna, wasn’t that her name? And why would they be here instead of at their reception back in Austin?

  His lost, staring eyes and forlorn appearance hadn’t gone unnoticed by diners either, as a subtle hush came over the room while they checked out the stranger. He just stood there looking like an accident that had already happened. Regaining her senses, and needing to tamp down the spectacle, she rushed to her future brother-in-law.

  “Mark!”

  Completely unlike his usual friendly, easygoing self, he seemed stunned, like he’d somehow wound up here and wasn’t sure why. He blinked his dark and sunken eyes, then focused her way.

  “It’s Ashley. Are you alone?” she said gently as she approached.

  He glanced toward his perfectly polished and shined dress shoes, then back up. “Yep.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m okay.”

  He certainly didn’t look it.

  “Did you have a car accident?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, outside, toward the parking lot, clearly unsure. “No.”

  Well, something awful had happened, that was a given.

  She quickly glanced around, hoping a table might have been vacated, but knew there were others waiting to be seated even if one had. One thing was certain: she couldn’t let him stay where he was in his current state. As she approached, she reached for her cell in her pocket and speed-dialed Rodrigo. It went directly to voice mail. “I need your help ASAP,” she said, then she reached for the arm of the usually sunny Mark and felt him tense.

  “Let me find a place for you to sit.”

  Still clearly dazed, he looked around as if just now noticing where he had wound up. “Uh, yeah. Okay. I’m fine, though.”

  Oh, no he wasn’t. “Why are you here?” Her straightforward question was drizzled with sympathy.

  “I was just driving around, then wound up here.” Sounding bewildered, Mark’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been yelling, and his hair looked as though he’d been driving a convertible all the way from Austin. Which she knew he didn’t own.

  She found one open seat at the bar. A lone stool at the far end, which was a perfect place to hide, er, seat Mark until she could get hold of Rodrigo.

  “May I ask what happened?”

  He made a straight tight line with his lips, obviously not ready to talk about it.

  “Never mind. Here, just have a seat, okay? Byron?” She called for the bar manager who happened to be on duty. “This is Mark. My future brother-in-law. Get him anything he wants on the house.” Though not with-it completely, Mark was obviously sober.

  She turned and tried Rodrigo’s cell again, as she heard Mark order a double of something. Rather than leave another message, she texted him, then impatient to make contact called Hotel Fortune’s private line and found out Rodrigo was running an emergency errand for Roja, the hotel restaurant, and should be back anytime. So she left another message for him to call her while wondering why he hadn’t replied to her text.

  “Ashley!” Adam, her cousin and restaurant manager, called out. “We need your assistance in the kitchen.”

  She’d been in worse situations on busy nights at this restaurant; Rosemary, the chef, could be an occasional prima donna. Mark seemed so lost, but she had no choice. “Mark, I’ve got to check this out.”

  He shrugged and smiled in understanding. As she followed Adam to the kitchen, she looked over her shoulder and saw Mark take his drink in one gulp.

  * * *

  “I’ll have another,” Mark said from the high stool, leaning his forearms on the long polished concrete bar. He had to give it to Byron, he was attentive and quickly gave him a refill, which Mark immediately downed. He needed to be numb. Because tonight was supposed to be the first night of his honeymoon. And now everything—wedding, reception, flight to Belize—was off. He’d driven two hours from Austin to Rambling Rose yelling and cursing at the top of his lungs over the state of his life. The whiskey burned going down, but the quick, soothing effect was worth the pain.

  He lifted his glass again and Byron finally made the pour. The sooner he was drunk and numb, the better. He threw back his head and, while drinking, noticed the corrugated-metal roof, exposed beams and ductwork. Beginning to feel no pain, he was struck by how much he liked the place right down to the metal and blond wood stool he sat on. Good job, little brother. I approve. Even though you boycotted my wedding. Which, as it turns out, I did, too. Yeah, he was drunk.

  How long had he been staring at the ceiling?

  Long enough to put a few things together. Rodrigo had come here last year to help with the opening of Provisions and wound up staying for good after falling in love with Ashley Fortune. A couple of his cousins had married Fortunes, too. And Carlo had married a woman from a secret branch of the Fortune family called the Fortunados. So Rodrigo was apparently continuing a tradition.

  And speaking of Ashley, she was obviously worried about him, because she’d come back again.

  “Hi, is there anything I can do for you?”

  Why was she acting like she hadn’t been here just minutes ago? “I’m still fine,” he lied as he glanced her way then did a second take. How did women do that? Change clothes so fast, right out of her chic dress into casual dark pants and a light blue sweater set. Man, the booze must be kicking in because he could also swear she’d cut her hair. Before it was long, wavy; now it only came to the bottom of her neck, was stick straight and parted on the side. And the parted side looked longer than the other. Asymmetrical. He pondered the word as though it was in the bottom of his glass. Oh, yeah, he was getting blotto. Say something, be polite, or she’ll know you’re drunk, too.

  “I don’t know how you did it, but I like you in blue. Hair’s nice, too.”

  Ashley’s eyes widened, she quirked a brow and crinkled her nose in a typical huh expression, then recognition seemed to dawn. Her forehead relaxed and she smiled. “I’m Megan, one of Ashley’s triplet sisters. We get that a lot.”

  Right! There were three of them. Rodrigo was engaged to Ashley. “Oh, yeah, I met you briefly at that party last summer?”

  She nodded. The couple on the other side of him stood up to be escorted to their table, so Megan scooted onto the empty stool beside Mark. He didn’t necessarily want company while he got plastered, but for some reason, he didn’t mind this triplet with the asymmetrical hair sitting next to him.

  * * *

  Ashley had called her at the Hotel Fortune with an SOS just as Megan was about to order a to-go dinner from Roja. Who would’ve thought she and her sisters would own two restaurants in a little over a year at the ripe old age of twenty-four? Anyway, her presence had been stressfully requested at Provisions. Ashley had said Mark Mendoza clearly needed some TLC and man-oh-man she was right.

  From where Megan was sitting, Mark seemed in the early to mid-stage of getting hammered. He also looked like he’d recently been hit by a truck.

  She leaned close to the bar and turned her head to catch his attention. “Would you like to talk about it?” Why not start with the obvious.

  Staring straight into the huge bar mirror, instead of looking at her, he shook his head, then signaled Byron for a drink. How many would this be?

  “Byron, can you bring a couple menus, too?” She turned to Mark. “I missed my dinner.” Then back to Byron. “Oh, and some coffee?” Megan said it as though it had just occurred to her, not that Ashley had made her promise not to let Mark get stink-faced and make a fool of himself. So far he seemed in control, but something horrible had happened today to make a successful man like Mark Mendoza, the carefree guy she’d met last summer, clearly want to drown in whiskey to make it better.

  Byron placed a bowl of mixed nuts and another of pretzels in front of them, having obviously read her mind.

  “I’ll have a refill, thanks.” Mark also let his desire be known without blinking an eye, which was hard to tell since he wouldn’t look at her.

  She turned in the stool to face Mark so he couldn’t ignore her, then sang the praises of the restaurant’s coffee. “You’ve got to try it. We order it specially from Guatemala, from the fair-trade market, of course, and since I’m the COF, I can guarantee it’s still a great deal. And so rich and smooth. You’ll love it.”

  “COF? Is that short for coffee?”

  She tolerated his dumb joke because he was tipsy and looked pitiful, and boy, could he use a hug. Not that she’d thought about giving him one, just that she’d noticed how sad he was in that perfectly fitting tux. Or it would have been a perfectly fitting tux if the vest and jacket were buttoned. The shirt collar was open, a look Megan had always been a sucker for, and under the unbuttoned vest, the white shirt clung snug against his abs. She’d noticed that, too. “Chief of finances. I’m the numbers person of us three.” She popped a handful of nuts into her mouth to lead by example—eat while you drink. Mark picked up a single pretzel and licked off the salt.