Winds of Destiny – Sitting alone in a bar on her fortieth birthday wasn’t something Katherine Armand had ever planned. With her marriage over, better to pay attention to her career. A big-shot developer was flying into her sleepy, coastal fishing village to discuss building a resort. Katherine was a top-notch negotiator for her law firm. Anderson was eager for the land. This should be as smooth as sailing gentle Gulf waters. Except Anderson sent his top man to broker the deal . . . and Katherine hadn’t planned on having to bargain with Michael Whitfield, the man who had broken her heart fifteen years ago, ever again. Lizzie’s Laces – Two years ago, Lizzie Rawlston left her home in Boston for Liverpool, determined to start a new life and forget all about Tony Sinclair, the handsome packet captain who had once been her best friend—and with whom she had the misfortune of falling in love. However, Tony had made it clear he wanted only one thing in life: the sea. He didn't want to be bothered with a family, or worse, a wife. Now, with Lizzie's father sick, possibly dying, Tony has appeared to bring Lizzie home. As they race against time to get Lizzie home before her father passes away, Tony and Lizzie rediscover the magic they've always shared. But when a storm blows up, threatening the ship and all of their lives, Tony will have to confront his greatest fear. Can he love Lizzie and still love the sea? Does being the fastest also have to mean being alone? The Spirit of Love – A tragic accident leaves Brynna and Travis devastated. Instead of turning to each other for comfort, they drift apart. However, they must complete one more assignment—set on an old ship, The Queen Mary, during Yule, one of the most haunted times in the Celtic calendar. It is believed souls of the dead prevail and anam cara—soul friends can visit.
Will Travis and Brynna confront the spirit of love, allowing them a chance to heal and find their way back to each other? The Garden Swing – Tess Murphy loves hearing stories from her elderly patient, Emmeline. When the woman dies, she leaves a dilapidated Victorian house that may be more trouble than it's worth. But when Tess tries out an old, unique swing in the garden, she hurtles back in time, and to the arms of the house's handsome owner, Hugh MacAllister. She faces the hardest choice of her life: to return to her own time, or to stay and become a part of history. Only and Always You – Ten years ago, two hearts were broken. Will Viscount Seton and Lady Claire be able to set aside their hurt and betrayal to have a second chance at love with each other? Special of the Day – Nick Delatorre's college sweetheart who dumped him years ago is back in town. Trouble is, she's opened a restaurant next door to his and is stealing all his customers. For Nick, revenge has never tasted sweeter, and now he's going to dish it back out—a la mode!
Second Time Around
A Romance Anthology
Highland Press Publishing Florida
Second Time Around An Original Publication of Highland Press Publishing - 2009 Winds of Destiny © Cynthia Breeding Lizzie’s Laces © Kirsten Scott The Spirit of Love © Karen Michelle Nutt The Garden Swing © Erin E.M. Hatton Only and Always You © Gerri Bowen Special of the Day © Kimberly Ivey Cover Copyright © by Cheryl Alldredge Printed and bound in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact Highland Press Publishing, PO Box 2292, High Springs, FL 32655 www.highlandpress.org All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention. ISBN: 978-0-9823615-7-3 PUBLISHED BY HIGHLAND PRESS PUBLISHING A Wee Dram Book
Contents
Winds of Destiny Cynthia Breeding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 07 Lizzie’s Laces Kirsten Scott . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 The Spirit of Love Karen Michelle Nutt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .78 The Garden Swing Erin E.M. Hatton. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126 Only and Always You Gerri Bowen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 Special of the Day Kimberly Ivey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Polly McCrillis, Associate Editor Venetta Bell, Associate Editor Margie Roland, Editor
Winds of Destiny
Winds of Destiny Cynthia Breeding
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Cynthia Breeding
Author Information As a lover of history and romance, Cynthia Breeding is either researching time periods or plotting to add romance to them. She lives on the bay in Corpus Christi, Texas, with her Bichon Frise, Nicki, and enjoys sailing and horseback riding. In addition to having stories in multiple upcoming Highland Press Publishing’s anthologies, Cynthia is the author of Prelude to Camelot and Fate of Camelot, a continuation of her wonderful Arthurian series. Readers can reach her through her website: www.cynthiabreeding.com
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Chapter One Katherine Armand set the empty martini glass down and looked through the haze of smoke at the scantily dressed young women gyrating on the dance floor of the only bar in the sleepy coastal town of Driftwood, Texas. What was she doing here alone on her fortieth birthday? Did she really think she could compete with twenty-somethings? And why would she want to? Hooking up with some guy who thought she looked better at closing time wasn’t exactly where she needed to be. It hadn’t helped that she’d found her studiously-inclined husband in bed with one of the Barbie look-alikes nearly a year ago. Katherine never would have thought him capable of cheating. He seemed as far removed from that scoundrel, Michael Whitfield, as she could have chosen. Did choose him for that very reason. Resolutely, she pushed away the image of dark-haired, charismatic Michael. No need to dredge those memories up from where they lay buried for fifteen years. Strange, though, that thoughts of him intruded, when the divorce was still fairly fresh on her mind. What she had thought was a rock-solid, if not passionately exciting, marriage was finished. So here she was, starting over, with laugh lines that showed and an extra ten pounds she couldn’t diet or exercise away. At least her strawberry blonde hair had no signs of gray. Yet. She sighed and signaled the bartender for one more drink. Two remained her limit and she couldn’t afford to have blood-shot eyes and a puffy face tomorrow morning. Some big client was flying into nearby Corpus Christi from Dallas and her boss, a commercial real-estate attorney, would want her to be mentally alert. 9
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“Slow night, huh?” Danny, the bartender, asked as he set the vodka martini down in front of her. “It seems to be,” she answered, knowing he meant there weren’t any older men around. Still, he had put in the second olive she liked. He really was a sweet kid. She smiled at him as she handed over a ten dollar bill. He waved it aside. “It’s on me. Isn’t today your birthday?” Katherine blinked. Either she’d been coming in here far too regularly or this ‘sweet kid’ was a darn sharp bartender. She remembered mentioning her birthday to some girlfriends a couple of weeks ago when they were all doing a bit of man-bashing. “Yes, it is. Just don’t ask which one.” He grinned. “My mother trained me better than that. You’re still a fox. Your husband was a real jerk.” Katherine tried not to wince. One of the disadvantages of living in a small town was that everyone knew your business and didn’t mind commenting on it. “Yeah, well, he’s gone and I’ve gotten over it.” Better to change the subject. “What do you think about the possibility of that fancy resort being built here?” Danny rose to the bait. “I think it’d be great. Lots of wealthy people spending money . . . the owner might even get new tables for this place.” He frowned slightly. “Do you really think it will happen? Pedro Martinez has been hanging on to that piece of beach property for years.” “It might.” Pedro was her boss’s client who had married a pretty little thing half his age who wanted to break into show business. “Pedro wants to move to California with his new wife.” She paused. “Some developer from Dallas is flying in tomorrow to start negotiations. He’ll be in town for three days.” “Your boss is handling it?” 10
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“He’s assigned me to do the preliminaries.” Her boss, Denson Corrothers, was a top notch attorney with a mind like a steel trap. Unfortunately, he came across like General Patton. Even though Katherine was a paralegal, her most important asset, to her boss at least, was her excellent social skills. Danny grinned again. “Well, like I said, you’re still a fox. Go sell him.” She grinned back as she got up from her chair. “I intend to do just that.” **** Katherine brushed her hair back over her shoulder as the airport’s PA system announced the arrival of the Dallas flight the next morning. The strong Corpus Christi winds had done nothing to help her unruly curls. She stood and held up the sign that read: ‘Anderson and Associates.’ Thank goodness the Corpus airport was small and all passengers had to funnel through one walkway. Mr. Anderson shouldn’t have any trouble finding her. A man at the far end caught her attention. Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair brushing the collar of a white dress shirt open at the throat, he moved with the arrogant grace of a man accustomed to having women gawk at him. She watched as he came closer. He moved like Michael. Katherine shook her head. What in the world was wrong with her? First last night and now this morning. Why was she thinking about a man who had betrayed her? Lied to her. A man who’d made her think she was the center of his universe. God. She’d been such a young fool. She started to look away just as he turned and met her gaze. For one moment, time froze. People floated past her in waves of vague colors. A low hum of indistinguishable noise surrounded her. Her hands went slack and the sign clattered to the floor unheeded. 11
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Michael. Slowly, the world came back into focus and she drew a faulty breath as he approached. He looked just as she remembered him. The strong jaw and angular curve of his face, the straight nose and sinfully sensuous lips. Lips that kissed her senseless and then moved on to drive her to dizzying heights. Lips that had taken her to the limit . . . He smiled, showing incredibly white teeth and just the faintest of tiny creases at the outside of his eyes. Why couldn’t he at least look his age? He was forty-five, for Pete’s sake. His stomach was still perfectly flat and no doubt hard as granite. No. She would not look there. In spite of herself, her nerve endings tingled as they always had when he was near. “Katie.” The sound of his voice, low and sensually soft, sent liquid flame down her spine. Katie. He was the only one who ever called her that. To her friends, she was Kat. She took a deep breath. “Michael. What are you doing here?” Funny, how normal her voice sounded while her blood pounded through her veins like erupting lava. His amber eyes turned whiskey-colored as he tilted his head slightly to study her. How many times had she lost herself in their depths as he mesmerized her with that look? Even now, after fifteen years, she felt herself being drawn toward him. Her foot moved and she forced herself not to take a step forward. The smile widened into a grin as he caught the slight gesture. “It’s nice to see you again, Katie. It’s been a long time.” Not long enough. Her traitorous body already ached for his touch. She would not, not, allow him to hurt her again. “You never answered my question. What brings you to Corpus?” “Business. Maybe I could buy you dinner tonight?” 12
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“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He arched an eyebrow. “Why not?” “Your wife might not like it.” The remark sounded catty, but he’d ‘forgotten’ once to mention his fiancée, Amy. Katherine wasn’t about to get involved. “I’m divorced.” Why did her heart skip a beat at that statement? Maybe it was mean, but she deserved a second of gloating that his marriage hadn’t worked out, didn’t she? “Come on. It’ll be fun to rehash old times.” Katherine’s face heated and she looked away. He probably had no inkling of the pain he’d caused her. To him, she had just been a casual acquaintance—well, not casual, exactly, given that she’d been naked with him nearly as often as she’d been clothed—but not important. He’d acted as though he cared, but in the end, that had proved to be a lie. She straightened her shoulders. She was a mature woman now, not some twenty-something ingénue. “We had a good time. It ended. Let’s leave it at that.” He said nothing, but reached over and took her left hand. His touch sent jolts of heat through her. She tried to pull her hand away, but strong, warm fingers closed more tightly over hers. “You’re not wearing a ring,” he said, “so what’s the harm in having dinner?” Because I’d be your dessert? She silently cursed her physical reaction to this man. It had always been like this. “Let’s not start something that isn’t going anywhere.”
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His nose flared slightly, but he dropped her hand. “If you change your mind, I’ll be staying at the Omni.” She almost asked which one before she caught herself. The mention of the hotel reminded her suddenly of why she was there. Mr. Anderson. Dear Lord, she’d dropped the sign and he’d probably walked right past her. She glanced around. No passengers lingered anywhere. Denson wouldn’t be happy if the developer had to rent a car and drive to Driftwood. Blast it. She bent down to pick up the placard. “I’m afraid this conversation has made me miss an important client,” she said. Michael pointed at the sign. “Is that who you’re waiting for?” “Yes. I was supposed to get Mr. Anderson settled and then drive him out to Driftwood. Obviously, I’ve missed him.” “I don’t think you have.” Katherine frowned. “There’s no one here but you and I.” “True. Mr. Anderson’s wife had a car accident yesterday. Nothing life-threatening, but he decided to stay in Dallas.” “How would you know—” Katherine snapped her mouth closed as comprehension sank in slowly. “Your business . . . your business is in Driftwood?” “Afraid so.” Michael pointed to the sign again. “I’m one of the associates.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “It looks like we might be having dinner anyway, doesn’t it?” Her body began to strum like a finely-tuned harp, even as her mind protested. She wasn’t going to succumb to his charms again. She’d been gullible once. This time she had experience on her side. She could get through the next three days. She was a professional. 14
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Cool. Calm. Collected. She would do her job and treat Michael as any other client. So why, then, was the gleeful voice of her youth laughing silently at her?
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Chapter Two She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. Michael stole a sideways glance as Katie eased the Mustang onto Highway 44. In profile, her pert nose turned up slightly. Her full lips were still lush and he resisted the urge to lean over and run his thumb across them. The remembered taste of her made his groin tighten. Her hair was shorter now, but still long enough to spread across a pillow when he laid her across a bed. Which he intended to do as soon as he could figure out why she was angry at him. And she was. Those green eyes had flashed fire at him when he’d asked her to dinner. “I had no idea you were living down here,” he said as she turned onto North Padre Island Drive and headed toward the Gulf. “You just dropped out of sight.” “I thought I’d try a warmer climate. No ice storms down here in the winter.” Her voice was clipped and she didn’t take her eyes off the road. The cool façade she always wore was back in place. Only Michael remembered how quickly she could become hot and passionate, how her imagination played into his and, most of all, he remembered her complete lack of inhibition. She had been a true fantasy woman. He’d been a fool to let her go. Except he hadn’t much choice at the time. “You’re looking great,” he said. “Life must have treated you right.” She shrugged. “I’ve got a good job. Friends. A dog.” 16
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“Did you ever marry?” He regretted the question as soon as her shoulders tensed. He was about to change the subject when she nodded. “A few years ago. We divorced this year.” “Ah.” The man must have been an utter fool. “Children?” “No.” “Me, either.” Katherine gave him a surprised look. “I thought Amy was pregnant.” “She miscarried.” Which had been a blessing in disguise. Amy had been a mistake. A big one. Clingy and possessive, he’d broken off with her right after he’d taken Katie to bed the first time. He just didn’t realize how manipulative Amy would turn out to be. “I’m sorry,” Katherine said. “It was probably for the best. We divorced within the year.” He paused. “I tried to find you.” “Why?” “I wanted us to get back together.” “Second choice, huh?” She kept her tone light, but the brittleness in her voice came through like icicles snapping in the morning sun. He’d never been at a loss for words, but he had a feeling that no matter how he answered, it would come out wrong. Katie had always been his first choice. How could he make her understand that Amy had showed up on his doorstep the night he and Katie had their first argument? Amy was crying and terrified that someone was stalking her and after a few drinks, he let her seduce him into his own bed. It was damn childish behavior on his part and obviously 17
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the head on his shoulders wasn’t the one doing the thinking. Eight weeks later, Amy announced she was pregnant. “You weren’t second choice, Katie. I was going to be a father. I had to take responsibility for that.” “You’re absolutely right. I understand. Let’s leave it at that.” Her hand tensed on the wheel, but maybe that was because the wind buffeted the car as they started up the JFK Bridge. Did Katie really not care? Even when they were dating, she always had an independent spirit and never asked for a commitment. At first, he’d bragged to his best buddies that he’d found the perfect woman . . . eager for sex, not eager for the altar. But freedom was a two-edged sword and he’d found himself wanting to know that she was his. It was what their argument had been about. “Do you believe in destiny?” he asked. She glanced at him. “I don’t know. Why?” “Because I do. I tried to find you all over the Metro-Mess. Then I tried Austin, Houston . . . even San Antonio. I never thought of Corpus. If you didn’t have a client that wanted to sell my boss a land tract, you wouldn’t have been at the airport. If Mrs. Anderson hadn’t been in that wreck, I wouldn’t be here. Fate. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it. It’s blowing in the wind, I think.” Katie smiled for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. “I always did like that song.” “I remember.” Michael took a deep breath. “So, can we try again?” She turned by a wooden sign that read ‘Driftwood’ and parked in front of a rustic looking building that had seen its share of sea salt. “I don’t think—” They were interrupted by a wiry man with steel gray hair coming down the steps. Michael cursed silently under his breath. 18
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Katie slid gracefully from the bucket seat and Michael was forced to do the same. She introduced her boss to him and led the way inside the air-conditioned building. Her firm bottom swayed temptingly beneath the pencil skirt she wore. He stuffed his hands inside his pockets to keep from reaching to unzip the damn thing. He began to throb again at the thought of taking off her clothes and having her naked beneath him. How could she not want what they once had? He had exactly three days to get her to change her mind. **** Katherine’s mind was such a whirlwind of confusion that she barely took notice of the plats Denson had spread across the massive teak table in his office. After fifteen years, Michael just waltzed back into her life and expected her to dance? She couldn’t fault him for marrying a woman who was carrying his child. But, she could fault him for being so fickle that the first time they’d had an argument he ran to the arms and bed of his old girlfriend. If his ego were that fragile over a minor argument, how would she ever be able to trust him with something really important? A thought niggled at her conscience. The argument hadn’t really been minor. Michael had wanted a key to her apartment, but said nothing about giving her a key to his. Half the time when she stayed at his place, some female would leave a voice message on his machine. He’d told her he no longer dated any of them and she almost believed him. Maybe would have believed him if, any time they went out, she didn’t see women openly staring at him, blatantly flirting as though she weren’t there beside him. As much as she hated to admit it, she had a jealous streak, not that she ever let him know. She had her own pride and dignity to consider. Now here he was. The raven hair showed no trace of silver, his golden eyes still changed to that intoxicating whiskey-color, his muscular body still as hard and fit as back then. All male. She 19
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watched as he studied the maps, moving with cat-like grace the length of the table. Like a panther. There was definitely a predatory look in his eyes when he glanced her way. “I think I’d like to see this beachfront before I meet with your client,” he said. “No problem,” Mr. Corrothers said. “Katherine can take you out there right after lunch. In fact, you can spend the afternoon on the beach. Get to know our eco-system. The dunes, vegetation line, things like that.” Katherine opened her mouth to protest, but Michael grinned and answered before she could. “I think that’s an excellent idea. I’ll buy some swim trunks and we can stop off at your place for you to change. Then we’ll go play at being Frankie and Annette.” “Excellent!” Corrothers said before Katherine could protest. An hour later, she found herself sitting across from Michael in the cool shade of an open-air restaurant that looked out over Laguna Madre. This wasn’t a date, she reminded herself, even though the first thing Michael had done was order a margarita for each of them. He lifted his glass. “To new beginnings?” Before she could reply, the waitress approached. Not young, she patted her dyed-red hair and let her eyes roam over Michael before giving him a big smile. “What would you like, sir?” she asked in a sultry drawl. Katherine refrained from rolling her eyes, although she doubted the waitress would have noticed. Some things never changed. “Tell me what I’d like, Katie.” His amber eyes smoldered. 20
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The waitress looked annoyed and Katherine repressed the urge to smirk. Then she caught the implication of what Michael had said and her cheeks grew warm. She remembered all too well what he liked. She cleared her throat. “We’ll have two bowls of gumbo with salad and hush puppies.” “And oysters,” Michael added. “On the half-shell. Lots of hot sauce.” The waitress flashed him another big smile and left. He leaned forward. “I seem to remember we used to eat a lot of oysters.” She stared at him. Fifteen years ago, in a Dallas bar . . . “Dear God! The hottest thing since Antonio Banderas just walked in the door!” her best friend, Jan, nearly squeaked. “I call dibs on him.” “Not if I can get him to notice me first,” her other friend, Debbie, giggled. “Kat, you really need to turn around and look at this guy.” Katherine picked up her napkin to dab the oyster juice from her mouth. Right now, she was more interested in finishing off her dozen than in ogling some guy. It had been a grueling day at work and she hadn’t had lunch. Her friends, though, wouldn’t let it go until she did. She put the napkin down and turned. For once, she agreed with them. The man could have stepped off the cover of a romance novel. Dressed in tight black jeans that outlined well-muscled thighs and a black T-shirt that clung to his broad chest and well-muscled biceps, he was all man. Shoulderlength black hair, shadowed stubble, and a Caribbean tan made his unusually-colored eyes glow like amber even in the dim light. Even the female bartender, usually immune to good looks, was giving him covert glances. “He’s probably gay.” 21
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Jan looked crushed. “Don’t even think such a thing.” “I think he’s headed this way.” Debbie tugged on her tank top, lowering it. He walked past to stand at the bar not far from their table. Katherine had the strangest sense of being able to scent him as he did. It wasn’t after-shave or cologne. It was something more basic . . . the essence of the man himself. Slowly, she looked up. He was watching her, his golden eyes turning darker as he quirked a corner of his mouth in an enticing grin. She stared at him, mesmerized, as her nerve endings tingled. A sharp kick to her calf under the table brought her out of her stupor. “Smile,” Jan whispered. “My God, if he looked at me that way, I’d—” “Hush!” Katherine whispered back. “He’ll hear you.” A moment later, their waitress arrived with a round of fresh drinks. “From Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous over there,” she said. Jan and Debbie immediately waved him over. He moved with cat-like ease. Dressed in black with black hair, he reminded Katherine of a panther. A dangerous one. Her skin felt like it was on fire. “May I join you ladies?” he asked. “Please do,” Jan and Debbie said in unison. He took the chair between Debbie and Katherine and the consuming feeling of her body about to go up in flames intensified. She almost wished he’d sat between Jan and Debbie. Jan was already throwing dagger looks their way. He seemed not to notice. His name was Michael Whitfield and he was an investment broker. Surprisingly, in spite of his good 22
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looks, he didn’t seem egotistical and asked questions of all three of them, listening to their responses. He bought another round and even more oysters for Katherine when she admitted she’d not eaten all day. As the evening wore on, she began to relax. Jan and Debbie were out on the dance floor and Katherine was finishing her last oyster when the unexpected happened. Juice from the slippery thing squirted down her chin and before she could reach for her napkin, strong hands cupped her face and a velvety tongue lapped the juice away. She gasped and Michael slanted his open mouth over hers, lips soft and warm, as he slipped his tongue inside . . . The rest was history. Katherine blinked herself back to the present. Michael was watching her with a particularly enigmatic look. Her face heated even more and she was glad for the shady interior. He gave her a slow smile while his eyes went dark. “Memories?” “Not all memories are good ones.” She hated how shaky her voice sounded. He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t recall any bad oyster memories. Remember when we took—” “Stop!” She knew exactly what he was about to say. The time they took a trip to Galveston, gotten oysters-to-go from Guido’s, and gone to the far end of the beach where they fed them to each other as they made love under beach towels. She had felt so wanton. Thankfully, the waitress returned with their food before Katherine had more time to go down Memory Lane. When they’d eaten and were about to get back into the Mustang, she realized she’d made a small tactical error. Michael’s luggage was still in the back seat of her car. “I forgot to drive downtown and get you checked into the Omni.” She hoped he wouldn’t interpret that as her brains being too addled from seeing him to think straight. What in the world was 23
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happening to her composure? “I guess the beach will have to wait until tomorrow.” “Isn’t there a motel in Driftwood?” Michael asked as he slid in beside her. His long legs nearly touched the dashboard and his muscular body took up his complete side of the car. Suddenly the enclosed space seemed much too small, filled with the scent of him. Katherine forced herself to keep her eyes on the road. “There is, but it’s a mom and pop kind of place. Very plain. No amenities. Nothing like the Omni.” “I don’t need room service. Besides, I’d rather stay out here on the island and get a feel for the place.” “That makes sense, I suppose,” she replied grudgingly. “It’ll give you a chance to convince the owners, the Hercoffs, that bringing the resort in is a good thing.” “I thought the whole town was behind this project. Is there opposition?” Katherine shook her head. “Only the Hercoff’s. They’re afraid their place will be run out of business with a fancy hotel, condo rentals and a new marina. The rest of the town—what there is of it— welcomes the idea of tourists who spend money and then go home. It helps the tax base.” “Tourism is a year-round business here,” Michael said as they pulled into the parking lot of the Drift On Inn. “Beach activities in the summer. Snowbirds in the winter. My boss envisions the resort staying full.” He grinned. “What’ll Driftwood do with all that money?” “We need a hospital,” Katherine said seriously. “A lot of our population is elderly. They bought land here in the 60s before North Padre and Mustang Islands were built up. Being removed 24
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from civilization was an advantage then. Now, the second generation that’s arriving are Baby Boomers. They’ll need medical care, too.” “There’s not even a clinic?” “A small one, but a doctor comes out from Corpus only once a week.” Michael frowned. “What happens when you have an emergency? Corpus is almost an hour’s drive from here.” “We have a van that’s been converted with basic medical equipment that serves as an ambulance,” Katherine answered, “and our volunteer fire department is trained as EMTs. Actually, I am one.” She paused. “Still, we lost a person just two weeks ago. He was DOA.” “I’m sorry,” Michael said. “If everything works out with this deal, you might be able to start building that hospital next year at this time.” Katherine widened her eyes. “That fast? These things usually take at least two years to be up and running.” “Not with my boss,” Michael replied as he got out of the car. “He’s got the drawings and plans done. Anderson’s had his eye on this area for a long time, but until recently, Pedro Martinez didn’t want to sell. Now he does.” Michael pulled his suitcase out of the back seat. “What can go wrong?” “Don’t tempt Fate or Destiny . . . or whatever,” Katherine said quickly. A corner of Michael’s mouth quirked up in that slow, sexy way that still sent warm tingles coursing through her even though her thoughts had been on the hospital. “It’s another kind of tempting that I’m planning to do,” he said. 25
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**** Michael glanced down at Katie as they walked on the packed, wet sand a short time later. He’d convinced her to change into a swimsuit so they could take a dip in the warm Gulf waters, but she’d added a white, long-sleeved, high-necked cover-up. He repressed a smile. She’d have to take it off when they went for a swim. He thought of the snug little house Katie lived in. It sat on stilts just behind the dunes, but the blue waters of the Gulf were visible, the sound of the surf rolling in a constant, pleasant rumble. The living room was light and airy with big, over-stuffed chairs a man could relax in. He pictured Katie, curled up against him, her breast pressing into his side while his arm went around her shoulders. She’d tilt her head slightly and those inviting, soft lips would be his to plunder . . . Michael bit back a groan and tugged at the T-shirt he’d pulled on over the swim trunks he’d bought. It was already hot out here and, if Katie hadn’t been acting so skittish, he’d take the thing off. Instinct told him not to be too blatant though. Thank God for the winds, at least. “This is one of the few beaches that cars are allowed to drive on,” he said as a pick-up truck carrying a load of teenagers went past, its wheels spinning a bit in the softer sand away from the water’s edge. “I think it was a real selling point for Anderson.” “I’m glad to hear you say that,” Katherine answered. “A couple of years ago, a multi-million dollar project was rejected north of here because the developer wanted to close part of the beach to traffic. It really raised a ruckus in Corpus.” “I remember reading about it,” Michael said. “This close to the National Seashore, it wouldn’t even be an option. Apart from the residents, the people who venture this far south aren’t about to park and walk.” She smiled suddenly. “When I first 26
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moved down here, there was a hand-painted sign about halfway to Port A that read ‘Keep Her Wild.’ I always liked that sign.” “It sounds like you.” A memory of how wild she could drive him in bed popped into his head and he hardened instantly. God, how he longed to do that again. To make her realize what they had was special. No other woman had ever managed to touch his soul. “I always liked your independence, Katie. Somehow, this wilderness suits you.” He reached for her hand, needing to touch her, and was grateful when she didn’t pull away at once. Instead, her eyes held a far-away look. “There’s something about the sea. The constant, never-ending motion. Today, it beckons and lulls a person with its gentle surf—” “And I say we take advantage of it.” Michael released her hand and pulled off his T-shirt. “Let’s swim.” A faint blush tinged her cheeks as she stared at his chest. He remembered how much she liked to run her hands over him, her fingertips feathering their way down his belly, teasing him by the merest touch, turning the whole thing into one exotic experience. He turned toward the water, hoping she wouldn’t see the thick bulge straining at his trunks. If he were to win her back at all, he didn’t need to act like a stallion scenting a brood mare. There was a movement beside him and there she was. Not in a bikini like he’d pictured her, but in a sleek black suit that dipped into a low V at the neck and was cut high on her hips. A gold diagonal stripe only served to draw his eyes from her breasts to that region he desperately wanted to explore with his hand. He forced the thought down. “Race you to the water.” Before he finished the sentence, Katie was already sprinting away. He followed, staying just far enough behind to enjoy the sight of her buttocks bouncing slightly. Katherine splashed through the breakers and sank down to her waist past the first sandbar. Michael followed her, diving through the second set of breakers to surface beside her. She turned and 27
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began a fast crawl out to the third bar and he kept abreast of her. Past the breakers, the water was smooth and Michael caught her hand, and together they floated on their backs, letting the swells lift them. Michael didn’t speak, afraid to shatter the serenity that was building. “We need to get back,” Katherine said sometime later. “I’m going to be burnt to a crisp and I suspect Denson will have lined Pedro up for dinner.” Michael tried not to show his disappointment as they waded ashore and donned their cover-ups. He’d hoped to have her all to himself for dinner. He put his hands around her waist and drew her to him. “This was nice. You see how easy our relationship could be? Just like that gently rolling sea.” He slanted his head down, his lips only inches from hers when she pulled away. “When the winds blow, those gentle waves become destructive really fast,” she replied. “How do I know which way the winds will blow for you?” “Trust me.” Her mouth tightened. “I trusted you once, Michael. That warm little lagoon I was floating in turned out to be a killer tsunami.” He grimaced. He deserved that, he supposed. He had betrayed her, although, God help him, he had never intended to. But could he make her believe it? More than anything, he wanted to calm her fears instead of stirring up waves, and he’d be wasting precious hours tonight attending to his boss’s business instead of his own. But of one thing he was certain . . . He wasn’t leaving until Katie was his again. Heart, body and soul. 28
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Chapter Three Katherine was having a hard time concentrating as they waited for Pedro Martinez and his wife to show up at the taqueria later that evening. She dipped a tortilla chip in salsa and hardly tasted it. The afternoon’s events washed over her like the warm Gulf waters had done earlier. Floating mindlessly, holding hands while they basked in the sun had stirred memories. Memories she’d thought safely buried in the far reaches of her mind . . . “Sorry we’re late,” Pedro Martinez said as they approached the table. Katherine whooshed out air, not aware that she’d been holding her breath. She hoped her face didn’t look as red and hot as it felt. She avoided looking directly at Michael as she made the introductions. “Carmen thought she needed to change clothes,” Pedro said as he affectionately looked at his young wife. “I told her she was beautiful no matter what she wore.” She took the compliment as her due, glancing briefly at her husband before smiling at Michael. “It’s not every day we have visitors from a sophisticated city like Dallas,” she said. “Do you think this dress would be appropriate for dinner at Reunion Tower?” Carmen was wearing a tight, black sheath that hugged every one of her curves and would have looked more appropriate at an upscale New York City restaurant than it did here at a local, family-run restaurant. As Katherine watched, the woman managed to lean forward to give Michael a view of her ample cleavage. 29
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“I’m sure it would,” Michael answered. “There! You see, I told you so!” Carmen said to Pedro as their meal was brought—family-style, there were no menus—and the conversation turned to food. They’d just finished the brownsugared pecan squares that were dessert when Carmen turned back to Michael. “Perhaps when we come to Dallas to sign the paperwork, you’ll take me to Reunion Tower? I’d love to see the Dallas skyline at night.” “I’ll take you there,” Pedro said. Katherine sensed the animosity in his tone. Time to switch the subject. “Actually, there is no need for you to travel to Dallas,” she said. “I believe Mr. Whitfield brought the initial paperwork with him and I’m sure Mr. Anderson will be coming here himself soon.” Carmen smiled at her. A smile any woman would recognize as a baring of fangs and a warning. “I think,” she said with saturated sweetness in her voice, “that my husband would want to see where Mr. Anderson does business.” Pedro puffed his chest, apparently mistaking his wife’s remarks as support. “Of course. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Anderson might be persuaded to go to dinner as our guests. We could go to that place you want.” “And Mr. Whitfield, too,” Carmen said as she glanced at him and swept her lashes. “He looks like he knows his way around.” Around women, you mean. What was it about Michael that made women throw themselves at him? Well, hello? Have I forgotten how my knees turned to jelly this afternoon when he tried to kiss me? Katherine gave herself a slight shake. She wouldn’t allow the green-eyed monster to rear its head again. Michael wasn’t hers.
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“Perhaps Ms. Armand could fly up with you,” Michael said as he turned his amber gaze on Katherine, “and we could all go to dinner.” Carmen’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Katherine, barely managing to contain her well-manicured claws. “I’m sure she’s not interested. Ms. Armand has made it quite clear to everyone in Driftwood that she detests big cities.” Michael lifted a questioning eyebrow in her direction and Katherine winced. There had been a time when she’d enjoyed the night-life of Big D. Michael had taken her to some of the best places and she’d always been secretly smug about being with a man other women nearly drooled over. And look what it had gotten her. Some of them didn’t stop with drooling. Like Amy. Like Carmen. Pedro’s face was getting darker by the minute. Denson frowned at Katherine, no doubt wanting her to defuse a possibly escalating situation. “It’s true that I prefer the quieter life of south Texas, although there were things I liked about Dallas,” she said. “That’s precisely why I’m so excited to be part of this project. An upscale resort that will allow stressed-out urbanites a chance to experience some peace and tranquility.” “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to come here,” Carmen replied. “Sand and seaweed and humid, salty air. Ugh.” “For the tourists, it will be a treat,” Katherine answered. How could someone not like sand that felt like sugar under bare feet, or the cry of gulls soaring over the water or watching a pelican crash for fish? Carmen turned back to Michael and placed a hand on his arm. “I can’t wait to leave,” she said. “I’m sure you understand.” He studied her a moment. “I understand completely.” Carmen beamed and Katherine shook her head slightly. Michael’s dry tone was one he used when he was being satirical, but the 31
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meaning was lost on Carmen. It was probably lost on Pedro, too, judging that his face was growing even more mottled. Denson noticed, too, and motioned for the waiter to bring the check. They made plans to meet the next morning and Katherine accompanied the Martinezes out the door, hoping to calm troubled waters. But she had a feeling a storm was brewing. **** Michael wanted to punch something the next afternoon as he stared across the teak table at Pedro Martinez in Corrothers’ office. The asking price for the land had just been raised by one million dollars. Anderson wouldn’t be happy. He wasn’t feeling so great himself. Katie had left with the Martinez pair, not giving him time to suggest they extend the evening together. Then Corrothers had suggested having a brandy and discussing business. Michael had been a player too long not to realize that Corrothers was testing him, both on his intelligence and on his ability to hold his liquor. The result was it was too late to knock on Katie’s door when they had finished. A whole night wasted. And Katie had been in Corpus this morning. That gave him a day and a half to persuade her to give him another chance or he’d have to start making excuses to his boss why he wasn’t coming back. Maybe Martinez’s sudden spike in the asking price would be a blessing after all. “I’ll have to call the office and discuss this with my boss,” he said. “I know he’s looked at other areas to build, as well as Driftwood.” Katherine shot him a look that told him he should keep his mouth shut, but he wasn’t about to let this guy think they were desperate for his land. 32
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“Mr. Martinez,” Katherine said with a smile, “you know how much Carmen wants to move to Los Angeles. I’m sure she’ll be disappointed if this deal falls through.” The man scowled. “Maybe Hollywood isn’t where she needs to be.” “Hollywood?” Michael asked. “Carmen wants to be an actress,” Katherine answered him before turning back to Martinez. “She’s got talent, don’t you think? I mean, she was putting on quite a show for us last night.” The scowl lifted from Pedro’s face. “You think she was acting?” “Of course,” Katherine replied in a tone slightly higher-pitched than usual. “Do you think she’d do something to deliberately hurt your feelings?” Michael stared at her in amazement. What in the hell was she talking about? The woman had stupidly come on to him. There’d been no acting about it. “Well, you might be right,” Pedro answered. “My wife does love to act.” He stood to leave. “Let me know what your boss says, hombre.” Corrothers escorted him to his car and Michael arched an eyebrow as he turned to Katherine. “Acting?” She didn’t even bother to smile. “What was I supposed to say? That women are attracted to you like flies to sticky paper? They’re practically newlyweds and he’s smitten with her. Besides that, you have to understand the Hispanic culture. The men tend to be possessive of their women and admitting she was flirting with you would be a real blow to his machismo.” “So he’s raising the price by a million bucks to compensate?” “Something like that,” she answered. 33
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Michael shook his head. “I think the man’s in for a rude awakening. I have a feeling his new bride cares more for his checkbook than she does him.” “I hope you’re wrong. He’s giving up a lot to move to California with her.” Katherine looked pensive. “Do you think Mr. Anderson will pay the extra money?” “I don’t know.” Michael wished he could tell her yes. “There’s property around Matagorda that’s less expensive, but the location isn’t as good. Galveston is another possibility and then there’s the Valley.” His heart gave a strange lurch as her eyes turned bright with unshed tears. “I can’t promise.” “We really need the hospital,” Katherine said softly. “The resort is the only way we’ll be able to afford it.” More than anything he wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss away the tears starting to form. “I’ll do my best to persuade him, Katie.” She studied him, her green eyes gazing into his as though she were reading his very soul. Then a small smile played on her lips. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” Michael answered and couldn’t resist giving her a hug. He almost expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. Deciding not to press his luck, he stepped back. She was still smiling. It was a start. **** Katherine looked across the white linen-covered table at Michael. In the soft light of the restaurant that overlooked the marina in Port Aransas, he looked even more handsome, if that were possible. His silky black hair lifted slightly in the breeze on the balcony and in the candlelight his amber eyes appeared to change 34
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color. His face was partially shadowed, making his full, sensual mouth prominent. A mouth she desperately wanted to kiss. She’d finally admitted it to herself this afternoon after he said he’d do everything he could to land this deal. And he had. After an exhausting afternoon of phone calls, Mr. Anderson had finally gotten his investors to agree to pay the additional money. “This is a nice place,” Michael said after the waitress had brought their wine. “I’m glad you suggested driving up here.” “It’s fairly new,” Katherine answered. “This part of the marina used to house small boats.” “Nothing below a forty-foot sports-fisherman now,” Michael said as he looked around. “I think I prefer sail.” “Me, too,” Katherine replied. “There’s nothing like shutting the engine off and listening to the lapping of water against the hull as the sails fill.” “Do you sail often?” “Not nearly enough. Some friends in Corpus have a boat and do the Wednesday night races. I crew for them when I can.” Their waitress returned with a plate of oysters on the half-shell. Katherine looked over at Michael in surprise. She didn’t remember their ordering them. He grinned. “You didn’t think I’d let the opportunity go by, did you?” He picked up the small fork and stabbed one, stirred it in the juice and held it up to her mouth. “Open for me.” She felt herself blush as her lower body responded. He was talking about her mouth, for God’s sake. Just because she decided he was definitely kissable again didn’t mean she was going to go to bed with him. He wiggled the fork. “Open.” 35
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She obliged him, feeling totally female as she sucked the oyster into her mouth and watched his eyes turn brandy-colored. The soft pad of his thumb wiped the corner of her lips gently before he brought his hand to his mouth and licked off the juice. “Another?” Before she could reply, a clattering of high heels sounded on the wooden floor and Carmen bounced over. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight!” Katherine tried not to grimace. She’d forgotten Pedro owned one of those power boats. Glancing down at Carmen’s stiletto heels, she cringed. No self-respecting sailor would allow such shoes on magnificent teak decks. “May I join you?” Carmen asked and didn’t wait for an answer, but plopped down beside Michael and gave him a smile. “Where’s your husband?” Michael asked. She winked at him and Katherine wondered how much she’d had to drink. “Don’t you worry about Pedro,” Carmen said with a wave of her hand that sent Katherine’s wine toppling over and spilling onto her skirt. “He’s busy on the boat.” Katherine resisted using some colorful salty words as she stood and brushed at the stain. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see about this.” The maître d’ hastened toward her. “This way, ma’am. Let’s see what we can do about that before it sets.” Fifteen minutes later, wearing an apron over a wet skirt front that, thanks to the matronly head cook, was free from a wine stain, Katherine walked back toward their table. Carmen was leaning in 36
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close to Michael, her fingers playing on his arm. Michael reached for her hand just as heavy boots thumped across the floor and an angry Pedro grabbed Carmen by the arm and yanked her up. “Keep your hands off my wife,” he snarled at Michael. “I have every intention of doing so,” Michael replied calmly. “Do not lie to me,” Pedro snapped. “I saw what you did.” “I was removing her hand from my arm.” “Like hell you were. Don’t you think I know that every man wants her? She’s mine.” He jerked her around and started for the door and then stopped and looked back. “And you can forget about that resort. I’m not selling.” “Wait!” Katherine called as she hurried toward him. “Things aren’t what they look like—” “I know what I saw,” Pedro interrupted, “and I don’t want to talk to you either. You brought that Casanova down here. Keep him away from Carmen.” She watched as they made their exit, feeling as though a rogue wave had hit her flat out and she was going down. Her legs wobbled and then she felt warm, strong hands at her waist. “I’m sorry,” Michael said, “I wasn’t flirting.” She leaned against the hard expanse of his chest, his strength enveloping her as his arms slid around her. “For once, I believe you.” “Let’s finish dinner and talk.” Katherine shook her head, already feeling the sting of held-back tears. “I can’t eat now. Let’s go home.”
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He nodded at the waitress and she brought the bill. Katherine stood in dull silence as he signed the check and then led her out into the warm, humid night. “I’ll fix this,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Pedro. I seriously doubt he’s willing to throw away several million dollars because—” “He will,” Katherine said and turned to him. “His machismo is at stake.” “Come on,” Michael said. “All men can be pigheaded and proud. But the bottom line . . . Money talks.” She shook her head. “It’s more than that. What he said . . . he thinks every man wants her. I believe he knows that if he took her to Hollywood, he’d lose her for sure.” She drew a shaky breath. “I guess having that hospital was a dream of mine that just wasn’t meant to be.” Michael’s arm tightened around her shoulder and he bent down to brush his lips softly across hers. “Don’t give up yet.” The kiss felt good, but she couldn’t return it. In her heart, she knew there would be no hospital. She just knew.
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Chapter Four Michael waited until the electronics store that Pedro managed opened the next morning. He’d had the urge to go to the man’s home right after breakfast, but he didn’t want to take the chance of another encounter with Carmen. If he had even the slightest chance of changing Martinez’s mind, it would have to be without the flirtatious wife being present. Not for the first time, he cursed the gift of good looks—or whatever it was that seemed to draw women’s attention to him—and wished he could just blend in with the rest of the populace. Bloody hell. If he’d lost Katie’s chance at having a hospital . . . Katie had cried on the drive back to Driftwood. She’d been silent about it and the interior of the car and the roadside were both dark, but he could still see her shoulders shaking. He’d given her a hug when they got back, but the desolation on her face stopped him from even asking to come inside. She was in no mood for making love and he definitely wanted her in the mood when he reminded her of what they could have together. But damn, he’d lost another chance. He was leaving tomorrow. When he’d called this morning to ask for a delay, Anderson had told him if he couldn’t change Martinez’s mind today, to come on back. “What are you doing here?” Pedro asked him as soon as he walked in the door. “I wanted to talk to you about last night.” “I’ve got nothing more to say.” “Mr. Martinez, I can understand how you feel. If I were married, I’d feel the same way.” Not that being married to Amy had mattered. Married to Katie, though . . . anger flashed through him 39
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at just the thought of another man touching her. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow. You can deal directly with Mr. Anderson after this. I won’t be involved at all.” Except for Katie. “For the sake of this town’s future, I’m asking that you reconsider selling your land.” “You had my answer last night.” Michael kept his voice level and his body still, even though he wanted to pick the man up and throw him against the wall for his stubbornness. “Let me ask you this then. Do you have family here? Parents?” “None of your business.” “True. What of the elderly who live here and need medical care? Ms. Armand told me the City Council’s plans for revenue from the resort will go toward building a small hospital.” Pedro hesitated for a milli-second, a small frown on his face, but then it became passive again. “We’ve got an ambulance and EMTs.” “But if time is critical—” “I said you had my answer. Now get out.” Michael would get no further by agitating the man. He turned, nearly running into two punk-looking teens behind him. He brushed past, taking care not to slam the door behind him. A display of temper was a sign of weakness. But, oh, God. How was he going to tell Katie? He decided he’d go for a walk before he went to her office. The entire town wasn’t much more than a mile in length, but there was a small park with a brackish pond at the far end. Maybe sitting on the bench watching the herons fish would calm him.
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Luckily the park was deserted this early in the morning. He wouldn’t have to be polite and talkative to friendly strangers. It would give him time to think. There had to be a way out of this. For Katie’s sake, he had to find it. A small sound like the snapping of a twig behind him set the hair on his arms straight up. Four years of Marine training kicked in and he turned as he leapt up, arm instinctively raised to fend off his attacker. There were two. The punks from Martinez’s store. Pedro must have paid them to follow him. One carried a baseball bat and the other a length of chain. The taller one had a tattooed teardrop beneath his eye. He’d killed before. Michael took a deep breath and adjusted his stance. “What do you punks want?” “Guess,” the shorter one said as he swung his chain and started around one side of the bench. Teardrop started around the other, bat raised. Michael turned slightly toward Teardrop, but he kept an eye on the chain. Depending on whether the kid was going to swing high for his head or try to trip him would decide his course of action. The kid swung high. Not a wise choice for him. Michael grabbed the end of the chain and used the kid’s propulsion to pull him through the swing, at the same time ducking and taking the bat’s blow on his back instead of his head. He grunted and tackled the kid with the chain. The bat swung again, this time clipping him on the shoulder and his arm went numb, then sharp pain sliced all the way down to his finger tips. He nearly lost his hold on the chain. The kid on the ground managed to punch him in the face and he was tempted to return the blow, but Teardrop advanced on them, bat high. Michael rolled with the kid and the bat came down with a resounding crack on the kid’s skull. He slumped over, unconscious but breathing. Michael grabbed the chain and stood. “It’s just you and me now, Punk. Feel lucky?” 41
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“My middle name,” the teen answered and swung the bat. The chain snaked out and Michael jerked it, causing it to coil around the bat. Michael yanked on the chain again, wrenching the bat out of Teardrop’s hands. He tossed both weapons away and moved in with a one-two punch that cracked Teardrop’s jaw and had him clutching his middle as he vomited on the ground. Michael reached for his cell phone to call 911 and then he rubbed his raw knuckles and wiped the blood from his nose. He twisted his torso and winced, hoping the ribs weren’t cracked. Neither of these punks should have been able to hit him like that. Damn, he was out of shape. **** “I can’t believe Pedro would stoop to this level,” Katherine said as she wrapped gauze around Michael’s hand a short time later in her living room. “I heard the sheriff’s car go by—” “You and the rest of the town,” Michael said. “There must have been a hundred people following that car.” “Well, we don’t usually have trouble here. If there’s a siren, everyone wants to know what’s happening. I’m just glad those gang-bangers weren’t from Driftwood.” She laid the roll of gauze down and reached for his shirt buttons. Michael grinned. “You’re going to undress me?” Katherine’s face grew warm. “I wanted to check your ribs. You grimace every time you move.” Her fingers fumbled and his warm hand closed over hers. “I’ll do it.”
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She dropped her hands and watched as he slid his shirt off, revealing well-sculpted muscles with a feather dusting of dark hair across his chest. She remembered how good it felt having her soft, bare breasts pressed up against him the last time they’d made love ... He stood and held his arms out. “Well?” “What?” “I thought you wanted to check for broken ribs?” “Oh.” Katherine was sure her face was flaming. The man was hurt. He’d gotten hurt going to Pedro’s to convince him to sell, because of her. She reached out and ran her fingertips lightly along his sides, trying to ignore his taut, flat belly and the small line of black hair that ran down it and descended into his jeans. Her fingers itched to work his zipper and she balled them into light fists. “I don’t think anything is broken,” she said shakily, “but you’ll probably be sore for a few days.” His arms caught her as she started to step away. He moved closer and his body heat and the unique male scent of him engulfed her. His eyes turned to molten gold as he bent his head and claimed her mouth with his. It was a sensual kiss, slow and easy with just enough pressure to tease her into wanting it to deepen. Twining her arms around his neck, she pressed closer. A small moan, quickly stifled, escaped from him. Katherine jerked back. “I’m sorry! You’re hurt! How could I be so stupid?” “It’s okay,” Michael said with a wry smile. “Ironic, but okay. Can I have a raincheck on finishing this?” Her mind was telling her not to be an idiot, but her body was fairly screaming in its need to make contact again, her nerve endings 43
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sizzling. Michael had always had this effect on her. She had to get control of herself. “Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?” “I can return.” “I don’t know—” “Shhh.” Michael put a finger to her mouth. “I don’t want to hear anything except “yes.” He let his finger trail down her chin and then stepped back. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to change Martinez’s mind.” “You tried.” Katherine placed items back into her first-aid kit. “Pedro’s arrest will shock this town, though.” “There won’t be any arrest.” She looked at him, startled. “What? He hired two gang-members to beat you up because his wife flirted with you. That’s a crime.” “Not if no one finds out about it.” Frowning, she closed the kit and set it aside. “I don’t understand.” “The punks aren’t talking. All I told the sheriff’s deputy was that they tried to mug me.” “You didn’t mention Pedro?” Michael shook his head. “I figured it might give me a little leverage in trying to convince him one more time to sell the land to us.” “He’ll owe you big time.” Katherine started to smile and then stopped. “But what he did was wrong. He should be punished.” “What good would it do if he sits in jail? You won’t get your hospital.” 44
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She stared at him. “So you’re not reporting him because of me?” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Something like that.” Tears welled up in her eyes. Michael had taken a beating for her and he wasn’t even going to get justice because he wanted her dream to come true. He did care. “Hey, don’t cry.” The pad of his thumb wiped away a tear that was forming. “Men like Pedro will get caught doing something else. All we need to care about is getting those papers signed.” The ringtone of her cell phone pierced the air. Taking a deep breath, Katherine answered it. “Yes, I’ll be right there,” she said and closed it. “That was Denson. He’s got a client in the office that I need to talk to. Feel free to stay and make yourself comfortable. I shouldn’t be too long.” “I’ll be going, too. I might as well strike before Pedro can forget that he owes me.” He shrugged back into his shirt. “I think I’ll wear this blood-stained thing to remind him.” They walked out to Katherine’s car and she drove him to Pedro’s store. “Do you want me to come in?” “No need. I think a little mano-a-mano talk will convince him.” “All right,” she said as he got out of the car and then she leaned over. “Michael?” He bent down and looked in the window. “What?” “About that raincheck. The answer is ‘yes’.” Katherine left him grinning on the sidewalk as she drove away. She’d never felt happier in her entire life. She’d be returning to Michael. **** 45
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Katherine glanced at her watch as she hurried to her Mustang. 5:30 pm. The client she’d dealt with had a thousand questions and now she wouldn’t have time to go home for a quick shower. Michael had called and said to meet him in the motel’s small lounge and she was late. At least one thing could be said for small towns . . . traffic was always light. Five minutes later she parked in the lot of the Drift On Inn. Rather than go in through the lobby, she went around to the side, where the lounge opened onto a veranda. She heard the voices before she saw them. She stopped at the sound of Carmen’s light giggle and Michael’s low baritone. Cautiously, she peered around an oleander bush. Carmen was hanging on to Michael’s arm, her tongue slowly licking her lips in open invitation. Michael smiled and picked up his drink with his free hand to toast her. Katherine stepped back, her breath catching as her stomach knotted. It couldn’t be happening again. It couldn’t. She had let herself trust Michael. Was he betraying her once more? He’d said Amy meant nothing to him and then he got her pregnant. Was he succumbing to the all-too-willing Carmen in spite of what he’d said? She hated the vicious stab of jealousy that tore through her. She turned and moved slowly toward the lobby, her feet dragging, her head down. The last thing she wanted to do was go inside. “What are you doing out here?” a male voice called. Her head jerked up. Pedro! Dear Lord, if he saw Michael with Carmen again, there was no telling what he’d do. She had no idea why she wanted to protect Michael when he was proving himself to be a scoundrel again, but she did. “Ah, I was just going to go in and ask Mrs. Hercoff if Michael was in. Why don’t you join me?” 46
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“Good idea. I have the papers here.” Pedro lifted a manila envelope. “I decided to go with the offer Whitfield made me.” I’ll bet you did. “I’m delighted to hear it. I really think the resort will be a good thing for Driftwood,” Katherine replied, hoping her voice didn’t sound edgy. “Shall we go in then?” Pedro walked with her and then stopped at the sound of feminine giggling. “That sounds like my wife’s laugh.” He frowned. “She told me she was going into Corpus and wouldn’t be home until late.” “I’m sure that’s where she is then,” Katherine answered. “Let’s go—” He turned and stalked toward the veranda before Katherine could stop him. Oh, dear Lord, please don’t let her be fawning on Michael . . . Pedro stopped so abruptly that Katherine almost ran into him. The oleander hid both of them. “But I want you.” Carmen’s voice carried to them on the sea winds. “You have a husband who loves you,” Michael replied. Carmen made a very unladylike snort. “That old man. He could never excite me like you do. Just let me run my hands over your shoulders . . .” “You’ve done enough touching, Carmen.” “If you don’t want me touching you, why are you sitting here having a drink with me?” she snapped. “I was toasting your future success in Hollywood now that your husband’s agreed to the deal. I’m sorry if you mistook it for something more.” Behind Pedro, Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. She should have known. Michael hadn’t let her down. With Michael, pheromones were everywhere. Women would always chase him. He had proved 47
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that he could be trusted. Then her breath hitched again, because Pedro’s face had turned fearsome. “Come on, be a little romantic,” Carmen said in a sultry tone. “Pedro will never know. He thinks I’m in Corpus. Let’s go back to your room.” “I’m waiting for Katie.” “That cold bitch? I heard her husband left her because she’s frigid.” “Her husband was a jerk,” Michael said in steely tones. “And speaking of which, why don’t you go back to yours?” “Because he bores me. The only good thing in this marriage is his money. I’ll get to go to Hollywood now.” “I wouldn’t count on it.” Pedro stepped out from behind the oleander bush. Carmen jumped up, her face turning ashen. “Pedro! Honey. What are you doing here?” When he didn’t answer, she looked at Michael and then at Katie and back to Pedro. “Michael said Katherine was running late, so I asked him if I could rehearse a scene I plan to use for an audition . . . that’s what you heard, sweetheart.” “I don’t think so.” “Really. Tell him, Michael.” When he didn’t respond, she went to her husband and curled her hand around his arm. “Let’s go home. You know I can make you—” “No. The only place you’re going is back to San Antonio and your parents. I’m consulting a divorce attorney in the morning.” Pedro looked at the manila envelope in his hand. Katherine scarcely dared to breathe. If he were serious about getting a 48
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divorce, he wouldn’t be moving and he’d have no reason to sell his property. “Mr. Martinez . . .” she began “Don’t worry.” He tossed the packet on the table and looked Michael in the eye. “We’re even, hombre.” Michael took the packet and put it in his briefcase. “We’re even.” Pedro nodded once and then turned and walked away, a tearful Carmen following him. Katherine smiled at Michael. “It seems we have something to celebrate.” “We do, and I know how I want to do it,” Michael answered as he stood and moved closer, taking her hand. “It involves both of us being naked, so perhaps we should go to your place?” Her body went into full tingle. “Perhaps we should.”
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Chapter Five Katherine never thought she’d go to bed with Michael again. Yet here he was, in her house, in her bedroom, bruised ribs forgotten. She felt suddenly shy. Sex with her ex-husband had never been special. Maybe she had been frigid the past fifteen years. Maybe she had lost whatever it took to please a man . . . “You’re looking awfully contemplative,” Michael said as he pulled her into his arms and massaged her back. “Not having second thoughts, are you?” She took a deep breath. “You’re cashing in on that raincheck pretty fast. Are you sure you’re up to it? We can wait—” “Come here,” he growled. She burrowed her face into the warmth of his neck. Oh, he felt good. “I just don’t know if I can light your fire like I used to.” She felt, rather than heard, the low rumble of a chuckle deep in his chest. Then his fingers gently lifted her face toward him. “There’s a bloody inferno already raging in me.” His hands slid to her buttocks and he pressed her against him. “Does that answer your question?” Not giving her time to answer, Michael slanted his mouth over hers, his lips warm and firm as he kissed her, gently at first and then with increasing pressure as his tongue glided across her lips, tasting her, teasing her. Katherine moaned softly as he nuzzled her neck, alternating between light kisses and sharp nips, keeping her on the edge of anticipation, not knowing which would be next. His hand trailed 50
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upward, along her hip and then her ribs. Fingers brushed the side of her breast and she turned slightly in his arms, wanting more. Katherine arched her back and moaned. Clothes. They had on too many clothes. She wanted bare skin. Katherine tugged at his polo shirt. He obliged her by pulling it over his head while she worked the belt and zipper of his jeans. “Just a minute here.” His golden eyes glowed in the rays of the setting sun that slanted in her bedroom window as he reached for the buttons of her silk blouse. “If I remember right, we used to do this garment for garment.” Katherine closed her eyes to savor the teasing touch of his fingertips as he exposed her flesh, inch by inch, to the cool air of the room. The silk slid down off her arms and suddenly, she was scared to open her eyes. Would he be disappointed in what fifteen years had done? She wasn’t wearing a bra and she wasn’t as perky as she once had been. “Beautiful,” he said. “Just like I remembered.” A surge of warmth—love and lust—washed over her as she opened her eyes to find him staring intently at her breasts. Heat seared through her and muscles clenched deep in her abdomen. Her knees began to buckle and then she was flat on her back on the bed. Unzipping her skirt, Michael slid it down her legs and tossed it on the floor. The flimsy black thong she’d decided to wear at the last minute followed. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, her knees instinctively started to come together and then he settled between her thighs, leaving her totally exposed to his gaze. Katherine inhaled sharply. Would she still appeal to him? “You are exquisite, Katie.” Then he was undoing his pants. “Let me help,” she said in a still shaky voice and reached for him. Evidence of his arousal sprang straight and hard from the release of jeans and jockeys. 51
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Michael laid her back, mounted her and entered her slowly, making her tremble with the need for him to fill her again. Her body soared. He was taking her to the limits. Her inner core contracted, clenching him as a thousand multi-colored lights exploded inside her head. With a roar, he rammed himself home and his seed exploded. He collapsed over her, their slick, wet bodies heaving while they panted for air. When she floated down to earth again, he had rolled on his side, his whiskey-colored eyes watching her. “I think it’s even better now than it was before.” He swept a damp strand of her hair off her forehead and then leaned over to kiss her. “We have a second chance. This time around, our relationship is going to work.” His hand moved down from her cheek to her breast. “I’ll be working on this resort project for the next year. Do you think that will be time enough to convince you how much I want you?” Katherine sighed contentedly. She was pretty sure it would be time enough. But, scoundrel that he had been, he didn’t need to know that right now. “Maybe,” she said and then went mindless as he claimed her body once more.
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Lizzie’s Laces Kirsten Scott
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Author Information Kirsten is an attorney and mother of two residing in the gloriously rain-soaked Pacific Northwest. You can find Kirsten on-line at Romancebandits.blogspot.com, where she blogs with 19 other 2006 finalists of the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart contest. She can also be found leading creative writing workshops in schools and at libraries. Kirsten firmly believes in happily ever after and dreams coming true. Now that she’s found the man of her dreams and has launched a career writing romance, she expects a pony to arrive on her doorstep any minute. Lizzie’s Laces is her first story for Highland Press.
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Chapter One November 1, 1829 He was the last person Lizzie Rawlston expected to see walk into her Aunt Celeste’s elegantly appointed drawing room. Tony Sinclair strode through the door with his usual air of arrogance and confidence, his long legs clad in a pair of snug buff-colored trousers, his broad shoulders and trim waist set to perfection in a finely-tailored, cutaway coat. Those icy-blue sardonic eyes, the ones she had dreamed about since arriving in England nearly two years before, passed over her to focus on Celeste. “Lady Esherly, how nice to see you again.” He bent his tall frame into a polite bow. The smell of the sea rolled off him, tangy and sharp, assaulting Lizzie’s tongue and nose with its familiar sting. The image of him standing on the quarterdeck of one of her father’s ships, the wind ruffling his inky black hair, flashed before her so vividly it was as if a piece of Boston had suddenly been set down in the middle of Liverpool. Celeste, a plump, pink-faced woman with a perpetually cheery expression, nudged a tiny spaniel from her feet as she rose and extended her hand. “Captain Sinclair, how lovely to see you. It has been such a long time. What brings you to Crookston on this cold November day?” He raised her hand to his lips with the slow smile that had charmed women from sixteen to sixty. “Actually, I am here to see Lizzie . . . or rather, Miss Rawlston.” 55
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He finally looked at her and Lizzie’s throat tightened. His stark black brows were drawn together with concern. “It is my father, is it not?” she whispered, a heavy weight settling in her stomach. “Something about my father? Is he all right?” It was the only reason Tony would have come. He nodded and replied, his voice deep and grave. “I am terribly sorry to have to tell you this way. He is very ill, Lizz . . . er, Miss Rawlston. The doctors are not sure how long he has. He wants to see you and requested I bring you home in time for your birthday.” A rushing sound filled her head and the room began to spin. She leaned her head against the soft velvet upholstery of her wingbacked chair. She and her father shared a birthday. They always celebrated them together when she’d been a child and she missed him more at that time than any other. But could he truly be so ill? Dying? It seemed impossible that she wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have felt it somehow. “Are they certain?” Her voice sounded tinny and quiet, as if coming from a great distance. “I had a letter from him not a month ago, and he made no mention—” “He did not want you to worry. They thought it was just a chill, but the fever traveled to his lungs. He was struggling to breathe when I left.” “But there is hope?” “There is always hope,” he said quietly. Celeste made a small, choked sound as she flung herself at Lizzie, arms open wide. “Oh, Lizzie, dear!” Bowing to the pressure of her aunt’s embrace, Lizzie leaned forward and rested her cheek against Celeste’s prodigious bosom. 56
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She tried to take deep breaths and blinked furiously in an effort to forestall the tears that threatened to spill forth. She would not cry in front of him. She would not. “Oh my,” Celeste cried. “My poor, dear Edward. I should never have kept you from him for so long. We must get you back in time, Lizzie, we simply must!” Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie watched Tony step back. He had never liked dealing with emotional women. She cleared her throat and straightened, firmly squashing the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. Tony had said there was hope and that was all she intended to think about right now. Celeste sat back on her heels and wiped the tears from her round cheeks. She continued to pat Lizzie’s hand in a gentle rhythm. “How do you intend to get me to Boston in time? Are we to sprout wings?” Lizzie asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and assumed the wide stance that had come from years of standing on rolling decks in rough seas. “If we leave tonight, I have twenty-five days. That will be enough.” Her eyes widened. “Are you mad? Leave tonight?” He narrowed his gaze and tightened his jaw. She knew that expression; she had seen it often enough over the years. Once Tony Sinclair set his mind to something he would give no quarter, allow no room for failure. “Your father asked me to have you home for his birthday and I would not disappoint him.” Celeste clasped Lizzie’s hand more firmly. “Surely Captain Sinclair will manage it. Your father would not have asked if it were not possible.” 57
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Lizzie kept her eyes pinned on the tall, imposing figure by the doorway. Yes, if anyone could get her home under such conditions, it would be Tony Sinclair. But could she survive twenty-five days at sea with the only man she’d ever loved? **** The crisp, cold night air formed clouds around the mouths of the sailors as they carried Lizzie’s trunks across the main deck of the Eloise. Stars crowded the dark sky and cast white dust across the horizon. Tony watched through hooded eyes as Lizzie followed behind her luggage, her tiny, lithe body moving gracefully with the rocking of the ship. She neatly avoided coiled lines and the flying elbows of the sailors around her, seeming not to notice as the men rushed to raise the heavy sails and secure the anchor. The cotton canvas luffed in the breeze with a soft thump until the men pulled it taut and it caught the wind with a snap. Lizzie Rawlston. How many times had he pictured her during the past two years? That long, chestnut hair, the tiny waist he could circle with his hands, the stubborn set to her jaw when denied something she wanted. It seemed he had been tied to her since the day Edward Rawlston installed him as a ship’s boy on one of his brigs. Now he and Edward were partners, Tony’s share of their packet service often amounting to as much or more than Edward’s. Lizzie had spoken little in the carriage on the way to the ship, asking only a few additional questions about her father’s condition. The bright shine of her eyes exposed tears she refused to shed. He admired her calm, the proud set to her shoulders speaking volumes about her refusal to give in to fear. Lizzie was a fighter. She had always been that way. How many other women would pack up their belongings in a matter of hours and travel to the docks in the dark of night without a moment’s hesitation? She’d not even blinked when her maid refused to come with them, and then the other maids followed suit, none wanting to dare a dangerous voyage across the Atlantic in the middle of winter. Only Tony, Lizzie, and the sailors would make the voyage. 58
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There simply had been no time to find anyone else. Celeste had offered to come, but with her own children to care for and home to oversee, leaving Liverpool would not be possible. “It will only take a day or two to find a maid,” Celeste said, worry creasing her brow. “You need a chaperone of some sort.” “As if I care one whit for propriety when my father is dying,” Lizzie replied. “If Captain Sinclair is to get me to Boston by my birthday, we must leave tonight.” Someone who didn’t know her well might have been fooled by her steady voice, but Tony heard the desperation underneath. Lizzie and Edward had fallen out two years ago, but they loved each other dearly. News of his illness could not have been easy to hear. She stopped in front of the steps down to the lower deck and turned her extraordinary eyes in his direction. They appeared misty grey in the dim stairwell, but in the light of day they were the same greenish-blue as the sea. They swallowed up her small face, wide and accusing, and he had to steel himself not to look away. “There’s a fair wind tonight,” he offered. She ignored his attempt at polite conversation. “I do not know this ship. It must be one of the new ones.” Bitterness laced her words. Not waiting for a response, she marched down the narrow steps and through the expansive dining saloon. Tony followed, past the long table that ran the length of the room and the staterooms that flanked it. She stopped in front of the open door to the stateroom where the sailors had left her trunk and surveyed the room with a tightlipped frown. The first class accommodations had been furnished for style and comfort, with an elegant berth surrounded by blue silk curtains and tall mahogany dresser and washstand carefully lashed to the floor. A glass lantern mounted on the wall beside the dresser lit the room with a warm yellowish glow. 59
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“Father told me he commissioned two new packets shortly after I left. You must charge a pretty sum for rooms like these.” “One hundred ten dollars. Far more profitable than hauling cargo,” he agreed, trying to ignore the rush of guilt her eyes inspired. Damn it, it wasn’t his fault she was a woman and her father didn’t want her to help run the business. “We’re faster than Black Ball and more comfortable than Red Star. At least, that’s what our advertisements claim.” She entered the room with a loud sniff, keeping her back to him. “I imagine you are needed on top.” “Of course. Breakfast is at eight. I will see you then.” He lingered at the doorway, reluctant to leave her alone. She was so tiny, barely reaching his shoulder in her heeled half-boots, and somehow even her back looked vulnerable. A short, tense pause filled the room before she spoke again. “Captain Sinclair, I believe you heard that my maid refused to attend me on this journey.” “For goodness sake, Lizzie, call me Tony. We have known each other since you were in the nursery.” She turned slowly and gestured toward her waist, clearing her throat as her voice trailed off. “I will need some assistance . . . with my . . . er . . .” His eyes traced the length of her curves, full bosom to narrow waist and hips. It took a moment for understanding to strike, and he fought the wave of pure desire that followed. “You need help undressing?” She nodded stiffly.
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He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight uneasily. “I am not sure that is a good idea.” His self-control had always been marginal, at best, where she was concerned. “It isn’t as though I like it,” she snapped. “All you need do is unhook my dress and loosen my laces. I can do the rest.” “Ah, I see. Well, if that is all . . .” He spoke dryly, trying not to smile at the fierce determination in her eyes. “Now?” She pulled off her snug-fitting wool pelisse and spun around to present him once again with her back. “Might as well get it over with.” Get it over with? He allowed a grin to break across his face. If the Good Lord intended to force him into close proximity with Lizzie’s laces, he was going to enjoy every minute. **** Lizzie tried to disassociate her mind from her body as she exposed her back to Tony’s doubtless capable hands. Often touted as one of Boston’s most sought-after bachelors, if the rumors were to be believed he loved women nearly as much as he loved the sea. Surely, with such practiced skills, he could make short work of the task. “So, business is good?” she blurted out when the door closed behind her with a soft click. A moment later, his hands touched her back. The warmth of him bled through the thick layers of dress, corset, and petticoats as if they were the thinnest silk. “Yes. I make six trips a year now between Liverpool and Boston. Cargos are short sometimes, but we have extra passenger space to make up for it.” The sound of laughter in his voice curled Lizzie’s toes. The bastard was enjoying this. “It must be tiring,” she said between clenched teeth. “I do not know how you keep those schedules.” 61
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The row of hooks on the back of her dress fell open just before Tony tugged at the base of her corset. He was silent for a moment. “Everyone works hard,” he agreed. “Probably harder than they ever have before or ever will again. But it is worth it.” She craned her neck around at the sound of his voice. The laughter had disappeared and he sounded oddly quiet, almost regretful. “Are you sure?” she asked softly, her eyes meeting his. He had been staring at her back and when he looked up and met her eyes a current ran between them. Goosebumps rose on her arms at the intensity of his crystal-blue gaze. His hands stopped their work and came to rest loosely around her waist. “It is everything I ever wanted,” he said. “You know that better than anyone.” She looked away quickly, heat rising in her cheeks. They had spent a great deal of time together, particularly when they were young, because of their shared interest in her father’s shipping company. There had been a time when she would have called Tony Sinclair her best friend. But that was long ago. “I am happy for you. I know my father appreciates your help. He could not do it alone.” She wished she could ignore the bitterness that left an acrid taste in her mouth whenever she thought of all Tony meant to her father. All the things she could never be. He rested his forehead against the back of her head and his hands tightened around her waist. Warm breath caressed her through her heavy cloud of hair. He turned his head to the side and she envisioned his cheek, dark with the shadow of a growing beard, covered by her curls. A shiver sped down her spine. “He adores you, Lizzie. You know that.”
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“But he had to do what was right for the business.” She focused on the wall in front of her and suppressed the desire to turn around, to run her fingers through his inky black hair and drag his mouth to hers. “He had to do what was right for you. It was not right for you to be spending so much time in the counting house and down at the docks. When you were young it mattered very little, but you are a woman now, Lizzie, not a child. Your father wants what is best for you. He wants you to have a family, a normal life. And that does not include being his bookkeeper and sailing on his ships.” He picked up his head, but she could still feel the weight of it, warm and solid against her. The old anger rose up and scratched at her throat at the presumption in his words. He always thought he knew best. He’d given her almost the same speech two years ago. “Why can you not just leave it alone? This has nothing to do with you. It is between me and my father. I do not need you to explain his motives to me.” He blew out a loud, frustrated breath. “Of course this has to do with me—you blame me for what happened, do you not? He gave me your old office. He moved me into your place. And you have hated me ever since.” He tugged once more at her corset, harder this time, and the whalebone stays finally loosened their grip on her waist. “I never hated you,” she hissed, despising him for causing the hot tears in her eyes. She braced her legs to keep a steady stance and blinked away the tears. “But you left because I forced you out of the business. You said as much the day you told me you were leaving.” She could picture his face, grim and set, nostrils flaring slightly as he spoke. The same face he’d made when she confronted him about the loss of her office and told him she was going to live with her Aunt Celeste. She couldn’t explain then exactly what she 63
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wanted from him, but she wasn’t a confused child now. As he said, she was a woman. She dug her nails into her palms and worked to keep her voice light. “I left because I was in love with you, you dolt. I could have accepted my father making me leave the business. I was hurt, but not stupid. I knew it was coming. I cannot say with any honesty that I do not resent you for what you mean to him, because I do. But that was not why I left, or what I was trying to tell you that day.” Her throat tightened and she cleared it, forcing herself to breathe normally as she spoke. “I told you how hurt I was because I hoped you would tell me to stay. But you made it clear you did not care about me.” She gestured around her with one hand. “You wanted nothing but a life at sea. So really, what was left for me? To pine away for you? To wait for you to get your fill of being a captain? I am sorry, but that is hardly my style.” She kept her voice easy. She wanted to show him she had grown up, moved beyond what had happened between them. It was a speech she had rehearsed many times, her, “See what a child I was?” speech. But she hadn’t imagined it being so difficult to make. Despite all her words to the contrary, seeing him made one thing absolutely clear—she did still need him. And she loved him, as much now as she ever had. **** Her words were like a solid punch to the gut, and Tony all but staggered at the blow. Lizzie’s tiny waist, needing no enhancement from her snug corset, lay warm and tempting beneath the gaping fabric of her dress. He stared at it, the thin muslin petticoat all that stood between him and her soft white flesh. In love with him? He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it. When she came to him two years ago, he’d thought she wanted him to stop working 64
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in her father’s business. He’d thought she wanted him to take her side in a war against her father. It hadn’t occurred to him she wanted something much more personal. Or perhaps it had, and he simply hadn’t wanted to believe it might be true. He warred with the urge to turn her around and kiss her, finally release some of the pent-up passion that had been building for two years. Lord, he wanted her. He had for so long. But Lizzie Rawlston wasn’t for him. All he’d ever wanted was to sail, and a woman like Lizzie would interfere with that. How could he be out here, day after day, pushing his men and pushing himself if he had someone like Lizzie waiting at home? He wanted to be the fastest, and he was. He wanted to be the best, and he was. But that had only happened after she left. “I think we are done,” he said gruffly, spinning around abruptly on his heel. He shot one last look at her painfully beautiful back, the soft curve of her shoulders and the fall of thick, sleek hair. “I will see you in the morning.”
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Chapter Two November 15, 1829 Lizzie looked up at the foreboding grey sky and shivered. A dark bank of clouds hovered at the edge of the horizon like a grim bird of prey, suggesting another day of cold, hard rain to come. A series of endless storms had made each mile a battle and the strain became evident in the sailors’ faces, their eyes sunken with exhaustion. Even she had battled her first bout of seasickness in many years. She glanced at Tony, who paced the quarterdeck above her, and held back a sigh. He’d been scrupulously polite to her since that first night in her cabin, never addressing her unless she addressed him first, and then only to make small talk or comment on some aspect of the day’s travel. He never responded to her revelation and despite the intimacy of their mornings and evenings, when he came into her room to fasten and unfasten her dress, he seemed even more distant than before. The chief mate, a hard-working man with a thick beard and burly chest, appeared puzzled by his captain’s behavior. Perhaps to make up for it, he made a point of being particularly kind. As Lizzie approached, he looked away from a group of sailors he was addressing and gave a friendly wave. “Good morning, Miss Rawlston.” “Morning, Mr. Stenn,” she called back, taking her usual spot by the long boat mounted a few feet from the ladder leading up to the 66
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quarter deck. It provided a bit of shelter from the wind. “Fine wind today, isn’t it?” “Aye, that it is,” he replied. She came up on deck every day after breakfast and stayed there until the cold rain grew too strong, or the seas too rough. It was exactly what she needed to take her mind off what she had said to Tony and her worries about her father. As a child, she’d always gone to the sea when she had a problem. After her mother died, she’d spent hours by the water, just staring at the waves. Her father always seemed to understand, and though she should have been in the nursery, supervised by a fleet of nannies and tutors, he’d let her tag along with him to the wharf. She didn’t even remember when she’d first gone to the counting house and started helping with the books. After a while, it seemed natural for her to accompany him every day, to help him balance the accounts, greet passengers, and walk the decks of the ships at port. She’d known somewhere deep down that it couldn’t stay that way. Once Tony had come into their lives, there had been less for her to do. And as her body ripened, her father grew more uncomfortable with her role in the business. But that hadn’t kept her from hoping. “Ten days left,” she said to Stenn. “Do you think we shall make it?” “We will make it.” Tony’s deep voice preceded his dark leather boots as he hopped down the ladder from the quarterdeck. “If I have to row her in myself, we will make it.” Lizzie’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of Tony, so powerfully masculine, his authority over the ship and its crew plain in his every move. His eyes seemed to see everything at once, their blue depths utterly confident and assured. A white shirt fell open at his neck to reveal a mat of curling hair, the same shade as the dark locks that the wind pushed back from his face. Lizzie wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through that hair. To caress that broad chest. Unexpected heat flooded her 67
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cheeks, and she forced her eyes from her contemplation of his form back to the endless, foreboding horizon. A sailor tapped Stenn on the shoulder and said something that elicited a soft but vicious epithet. With a nod of regret to Lizzie, he strode off impatiently, the sailor at his heels. She glanced nervously at Tony, her gaze darting from his face to his hands, and then away, to the white sails held taut by the wind. Though they were surrounded by activity, it was a strangely intimate setting. The wind muffled the sounds all around them, wrapping them in an invisible cocoon. “That is how we keep our schedules,” he said. “We sail hard and fast. The ship takes a beating, but she will recover. People pay for predictability. We cannot afford to be late.” “The ship is not the only thing that takes a beating,” she observed, noticing new lines around his eyes and mouth, and a heaviness to his lids. “When is the last time you had a full night’s sleep?” He shrugged. “There is time for sleeping when I am back home.” “And how often is that? You look like you have not slept well since I left two years ago.” A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I have missed you terribly, you know. It interferes with my sleep.” She snorted. “Of course. And Boston held a day of mourning when I left the harbor.” He sobered abruptly. “Do not underestimate yourself, Lizzie. Everyone misses you. Your father, the men at the counting house, the staff at your father’s place. Cook asks me every time I leave for Liverpool when I am bringing you back. I swear, even the dogs look for you each time a Rawlston ship comes into port.”
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“Everyone but you.” She turned away and looked back at the water. The wind grew stronger as the sun moved higher in the sky. Small whitecaps were forming on the cresting waves, and the dark line of clouds at the horizon crept closer. “I did not say that.” “You did not have to,” she said, whirling around to face him again. “Listen, I know—” “Of course I miss you,” he interrupted, his lips forming a tight line. “You must know that.” Her mouth went dry. She clenched her fists and then released them, finger by finger, trying desperately to find calm. “How on earth could I know that?” A long moment passed before he responded. “Lizzie,” he said, his voice soft, almost a plea, “Lizzie, do not make me do this.” “Do what?” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking as though he was trying to speak, but the words didn’t come. Finally, he said, “You have been a part of my life since I was a fifteen-year-old boy. Do you think I could just lose you and not notice?” Part of her wanted to laugh aloud as she watched his struggle to say the words. The other part fought like hell to keep the desperate, rising hope his words inspired firmly in check. “What do you mean, ‘lose me’?” She kept her voice low, but it wobbled, the effort of keeping it steady too much to bear. She wasn’t a child and he didn’t love her, she reminded herself. He missed her friendship, or companionship, nothing more. “You know what I mean.” “No, I really do not.” 69
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He threw his hands up in frustration. “Stenn!” he barked. “I’ll be in my cabin if you need me.” Stenn saluted in acknowledgment and Tony spun around and walked away. Lizzie gaped at his retreating back. Was he really going to walk away in the middle of the conversation? When he disappeared below deck, she had her answer. “Stupid, stubborn mule of a man,” she muttered as she marched toward his cabin. He had already closed the door by the time she reached his cabin. She knocked sharply before shoving it open and poking her head inside. “This is not over, Tony,” she said sharply. “You cannot just walk away from me like that.” He stood beside a large oak desk strewn with sea charts, a chronometer and sextant, open log book, and several pages of notations. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes bleak as he stared down as the mess of instruments and paper. “It simply cannot be, Lizzie.” He gestured toward the desk. “My life is here. That is what I am trying to tell you.” She stepped inside and closed the door. “You are talking nonsense. You say you miss me, but say you cannot miss me because your life is at sea? I know you love to sail. What does missing me have to do with that?” When he looked up and met her eyes, a darkness in his gaze sent a chill through her. “I cannot give it up. That is what I am trying to say. I just cannot.” “Lord, you are obtuse.” Lizzie ran her hands over her face and sighed with frustration. “I never asked you to give it up. I have no idea what this is all about.” “You know exactly what this is about,” he snapped. “Do not pretend you don’t understand, because you do.” 70
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Three steps put her directly in front of him, her anger flaring to life at his refusal to say what he meant, to even acknowledge his feelings. “I will tell you what I do understand, Tony. You are a coward. You are scared of me, you are scared of your own emotions, and you are scared of what you think I would ask of you.” She jabbed a finger into his chest to punctuate each sentence. “The truth is, the last thing I would want would be for you to stop sailing. I am no fragile flower to sit beside the fire and cry for your return. I would be your partner. I would be by your side.” “Damn it, Lizzie,” he said, his voice somewhere between a whisper and a growl, “why can’t you be like the others? Why can’t I let you go?” They locked eyes and he caught her hand in his before dragging her into a rough embrace. His hard lips closed over hers, robbing her of breath and strength in the same sweet moment. One large hand caught her around the waist while the other tangled in her hair, and she strained to get even closer, to press the length of her body against his. Exaltation raced through her as their lips, hands, and bodies intertwined. She wrapped her arms about his neck and let him show her what a kiss should be, the touch of his mouth leaving her breathless and weak with hunger for more. It was everything she had ever wanted, all she had dreamed about. But then it was over. Before she could react, he pulled away and stared down at her with an unfathomable expression. “Lizzie, I—” “Captain! Captain!” The door flew open to reveal Stenn standing in the doorway, his thick chest heaving. “What is it?” Tony growled. Lizzie dropped her arms from Tony’s neck and pulled away hurriedly, the warmth of a flush spreading across her cheeks. 71
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Stenn coughed apologetically, but didn’t budge from the doorway. “A fierce storm’s blowing in. The lines are already starting to ice over. Should I order the men to reef the topsails?” Tony shook his head. “No. Leave her be.” “But what about . . .?” Stenn looked at Lizzie. She did not hide her outrage. Pulling up to her full five feet three inches, she tilted her head back and said sternly, “We will not slow down on my account, Mr. Stenn. I have ridden out my share of storms. They do not frighten me. Besides, the sooner we get to Boston, the sooner I will see my father.” Stenn looked skeptical. He turned to Tony, who stared at Lizzie as the barest hint of a smile played around the corner of his mouth. “You heard her. We will ride the storm as far as she will take us.”
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Chapter Three November 19, 1829 Tony raked an exhausted hand through his hair as he cautiously made his way down the narrow flight of stairs to the lower deck. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time since the storm began days before, and he wasn’t entirely sure his legs would carry him the rest of the way to his cabin. But they had done it. Four days of unspeakable winds had brought them within days of Boston’s harbor. Lizzie would be home to share her birthday with her father. Wispy white clouds had replaced the blanket of grey, and shards of deep blue sky appeared high overhead earlier that morning. When a light wind finally took the place of the howling gale, Tony ordered extra rations and a brief break from duties, and all the sailors sent up a rousing cheer. He’d just reached the bottom step when a tiny bundle of blue and white flowers and dark chestnut hair barreled into his chest, lodging somewhere between his neck and his stomach. “I am so glad you are all right,” Lizzie said fiercely, her face buried in his shirt, still damp from the ocean spray. “I thought the wind would never cease.” He looked down, unsure what to do with the soft flesh pressed so closely to his. After a pause he did the only thing he could. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly.
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“I am glad you were here.” The warmth of her body almost stole the strength from his legs. Each day of the storm, Lizzie had appeared on deck for a few minutes, barely catching his eyes before heading back below, and each time a surge of joy had shot through him. He’d thought having her aboard would terrify him. Instead, it redoubled his commitment to press on. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, both intensifying the storm and yet somehow nullifying it. Simply by her presence, Lizzie made him believe the storm would be overcome. She looked up at him in wonder. “Really?” “Really.” He circled her waist with his hands and pulled her higher, so her face was level with his. “Stay with me, Lizzie. Please don’t leave again. I could not bear to lose you twice.” “Oh, Tony.” She threw her arms around his neck with a sigh, her voice tremulous. “I do not want you to give up sailing because of me. I could not bear it if you ended up feeling trapped. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps it simply is not meant to be.” “No, darling, do you not see?” He smiled as he looked into her misty-blue eyes. “That is what the storm made me realize. Having you here did not make me want to slow down. It made me feel more alive. You make me a better man—even a better captain— simply by being here.” He pulled her tighter and pressed a shaky kiss on her brow. “Please, tell me you still love me. Tell me I did not destroy the greatest gift a man could ever have.” She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “I do not think there is anything in the world that could make me stop loving you, Tony Sinclair.” He captured her lips in a long, seeking kiss. It was as if the clouds around his heart had parted and he could finally see what he needed to do. He needed her beside him, needed to see her every 74
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day, no matter what the circumstance. He wouldn’t let go of her again as long as he lived.
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Chapter Four November 22, 1829 Edward Rawlston pushed himself to sitting as racking coughs shook his body. When the spasm passed, he reluctantly looked down at the handkerchief he’d held to his mouth. Relief flooded him. Still white. It had been days since he had coughed up blood. Perhaps the doctors were right. Perhaps he would recover. A hesitant knock sounded at the door. “Papa?” He nearly toppled over at the sound. “Lizzie?” The door opened slowly, revealing his daughter’s vibrant presence. Her hair, still the same chestnut brown, her eyes still the color of the sea. Tears overwhelmed him at the sight of her. “My darling girl, can it be true? Are you really back?” Tony appeared behind her, looking somewhat sheepish as Lizzie pulled him into the room. They entered together, then she dropped his hand and darted over to the bed, enveloping Edward in a deep, gentle hug. “Father, I am so sorry I stayed away so long. I acted like a child. I know you only wanted what was best for me.” For a moment, he couldn’t speak for the lump in his throat. “Are you here to stay?” he finally said. “Yes.” She let go and sat next to him on the bed, her eyes shining with an unfamiliar fire. Then she looked back at Tony, and the explanation for that fire became clear. 76
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“I would like your permission to marry her, sir,” Tony said gruffly. “She is going to sail with me. I am sure it is not what you wanted for her, but I promise I will protect her with my life.” “Of course you have my permission,” he choked out. “Lizzie has always had the sea in her bones. I would not keep her from her heart’s desire. And I could not imagine a better husband for my daughter.” Smiles wreathed their faces. Edward relaxed his head against his pillows as Lizzie bounded up to throw her arms around Tony’s neck. He lifted her off the floor, making her squeal with joy before he silenced her with a kiss. “Ahem . . .” Edward waited until they turned back to him, Lizzie’s face a rosy glow. “Why don’t you young people go and get cleaned up for dinner?” He tried to hide his delight in a stern expression. “You smell like you have been at sea about two weeks too long. And if you expect to touch my daughter like that again, sir, you had better first put a ring on her finger.” Tony nodded, his eyes pinned on Lizzie, love pouring from him like an endless wave. “That will not be a problem, Mr. Rawlston. No problem at all.”
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The Spirit Of Love Karen Michelle Nutt
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Author Information Karen Michelle Nutt lives in California with her husband and three fascinating children. They have a houseful of pets, Brownie the guinea pig, three cats that have everyone well trained, and a hound named Shakespeare, who keeps three chihuahua pups in line. Her book Lost in the Mist of Time was nominated by New Books Review for 2006, Spotlight Best Fantasy Book of the Year Award. The Object of Romance Anthology feature’s her novella, “Mr. O’Grady’s Magic Box” and received P&E’s Top Ten Readers Award. A Twist of Fate was a P.E.A.R.L Award nominee for best Time Travel of 2008. In her spare time, she reviews books for PNR—Paranormal Romance Reviews. An avid reader of history, romance, and the paranormal, she tends to combine the three in her writings. She enjoys travel, old movies, books, and the chance to weave a tale. Karen would love to hear from her readers and invites them to enter her world of Time Travel, Magic and Otherworldly Romances at: http://www.kmnbooks.com
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Chapter One Brynna’s mother had never understood her daughter’s obsession with the afterlife. According to her, a person went to heaven or hell; end of subject. However, to Brynna, everyone was a ghost, merely a spiritual being trapped in a body. Sometimes that spirit became stuck in between worlds. She became obsessed with ghost tours, wandering around buildings known for their haunts, and late night cemetery walks. This was not an eccentric hobby for her. Investigating the afterlife was her life. People hired her to listen and record their stories, take pictures and try to capture some defining proof on film. As a certified ghost hunter, or more scientifically, a paranormal investigator, she relied on her team of volunteers, Ted Mathis and Kenneth Tanner, and paid employees, Sandra Howard and Travis. Ah . . . Travis Smith. She met him in San Diego on the ghost tour of the Whaley House—a historical landmark thought to be haunted. She thought back to that day with a smile, the first meeting all too vivid in her mind. Brynna watched Travis take pictures with his digital, Polaroid and 35mm, all top of the line essential tools for a serious ghost hunter. “Impressive equipment,” Brynna said, cornering him at the conclusion of the tour. Travis tilted his head and gave her one of those lazy half smiles she would later learn to love. 80
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“I’m assuming this isn’t a pick up line and you’re referring to my cameras.” She frowned and then chuckled. “Yes, the cameras.” He sighed. “The story of my life.” Brynna couldn’t imagine that. He stood tall, trim and fit with coffee brown hair, thick and wavy. A beautiful contrast to hazel eyes flecked with green. His warm and inviting smile stirred the first flutters of attraction. Love at first sight wasn’t her thing, but lust at first sight had possibilities. “I’m Brynna Jones.” He choked back a laugh, and she could tell he was amused by the twinkle in his eyes. “Okay, spill. What’s so funny?” she queried. He fumbled with his equipment so he could offer his hand. “I’m Travis. Travis Smith.” Brynna took his hand. Oh, she got it. For the second time, he made her laugh. “Smith and Jones,” she exclaimed. “You have to be kidding!” “Cross my heart. What are the odds?” “Well, Smith, could I interest you in a cup of coffee or something?” His beautiful mouth curved into a smile. “I’d love one.” That had been ten years ago. They became lovers by the fourth date, and six months later married. They honeymooned in New Orleans so they could take pictures of the impressive cemeteries. Soon after, they formed the company, Smith and Jones Paranormal Investigations. Three years later they celebrated the 81
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birth of their son. Everything was perfect, then everything fell apart. First the accident, and then the affair.
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Chapter Two Travis couldn’t be entirely blamed for straying. She hadn’t been there for him. She’d shut him out, never considering he might be hurting, also. As time passed, it became easier not to speak to each other at all, drifting apart until what they’d shared withered away. She had moved out mentally long before she’d packed her bags. Nothing mattered to her, not Travis or their life together. She let him handle the business as well, not showing up to scheduled investigations, but tonight she had to be here. She swallowed the knot in her throat at the thought of seeing Travis. It would be the first time since she moved out of the house. They hadn’t filed for divorce yet, but both knew it was inevitable. As always, the team would meet at the site. The Queen Mary was once a Cunard Line cruise ship, making her maiden voyage, May 27, 1936. During World War II, she transported over 800,000 troops, passengers and refugees. After the war she was converted back to a cruise ship, but with the new and improved forms of transportation, she’d finally been sold. The Queen Mary was now permanently docked in Long Beach, California as a hotel and museum, was listed on the National Register of Historic places and supposedly had three hundred sixty-five ghosts aboard. Brynna had planned for this documentary almost a year ago. She originally wanted October 31st, the evening of Samhain since, according to ancient times, the day was the most haunted time of the year. But the Queen Mary held its annual Halloween Terror Fest on the same day. It would be too difficult to set up equipment and obtain accurate readings with bands playing and groups of people screaming and talking as they made their way 83
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through the Halloween mazes. With Yule considered the second most haunted time of the year in the Celtic calendar, she convinced the Queen Mary’s manager to give them an evening in December. Haunting starts on December 6th and continues through December 20th. Some believe the spirits are more active as they wait for the rebirth of the sun’s powers. She prayed one of the spirits aboard the Queen Mary would have the urge to come out and play. While the Queen Mary was small in comparison with today’s cruise ships, walking toward her from the parking lot, Brynna couldn’t help but smile. What the ship lacked in size, she made up with her regal charm. Her colors of black and white with the three funnels, painted orange-red, gave the ship a dramatic appeal against the darkened sky, haloed only by the parking lot’s lights. The hotel sign stood next to it, a towering monument of concrete announcing where the entrance stood. Brynna walked up the gangplank, taking the elevator to the main lobby on A deck. The doors opened to reveal antique furnishings with British and Art Deco influences, transforming this deck into a fine hotel. To the right, the long hall led to the first and second class cabins. The wide carpeted stairs to the other decks faced the front desk. To the left, her gaze landed on couples in the Observation Lounge enjoying a nightcap before retiring for the night. The large porthole stood open in the room, giving the patrons a view of Long Beach across the bay. She glanced at her watch, which read eight-thirty. No, that wasn’t right. She tapped the watch cover hoping to make the second hand move. “Not again. I just replaced the batteries.” Looking at the walls, she hoped to spy a clock, but only original paintings adorned the polished paneled walls. With an exasperated sigh, she walked up to the front desk to ask the receptionist the time. A young woman stood babbling to her coworker about the holiday party she attended last night. Brynna 84
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didn’t want to think about the holidays. They were meant to be spent with family. Hers didn’t exist anymore. “Excuse me,” she began, only to have the woman turn away from her to answer the phone. Brynna was about to walk away when she noticed the portable clock beside the computer. “Fifteen after ten. They’re late,” she mumbled under her breath. Not wanting to wait any longer for her team, she decided to start setting up. The manager guaranteed them access to the room documented as being the ship’s vortex of energy, a place where spirit energy was the most potent, where temperature fluctuations and apparitions had been noted—the first class pool room. Brynna took the main stairs down to the lower deck, hoping to enter the pool room on C deck. The pool at one time had been the most ornate of any on a Cunard ship. It had contained salt water, filled only halfway to prevent the water from spilling out onto the deck when the ship rolled from side to side. The pool room stood three decks high, from E deck to C deck with an entrance on both the C and E decks. Modern safety regulations prevented the hotel from using the pool because it was fourteen feet deep and there was no shallow end. Now it remained empty and reminiscent of the past. The doors on C deck stood partly ajar and Brynna entered. She stood over the pool, looking down at its waterless depths. Yet dampness lingered in the air, producing a musty smell. With the rectangular shape of the room, she had a clear view of the pool and all the surrounding space. On this deck, she could walk the perimeter of the room and use the tiled railings as a tripod to set up cameras, aiming them down at the pool.
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The pool actually stood on E deck with walking space around the entire pool. The dim lighting gave the blue and beige tiled room an eerie glow and cast shadows in corners. When they videotaped, they would have to use the infrared lighting for those areas. On the other side, facing the pool was the dressing room—a long tiled wall with two entrances on either side, the only indication of what stood behind it. Below her, stairs led to the pool’s deck, tapering down on both sides. Brynna strolled down the right side and stood facing the silver slide that remained attached to the pool as if once more waiting to be used. “Hello?” Her voice intruded on the still quiet of the room. No one answered. The room was empty, not a soul, person or piece of equipment to be found. Odd. Arrangements were always made for props to be delivered in advance. It helped to lessen the set up time if some of the equipment was at the site ready to be placed. So where were the boxes? More important—where was her team? Reaching for her back pocket, she pulled out her cell phone. “Crap, no service. Figures.” She was on her way back to the reception desk to find out where they put the boxes when she spotted Travis coming up the stairs. She didn’t want to care about him, but her heart seemed to have a will of its own, joyfully hammering in her ears the moment she saw him. Even loaded down with equipment, he walked with a nonchalant grace. She had always thought him handsome, with his smooth olive skin which seemed to magnify his hazel eyes, but as he drew near, he looked tired. He also needed a haircut and a shave, though the five o’clock shadow he sported was rather appealing. It added a bit of mystery to him, gave him a dangerous allure. She started walking over to him, hoping he knew where the equipment had been placed. 86
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**** Travis mulled over all he needed to complete. He had two projects due at the end of the week that still needed final editing. With Sandra and Ted unable to make it tonight, and Kenneth arriving late, how would he manage everything? This was Brynna’s project, one he’d rather avoid, but the alternative wasn’t much better. While people around him celebrated the holiday season with shopping and parties, he spent most of his evenings with a bottle of Scotch for company. He shivered—the temperature seeming to drop. “Drafty old ships,” he muttered. **** Travis walked by Brynna, obviously preoccupied. “Travis,” she called to him. He turned and for a moment stared at her as though he didn’t recognize her. How annoying. Already forgotten and it had only been a week since she moved out. “Brynna?” His gaze roamed over her, a slow slide from her head to her toes and back up again, finally settling on her face. His scrutiny made her uneasy. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. You were expecting someone else?” “Uh . . .” “Well, where is it?” His eyebrows furrowed as he carefully asked, “Where’s what?” “The boxes with the props and the equipment. I had them sent ahead, but they weren’t in the pool room.” “Yeah, they arrived, but because of security reasons, they couldn’t leave the boxes unattended.” He looked down the hall 87
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and pointed. “I was told they’re being stored in one of the cabins.” “It would have been nice if someone had informed me.” He looked at her intently as if she’d spoken a foreign language and couldn’t decipher meaning of her words. “Uh . . . well . . . the manager couldn’t reach you on your cell. So they called me.” “Hmm. I see.” She couldn’t understand why he’d lie to her about the manager trying to reach her, but his nervous stance and the tensing of his jaw gave him away. “Do you want to check it out?” He motioned with a quick nod toward the hall. She didn’t answer, but walked past him, expecting him to follow. Instead, he stood frozen in his spot. She turned to look at him. “Are you coming?” “Yeah, right behind you.” **** Travis couldn’t believe how she looked—energetic, so alive. She wore her favorite jeans that hugged her in all the right places, and he liked the way the green long-sleeved shirt brought out the color of her eyes. He scrubbed a hand across his face as a dangerous curiosity danced inside him. Why was she here? That hadn’t been part of the plan. She wore her golden-red hair loose and tumbling carelessly down her back, enticing his fingers to slide through the strands. Blood pounded in his temples as he absorbed the idea of working with her again. He had loved her so much. Who was he fooling? He still loved her. It had been so difficult to let her go, and now she was here, speaking civilly to him—a complete contrast to the last time they’d spoken. 88
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He accepted the blame for their marriage ending. He’d screwed up big time. The moment he had opened the hotel room door in London, he should have closed it again. Instead, he allowed his loneliness to rule, and invited Tanya in for a nightcap. They polished off two bottles of wine and in the morning he woke up in bed next to her. He would be the first to admit his guilt, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember sleeping with her. Making it even worse, he didn’t even like Tanya or her crass ways of doing business. So, he not only hurt the woman he adored, but had insulted another, all in one night. Tanya couldn’t wait to tell Brynna about the one-night stand. Her way of getting back at him for rejecting her, he supposed. Brynna packed up her belongings and moved out, though mentally she’d moved out months before that. “Earth to Travis.” Brynna snapped her fingers. “Quit the daydreaming. We have work to do.” Travis blinked, coming back to reality, and looked at the woman he would always love. God, she was as beautiful as he remembered. Both delicacy and strength were in her face, and her skin held a smooth color of peach-tinted cream. His eyes lingered on her lips. He wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms, but he hadn’t the right. Not any longer. “Are you going to help me or not?” She clearly wondered why he was staring at her. He nodded and set down his camera cases. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” Her brow arched. “I know I haven’t been reliable lately, but we co-own ‘Smith and Jones’ or have you forgotten?” “No, I haven’t forgotten. I’m just surprised to see you. You haven’t joined the team on an assignment in a long time.” 89
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“I wanted to be here for this one. I . . .” Her gaze met his. “I need this.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Is there going to be a problem?” “Of course not.” He never wanted anything is his life as much as he wanted to work with her one more time. “Good, because it’s going to be a long night. Who else is showing up?” His cell vibrated, making him jump. The theme music from the Ghostbusters’ movie broke the silence. He didn’t move. “Are you going to answer that?” That snapped him out of his trance. “Yeah, of course.” He walked away as he flipped his phone open. He spoke to the caller briefly then turned to Brynna. “That was Kenneth. The others already said they couldn’t make it, and now Kenneth bailed. He forgot about his nephew’s Christmas concert.” He tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “It’s just you and me, kid. Like old times.” He held his breath waiting for her to respond. “I’m okay with that. Working together is the one thing we do well.” “Ouch.” “Sorry, I didn’t mean it as a dig.” Her chin jutted out with resolve, disproving her statement. “I guess I deserve it.” He gave her a loose-muscled shrug to show her remark hadn’t hurt, yet her words stung like needles and his voice betrayed him. Her features softened and she closed the distance between them. Her light caress on his forearm made him flinch and her hand fell away. “I don’t want to fight.” 90
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“I don’t either.” He reached for her, but had second thoughts and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I never meant to hurt you.” “I know. I didn’t mean to shut you out.” He swallowed the lump of emotion lodged in his throat. “Come on.” Her eyes sparkled with the possibility of adventure. “The ghosts are waiting to be found. We have work to do.” It took three trips to set up the equipment in the pool room. There was a camcorder on the stairs, and one on both balconies overlooking the empty pool. During the day, the Queen Mary hosted theatrical ghost tours with flashing lights, mist-filled rooms, and ghostly laughter. What a different ballgame to be down here when no one else was around. No sounds from the other decks filtered through and there were no portholes to allow sunlight to seep in. It was like stepping into a neutral zone, neither in the present nor the past, but somehow an observer of both. This project would be his last run. Having lost all heart for it, Travis wanted out of this business. They should have closed up shop when Jake died. Brynna didn’t want any other assignments but the ones she set for herself. She didn’t sleep half the time, determined to keep the equipment running twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week in hopes of catching a glimpse of their son. Endless arrays of tapes and rolls of film showed nothing. Secretly, he was glad Jake had found peace and wasn’t lingering behind, confused and disoriented. Travis set one of the motion detectors near the dressing room, another at the top of the stairs facing the pool. “Don’t forget the EMF meter around the walls and the thermometers,” Brynna reminded him. “I’ll check out the power sources first.” He picked up the EMF meter. Whenever there was an electrical charge, natural or artificial, the meter registered the electromagnetic fields. He’d 91
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start with the far left wall. To have an accurate interpretation they had to pinpoint all the power sockets to not pick up a false reading of activity. They marked the areas with blue tape. “Are the eyewitness records in the briefcase?” he called over his shoulder. “We should go over them again. I want to set up one of the camcorders where most of the witnesses felt a phenomenon.” “They should be in the file along with the baseline record sheets. Have you read any of the stories?” Brynna asked. “I skimmed over them last night before I went to sleep.” Brynna chuckled, making him turn to look at her. “What’s so funny?” “You used to say you didn’t like reading ghost stories before bedtime.” His life of late had been a living nightmare. A few ghost stories weren’t going to make it any worse. “Things change, I suppose.” “Yeah.” After checking the power sources, he placed the thermometers around the perimeter. “Where do you think we should set up the Dictaphones?” He leaned down to tape the last thermometer on the small swinging gate that opened to the pool area. “I’d definitely put one in the dressing room. It’s rumored a woman was attacked in there. If I recall correctly, a psychic sensed the presence of a man, a dark image, lots of negative vibes, and all that. Maybe we’ll pick up something. The other Dictaphone, I’d put it at the top of the stairs, facing the pool. I’ve studied the ghost-cam the Queen Mary has set up in here and there’s quite a bit of activity in that area. The third . . .” She paused as she looked around, trying to decide the best location for it. Her gaze landed on the bottom of the pool. The blue tile held a thin layer of dust in spots, but nothing that would harm the equipment. The problem would be finding a way down. The pool’s steps ended after a few feet, leaving a twelve-foot drop to the bottom. If they didn’t injure themselves from the jump, they 92
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would have trouble climbing back out. She dismissed the pool and glanced at the landing on C deck above them. The walkway went all the way around the pool room with only the two tiled columns on both sides to block the view. They could perhaps lean the Dictaphone on the railing next to one of the columns. Travis piped up. “The storage room behind the stairs would be good. An angry entity was sensed in there. We could request the key.” “Perfect. I’ll call the desk and have someone bring it down.” Brynna pulled out her cell phone. “Damn, I forgot. I’m not picking up reception down here. I’ll go find someone.” “Wait,” Travis interrupted, already pulling out his cell. “I’m okay. I’ll ring the desk.” It only took a minute to make the arrangements. He looked at Brynna. “Someone will bring us the key. While we wait, I’ll set up the trigger items.” “Sounds good.” He retrieved the box. One of the entities was of a little girl, so they’d brought a few toys that had been popular in her time. During World War II the Queen Mary had transported prisoners of war. He pulled out an Italian uniform Brynna had managed to confiscate from a theatrical group, and her great-grandfather’s navy uniform. To those he added a few coins from that era onto a tray, then draped the uniforms over the chairs to look as though the two officers were going to have tea. It always amazed him how Brynna could find the props needed for each haunt they investigated. “I have a bathing suit, cap and a woman’s dress in the box, too,” Brynna told him. “I wanted to cover all areas.” He grabbed the bathing suit and cap. “I’ll put these in the dressing room. One of the eyewitnesses said there were wet footprints that led into there.” 93
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While he was in the back, the security guard came in through the side doors near the dressing room. “Hello? I have the key you requested.” “Great.” Brynna waved to him from across the room. “Where do you want me to put it?” he asked. “I’ll take it.” Brynna started over to him as Travis came out of the dressing room. “I thought I heard someone,” Travis said. “I’ve got the key you needed.” The security guard handed it to him. “Kind of spooky down here.” He nervously eyed the room. “I’m used to worse. This isn’t so bad.” The security guard chuckled. “You couldn’t pay me enough to come down here and spend the night. It’s bad enough that we have to patrol it. Some of the guys refuse to come alone.” “You ever see anything? The guard shook his head. “Nah, not me, but Joey Parnell said he heard some creepy noises the last few times he was down here.” “What kind of noises?” “Said it sounded like a woman’s high heels. You know how they click on cement? Don’t know how they balanced themselves on those contraptions. Anyway, a complete search told him no one was down here. Another time, he thought he heard a woman sobbing. Again, the search came up empty. Spooked the hell out of him, and he isn’t one that believes in this shit.” “He’s a tough guy?”
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“Joey’s a few inches taller than me, maybe six-five, two hundred and fifty pounds, and burly as any college defense football player would be. He doesn’t scare easily.” Brynna had walked over to them now. “It’s generally the nonbelievers that tend to be approached. It’s like the spirits are attracted to them, as if they are a magnet, so to speak.” The security guard shivered. “It’s cold in here.” Brynna turned to check the closest thermometer and noticed the temperature had dropped a few degrees since they arrived. “It’s an old ship.” Travis smiled. “It tends to get drafty.” “Yeah. Hey, do you want me to bring you some coffee? Or we have hot apple cider and eggnog if you’re interested. Nonalcoholic I’m afraid.” “Coffee would be great.” “I’ll take a cup, also,” Brynna said. “Is it possible to have a thermos?” Travis asked. “If you don’t mind.” The guard nodded. “I guess you need to stay alert if you’re going to be up all night. I’ll bring you a thermos.” He turned to go and then looked back. “Have you ever captured anything on film? Like orbs?” “Sure, lots of orbs, but they’re easily explained as being pollen and dust particles.” “Oh, I thought those were supposed to be ghosts.” “At first some believed so, but we know better now. What we want to record is energy lights and sporadic voices on the EVP.” “EV . . . what?” 95
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“Sorry,” Travis apologized. “EVP stands for electronic voice phenomenon. We hope to pick up sounds on the devices.” “No kidding. Why do you think spirits linger?” “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” The guard nodded. “I’ll be back with the coffee.” “Thanks.” Travis waited until the guard left before he turned toward Brynna. “Want to check out the room?” He tossed the key in the air and caught it. “Absolutely.” He followed her over to a room no bigger than a walk-in closet. “Feel anything?” Brynna asked as she circled the room. There were storage boxes piled in one corner, fold-up chairs, and a table. “It’s like ice in here.” Brynna’s eyebrows furrowed. “I feel fine.” He placed the last of the Dictaphones on one of the boxes and turned to her with a shrug. “I’ve been a little chilled all night.” “Are you catching a cold?” He shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He started to head out of the room. “I think we should set up a camera in here, too.” “Okay.” She followed him out. “Is your watch working? My battery died. My watch is stuck on eight thirty.” He looked at her for several seconds before he nodded. “Mine’s working.” 96
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“Good. What time is it? We should record it in the logs.” Her cell wasn’t working and her watch was on the fritz. Could be a coincidence, but then again maybe not. One theory stated that spirits drained the batteries’ energy, drawing on it to make their presence known. He thought about saying something, then decided he’d wait, see where it went. His cameras were still working; only Brynna’s batteries were drained. He loaded the 35mm camera with black and white film. “I’m going to make my first round.” He would use the whole roll for each rotation, labeling it accordingly. If anything showed up on the film, they’d go back and look at the video to see if they caught anything there as well. **** After Travis completed his round, he sat alongside the pool. Brynna had been watching him. Though good looking as ever, something about him didn’t seem quite right. Their marriage had pretty much ended, but she still cared about him. She couldn’t seem to help it. “Have you been ill?” “What?” He looked at her, startled. “You look like you haven’t slept well lately.” “I’ve been busy.” “Ah, all those holiday parties.” They used to love to get together with their friends and share cups of cheer. After Jake was born, they didn’t attend as many parties, but would curl up by the fire and drink hot cocoa. Jake loved marshmallows in his. That seemed like a lifetime ago. “No parties,” Travis said quietly. “I couldn’t bring myself to . . .” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes downcast. **** 97
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Travis couldn’t help being surprised Brynna asked about his welfare. Jake had died over ten months ago and on that day everything ceased to matter to her. She’d ignored Travis, shut him out so completely it was as though he didn’t exist. So why did she seem concerned now? He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. This was all too weird, being here with her, getting along as if the past didn’t matter. He glanced at her and sighed. He thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Hell, maybe this was all a dream and she wasn’t even here. It was the holiday season, a time most people hated to be alone. Maybe this was his subconscious feeling festive, allowing him to be with her one more time. “Closure,” he said, not realizing he had spoken the word aloud. “What did you say?” He shook his head. “I’ve missed you, Brynna.” The confession surprised them both. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and he’d bet she worried where the conversation was headed or if she even wanted to have one. “I don’t know what to say.” “Don’t you?” She shook her head. He stood. “I’m going to make another sweep around the rooms again. I’ll use the digital camera this time. Why don’t you check on the video feeds? Make sure they’re still running.” **** Brynna watched him walk away. He wanted something from her, but what, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he wanted her to confess she loved him above all else and had been miserable without him. 98
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Sure, it was true, but she wouldn’t tell him. She moistened her lips and turned away. The camera in the storage room was running smoothly. One number at a time ticked off as the film revolved. Travis had felt cold in here. She didn’t feel any different. Strange, usually she was the one sensitive to temperature fluctuations. She left the room and headed up the stairs to check on the next camera. The lighting was poor, but their cameras were equipped with infrared lighting so the filming would be clear. She stood above the pool, leaning against the rail. She spotted Travis at the far end of the room, standing in front of the long wall, near the dressing room entrance. He snapped pictures of the pool at different angles. He was good at what he did, capturing his fair share of anomalies as though he sensed their presence. Their goal was to capture a full body apparition. At that moment, he turned and looked up at her. Surprise coursed through her when he lifted the camera and pointed it toward her. Her spine tingled and the hair rose on the back of her neck. She turned around half expecting to see a spirit standing next to her. Of course, there wasn’t anyone there, or anything else for that matter, but still she couldn’t shake the odd sensation. When she looked back, Travis was no longer in sight. He must have gone into the dressing room. She needed to check on the camera in there, so she followed. Once inside, she wished she’d grabbed a flashlight. Not a slightest glimmer of light shone. She couldn’t see Travis, but heard him moving around from the far end of the corridor. There were changing-rooms on both sides. The curtains had been taken down a long time ago, leaving the compartments open for view. It took a moment, but her eyes started to adjust, and she spotted his silhouette. “Travis?” He cursed. “Don’t sneak up on a guy, Brynna.” “Sorry. I wanted to check the video camera in here. Didn’t mean to spook you.” She rubbed her arms and looked about, feeling a little uneasy. “The hairs on my arms are standing on end. Do you feel anything?” 99
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“I feel something,” he said slowly. “Do you have a flashlight on you? I forgot to grab mine.” What was wrong with her? She never investigated a site without toting her own light source. Not only dangerous, it was stupid because she could hurt herself. Travis flipped on his light, but it immediately flickered out. She heard him fumbling around and in the next minute the area was illuminated with a greenish glow of light. Travis’ face looked eerie in the light of the glow stick. His eyes appeared sunken within his skull, shadows hiding most of his features. “Better?” he asked. Puffs of his breath indicated the temperature had dropped again. Obviously, they weren’t alone. She moved closer to him. “Snap some pictures,” she ordered. He didn’t have to be told twice. Normally, she would have been excited, for all the signs pointed to a ghostly presence having joined them, but she felt strange, lightheaded. “I think . . . I think I’m going to pass out.” Travis swiveled around, a flicker of apprehension lacing his voice. “Brynna?” Their gazes met. She gasped as a shiver of dread stabbed her chest. “Something’s wrong.” She flew by him, panicked. She needed to escape. Now! Outside the dressing room, she sagged against the cold tile, bent at the waist. She gripped her knees and drew in a ragged breath. “Brynna, what happened in there?” 100
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Though she couldn’t speak, the sound of his voice soothed her. The strange sensation seemed to be easing somewhat. She raised her head to look at him. Seeing the anxious look on his face, she murmured, “Give me a moment, okay, Travis?” “A case of claustrophobia?” “No. This was something different—a pulling sensation. Almost, as if something was pulling me away.” She shuddered as a flicker of a memory surfaced. She’d read about this kind of phenomenon before, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it meant. **** Travis didn’t know what had happened to her but, thankfully, she looked like she felt better. The lines of tension smoothed from her brows and her eyes opened. She slowly eased herself up to a standing position, giving him a sheepish smile. “That was weird.” She let out a breath. “In all the years we’ve been doing this, I’ve never experienced anything like it. I can’t wait to look at your photos and the video we shot in there to see if we picked up anything.” Now that she felt better, excitement laced her words. “Coffee is served,” the security guard announced as he came through doors to the right of them. “Good,” Brynna said. “I could use a cup.” Travis turned toward the security guard with smile. “Thank you. It’s surely appreciated.” “No problem. Where would you like me to put it?” The guard looked at the table that held the props. His gaze lingered on the two uniforms set out on display.
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“I’ll take it.” Travis held out his hands and the guard handed over a thermos and Styrofoam cups. “It looks like you’re expecting some military dudes to come down here to sit and chat awhile.” Travis chuckled. “Sometimes the props help the spirits to appear.” The security guard hiked a brow. “Uh, okay.” He shrugged, indicating he didn’t really understand. “Well anyway, if you need anything else, just let the desk know.” “Thank you.” Travis waited until the man had shut the door behind him before pouring the coffees. He placed a cup in front of Brynna. “Hot and black, just the way you like it.” He regarded her for a moment. “Feeling any better?” Across her pale and beautiful face, a dim flush raced like a fever. “Embarrassed.” She laughed. “I see your smirk. Are you getting a kick out of the fact I almost swooned, Mr. Smith?” He had missed her subtle wit. “Why it never occurred to me that you might. If I had, I surely would have come to your rescue.” Her cute little nose scrunched up when she gave him a snarling expression, but then she chuckled. “Don’t don your armor yet. I think this damsel is far from being in distress.” He bowed slightly. “As you wish, my lady.” Her lips curved into a sweet smile, making his body warm under her regard. He had missed their playful banter and would have said as much, but a crash from the storage room had them on their feet.
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Chapter Three They rushed to the room, not sure what to expect. The video camera was no longer on the tripod, but on the floor next to the boxes stacked against the back wall. Travis leaned down to retrieve it. The side panel had a hairline crack, but otherwise seemed intact. He tried the record button but it shut the camera down, ejecting the tape in the process. “The camera might be shot, but the tape looks okay.” He waved it like a white flag. They didn’t have an extra video camera to spare. He decided to take a few more pictures in the room. “We’ll have to wait until we’re at home.” He stopped, his gaze finding hers. Home? How easy for him to slip back into their old routines as if nothing had changed. “When I go home,” he corrected. He tucked the video cassette into his pocket and left the room. At the table he put down his camera and picked up his coffee cup, his hands trembling. Brynna moved in behind him and before she said a word he closed his eyes and wished away the pain. And helplessness. **** “Travis?” she called to him, again. He turned to face her. The tensing of his jaw betrayed his deep frustration. She couldn’t blame him. Brynna moved to him and placed her hand on his forearm, atop rigid muscles. His gaze traveled over her face, waiting for her to say something. She opened her mouth to say . . . what, she didn’t know, and was struck by a dizzying current of disbelief.
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How had she let him go? She still ached for his touch, for what they’d meant to each other. And always would. He fingered a loose tendril of hair tickling her cheek. She closed her eyes for a second, relishing his feather-like touch. When they fluttered open again, he studied her, a wistfulness in his expression. Her heart swelled with a sensation she thought had died along with their son. She took a shuddering breath. She wanted him. She loved him. But a more terrifying realization washed over her. He might not want her. “Travis, I’ve missed you.” Her voice was an agonizing whisper of longing. A light smoldered in the gold-green flecks of his eyes. “Oh, Brynna.” Emotion drenched his voice. “Why did we allow this to happen to us?” “Foolishness, stupidity, but we can still fix this, can’t we?” “Brynna, I . . .” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and his next words didn’t give her hope. “Let’s sit down.” She nodded and let him lead her over to a chair. She sat and he set another chair across from her. She didn’t wait for him to speak, but jumped in first. “I know we can’t pick up where we left off and pretend nothing happened.” He shook his head. “No, we can’t.” Her stomach roiled with nerves. This could be a huge mistake. Maybe she was just feeling lonely because Christmas was nearing and she didn’t want to be alone. But when she looked at him, really looked at him, it wasn’t that. She wanted what they used to have. “Is it . . . too late for us, Travis?” “I don’t want to believe it is, but . . .” 104
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His hesitation put her on edge. “Brynna, what I’m going to ask you will sound strange, so bear with me for a moment. It’s important.” “Okay,” she answered, slowly. “Why do you think spirits linger?” She frowned as she met his gaze. Why was he asking her this when it had nothing to do with what they were discussing? Besides, they’d had this conversation a million times. They debated, theorized, and argued over it. He already knew how she’d respond. “Please humor me,” he pleaded. Since it seemed so important to him, she answered. “I believe it’s because they have unfinished business, that they feel they can’t leave until they’ve carried out whatever it is they need to accomplish.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands together, his index fingers forming a tent. He tapped his lips, seemingly giving his response much thought. “If I were to die, right now . . .” “Don’t say that! You should never fool with fate like that, Tra—” “I would tell you how much I love you,” he continued, barging through her words, “and that I wished I could hold you one more time and tell you that.” She closed her eyes, and swallowed hard, biting back tears. His words should have comforted her. He still loved her, but his talk of dying left her emotions raw and exposed. Life was a precious gift and, without notice, their fragile existence could end at anytime. She hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Jake. Death just claimed him. She took a deep breath and looked at him. “That wouldn’t be enough to hold you here.” 105
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“No? I’ve wanted to tell you that for so long. It haunts me. It haunts me that I wasn’t strong enough for you. Brynna?” His voice sounded thick as he spaced out each word evenly. “How many days has it been since you moved out of the house?” “It seems like a lifetime, but it’s only been a week.” “You believe it’s only been a week?” She frowned, confused by his question. “You know it has. What’s with the weird questions?” “Nothing. Forget it.” He picked up the thermos, pausing as his hand brushed her cup. “Your coffee’s getting cold.” He moved it aside and took out a fresh cup for himself. She stared at him for a moment before deciding to let the subject drop. “I’m going to check on the equipment on the stairs. Do you want to snap a few pictures?” He sighed. “Sure.” He reached for his case and pulled out the digital. He hesitated, then looked at the screen as if focusing on a shot. Brynna met his gaze at the precise moment the flash went off. “I’m not the subject,” she snapped. The taut silence was deafening as their eyes clashed. Travis looked away first. “I’m going over to the dressing room to take a few pictures,” he bit out. She watched him walk away, already regretting her harsh words. She hadn’t meant to yell at him.
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A few minutes later, she joined him, glad he had the large Coleman flashlight illuminating the room. When she touched his shoulder, he jumped. “You’re a little jumpy tonight.” “Yeah. Call it a premonition.” She glanced at his arm and saw the goose bumps. “I don’t feel anything.” “Don’t you?” She shook her head, slowly. “I don’t . . .” Strange, she really didn’t feel anything: not cold, not hot. “I sense nothingness. Does that make any sense?” “I have the sensation of cold and electrical current in the air surrounding me.” His gaze held hers as if he wanted to say more, but something held him back. “Okay, perhaps we’ll actually pick up an entity tonight on one of the cameras.” She turned to leave. He mumbled something under his breath. “What did you say?” “Nothing.” He took another picture of the stall in front of him. “Brynna, how much do you remember of that night?” “What night are we speaking of?” she asked, although she had a good idea. “The night you found out about . . .” “Tanya,” she finished, her voice sounding harsh to her own ears.
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Before he could reply, a loud popping sound filled the room, then an exploding blast of glass.
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Chapter Four Brynna and Travis hurried out of the dressing room to discover the light fixture mounted on the tile wall was broken. Glass littered the floor like tiny teardrops. “The spirit is rather excitable,” Travis murmured. Brynna raised her eyebrows. “You’ve become cynical.” “No, just stating the truth. Now, what were we talking about?” He wasn’t going to let it go. “You want to talk,” she huffed. “Fine, we’ll talk. It’s about time we aired everything. You had an affair. You broke my heart. End of story.” “I know.” She hadn’t expected him to say that. She thought he would deny it, make excuses. “Then why? Why did you do it?” “You shut me out.” Okay, here we go again. “So it’s my fault.” “No.” She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Yeah, right.” “No, I take full responsibility for my stupidity. That night I drank myself into oblivion thinking it would ease my pain, but in the light of day, it had only escalated the problem. It doesn’t change anything, I know, but I don’t remember being with Tanya. I 109
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didn’t want her. I never wanted her.” He shifted the camera to his other arm, sliding the strap high on his shoulder. “I wanted you, Brynna. I love you.” The sincerity of his words broke her heart. He spoke the truth. She might as well have sent an invitation to Tanya to let her know he was vulnerable and in need of a good lay—crude, but true. Knowing the facts didn’t make the reality of his betrayal hurt any less. “I was so angry,” she began, “mostly at me, for not fighting for you. You were slipping away, but I didn’t stop it. Not because I didn’t care. Because I didn’t have the energy to change the destructive path I had put us on. I missed Jake so much and the weight of the grief dragged me down so deep I was drowning in self-pity.” God, it hurt to talk, relive the horror of their loss. Pain washed over her in waves as it always did when she remembered. Could airing the truth allow them to heal—to move on? They returned to their chairs and sat down. Travis changed out the camera batteries and loaded a new roll of film. “Did you blame me for Jake’s death?” He spoke so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “Blame you? Why would I blame you? It was an accident.” “I bought him the bike.” “And I told him he could ride it that day. Did you blame me?” He looked at her now. “Never. It was a horrific tragedy. I wanted to hold you and tell you everything would be all right, but in my heart I knew nothing would ever be all right again. I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t bring our little boy back.” Brynna blinked back tears. “What happened to us, Travis? When Jake was hit by the car, what we had as a family died with him.” 110
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Travis had no time to answer. The alarms on the machine went off and Brynna leapt to her feet. “We’re registering some activity.” **** Brynna wiped the tears away and glanced around the pool room as if expecting to see a spectral image. Travis knew she wouldn’t. He reached for her hair, letting it slide through his fingers like air. Uncertainty made him cautious, but he had to tell her. “Brynna, the night you found out about Tanya, you were angry, angrier than I had ever seen you. I tried to stop you, but you wouldn’t listen. It was raining, a downpour.” Even though the equipment was going haywire, she seemed to concentrate on what he was saying. “You were so upset, crying. You most likely didn’t see—” “Stop!” Her eyes widened in fear as she realized where the story was going. She didn’t want to hear it, but there was no other choice. He had to finish. “You didn’t see the construction sign until it was too late, baby.” “Shut—” “Your car went off the embankment.” She backed away, her eyes round—scared. “No.” Her anguished cry of denial tore at his heart. “You said it yourself that you thought ghosts were people that returned for a reason, to complete what they hadn’t in life.” He recognized the moment the truth hit her. Her body stilled and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob. “I can’t be . . .” Her eyes lit with realization as the truth of her own words sunk in. He 111
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had gotten through to her. All the signs had been there. She had just ignored them, had dismissed every one of them. “The receptionist wouldn’t acknowledge me.” Her gaze riveted to her wrist. “My watch doesn’t work.” Her eyes filled with tears and her hands shook. “You didn’t see me until I called to you and . . . and the security guard never looked at me. He only spoke to you.” “He couldn’t see you.” “But you can,” she insisted. “You’ve been talking to me all evening. How is that possible?” “You’ve read up on this. The spirits of Yule are connected with the mystical and the psychic logic of the Solstice season. We can be visited by ancestors, relatives, spirit guides or our soul friends. You once believed I was your anam cara. Your soul friend.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “You’re the Ghost Hunter; I’m the photographer. What do you think?” “Oh, God.” She sat down with her hand over her mouth not wanting to believe it was true, but there it was. The memories of that rainy night came back to her all at once. She had left the house, angry and upset. She’d been driving too fast for the slick roads. Her windshield wipers could barely keep up as the rain pelted down on the car. She remembered trying to blink away the tears blurring her vision, but it had been too late. She tried to stop. Had slammed on the brakes, but nothing gripped. She screamed as the car spun out of control, then hit something hard. She didn’t want to die, but everything hurt—her damaged body, her heart, and her soul. Then she saw him. “I remember seeing Jake, but I didn’t go with him,” she whispered. “Why not?” “Because . . . because I had to tell you.” 112
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“Tell me what, baby?” “That I was sorry. That I love you.” She sensed that he wanted so badly to hold her. “You can’t touch me.” She shook her head. “But you did, not more than ten minutes ago.” “Brynna, you aren’t really here. Yes, I feel you, but it’s not like touching flesh.” “Like an electric shock?” she asked. “Not strong, but enough to make me take notice.” “That’s why you flinched each time I touched you. I thought you didn’t want me to.” “Believe me. I want nothing more than to feel you. I want to wrap you in my arms and hold you.” “It hurts so much. If I’m dead, how can I hurt so much?” She beseeched him to answer. “I don’t know.” “I’m dead and buried,” she said, testing the truth of it. She looked at him. He hesitated as if he needed to tell her more. What more could he say to her? She was dead; her life had ended. “Travis?” “You’re not buried.” At her gasp, he hurried to explain. “You’ve been in a coma for almost two months. When I saw you here, I realized something had happened. That you were—” “Dead,” she finished for him. This was too incredible. “Where?” “What do you mean?”
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She began to pace. “What hospital? Where’s my body?” She almost laughed at how hysterical she sounded. What difference did it make where her body was? She wouldn’t need it. “Hoag Hospital,” he told her. She nodded, feeling relieved that she wasn’t misplaced, that her body was in a reputable place. “They have the best equipment and the doctors . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence realizing she was babbling as if talking about someone else. She stopped pacing and turned to him. His eyes mirrored her emotions. Even dead, her corporeal state reacted to his galvanizing gaze. The pulsing knot formed in her stomach. She didn’t want to tear her attention away from him for fear that whatever was keeping her grounded would end. When Jake died, she had wanted to die, too. Now, all she could think about was that she wasn’t ready to go, but the day of reckoning couldn’t be postponed forever. For a long moment, she admired him. Unhurriedly, she studied his face, feature by feature. The memories were like a film rolling, and she remembered every moment of how it had been with him. How he always made her feel cherished and beautiful. An exultant sensation wafted through her in heated waves as she recalled his touch, the way his hand would move up and down the deep furrow of her spine, and how his touch sent passion rising like the hottest fire, until sighs of satisfaction shook through her. She wanted to go to him, feel his arms around her, smell the clean scent of him as he leaned down to kiss her. She touched her mouth as if she could still feel his tender caresses. He had a way of brushing his lips over hers, a tantalizing invitation that would lead to more. She wanted that now. She wanted that wildly masculine sensation of his kiss, but the reality of her shifting world left it impossible. “Brynna, your face is showing the roller-coaster of your emotions. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 114
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“About the breathless wonder of our first kiss and the many more that followed.” He gave her a whisper of a smile. “Our first kiss,” he said with reverence. “I meant to take things slow with you. Didn’t want to rush, because I knew you were the one for me, but one taste and I lost all my sense of reason.” He spoke the truth. He recalled that night. He recalled that night in vivid detail. After dinner, wine, and a fascinating conversation where they talked about everything under the sun, he had walked her to her door. She stood on the top step and he was one below so they were eye to eye. That first kiss, that achingly sweet exploration of her mouth had sent him spiraling out of control. He couldn’t get enough of her and she clung to him demanding that he give her more. He loved everything about her from her sweet laugh to her gregarious charm, everything that made her who she was. That first indelible kiss had sparked an ache inside of him, making it a staggering challenge not to ravish her there on the spot. “I’ll have to admit,” she said, “that I was disappointed you didn’t ask to come in. Thoughts of sleeping with you pranced through my head.” He quirked his right eyebrow. “I wish I’d known. It would have saved me the uncomfortable ride home—and the cold shower.” She grinned. “If I recall, I didn’t make you wait too much longer after that night.” “No, you didn’t, and for that I am forever grateful.” He placed his palm over his heart and made a low bow of gratitude. He straightened and met her smile with his own. God, she was so beautiful. The impulse to reach out and touch her was such a tangible urge that he made a move toward her. He looked into her eyes as if he saw something new in her that he hadn’t realized before. “I need the illusion that I can still hold you.”
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Surprise crossed her face. Did his words echo her thoughts? She stepped toward him as he opened his arms to her. The electricity of her touch shocked him, but he didn’t shy away. “Ah, Travis. To feel like I’m gathered against a warm pulsing body is divine. I can feel your heat down to the tips of my toes,” she murmured, “and your heart hammering against my chest.” He cleared his throat, determined not be affected by her words, for he could only sense the projection of her, and he wanted so much more. Unbidden memories of their lovemaking teased him, and the involuntary tremors of arousal began. She’d left a burning imprint on him that would forever haunt him. He held tighter, trying to feel more of her, yet knowing he couldn’t. Against his resolve to stay strong, tears filled his eyes. She would leave him again, but this time it would be forever. The inexplicable feeling of emptiness choked his heart. Never again would he be able to talk to her, see her, or touch her. He lifted his hands up to cup her face. When he bent his head, she met his lips halfway. A blaze of liquid fire seared through him, a golden wave of passion and love. He let it flow between them, this wondrous sensation so like a tangible bond. He moved his mouth to the side, taking a breath, then he kissed her a final time before he stepped back. “You have to let go, Brynna.” He didn’t want her to be a spirit that lingered between life and death. “You have to go on, sweetheart. Jake is waiting for his mommy.” His voice broke miserably, his sorrow of losing her a painful knot inside, but he had to let her go. **** “Jake.” A flash of grief weighed down on her. She loved him, her little boy who had so little time to live. Life was so precious, so fleeting, and she had let hers slip away without a fight. “Brynna.” 116
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She looked at Travis and saw the tears shamelessly lining his cheeks. She loved this man, too. With her entire being. How could she let him go? Say goodbye? No, she wasn’t strong enough. She wanted—needed—him forever. How to make him understand in what little time she had left. “I don’t want to leave you.” “I know.” His attempt to smile failed miserably. “Be happy and live a long life.” Then she realized something that tickled her to no end and chuckled. “All my life I’ve wanted to capture a ghost on film and I have. Isn’t it ironic that I am the spirit?” The humor of her situation suddenly vanished, to be replaced by the feeling of something pulling at her. The same sensation she’d had in the dressing room, only this time she wasn’t afraid. She had no urge to resist. Death. Although not wanting to leave Travis, she would be with Jake. Their son was a part of them both, so in a way she’d still have a part of Travis with her. Forever. Her eyes locked with his, wanting his loving gaze to be the last thing she saw before she faded away. Travis watched her closely. “Do you notice a change in me?” She looked down at her hand. “I’m flickering like a light about to go out?” Travis stood there, strong for her, but the slight pulsing at the side of his jaw betrayed him. He’d hold onto her if he could. “I have to go,” she whispered. “I know.” “And I’ll miss you forever, Travis.” “As I will miss you.” His voice choked in his throat. She extended her arm, as though to touch him. 117
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And disappeared. **** Travis barely made it to his seat before his legs gave away. He hid his face behind his hands, unable to suppress his grief. The doctors had explained to him that there was nothing physically wrong with Brynna, but the longer she remained in the selfinduced coma the more likely it would be that she wouldn’t recover. His mind accepted all this, he’d been warned of the inevitable, but his heart wasn’t prepared to let her go. With every breath she took, there had been a chance. A chance she would wake up, that they would have an opportunity to find their way back to each other. He clenched his fists painfully, until his knuckles turned white. “Why?” He shouted his anguish of the injustice at losing his wife, too. The deafening silence greeted him as he gazed at the eerily lit pool, void of water. He leaned back in his chair, not caring to check the equipment, not caring about anything. Brynna and Jake were both gone forever and nothing else mattered.
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Chapter Five “Hey, wake up, dude.” Travis almost fell off his seat as someone shook him as delicately as a bulldozer. He glared up at the tall burly man with hair that looked like it had been set on fire, spiked and dyed unnaturally red. “Jesus, Kenneth.” Damn, he’d fallen asleep. He glanced at his watch, relieved it was still early. The manager had told him he had to have the equipment out of the pool room before the first Haunted Tours started for the day. “Sorry, boss.” Kenneth chuckled. “I called to you. And you know my voice can wake the dead, but it didn’t disturb you. I didn’t think you would appreciate me throwing a cup of water in your face. Shaking you awake seemed the next best thing.” Travis rubbed his eyes, the realization that he had been dreaming snapped him awake. What a wonderful dream. Brynna had been . . . “Where is she?” He bolted out of his chair and scoured the room. “Who, man?” Kenneth asked. “Brynna. She was . . .” He stopped when he saw how Kenneth was looking at him as if he thought he’d busted out of a mental institution. In the light of day, it did seem ludicrous to believe she appeared to him. “She was never here, was she?” Kenneth pinched his lips together and shook his head. “I knew you shouldn’t have taken this gig.” “Brynna wanted to do it. It was important to her.” 119
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“Yeah, but you should have had the sense to cancel it.” Kenneth turned away and started gathering the paperwork. He mumbled under his breath about what a fool Travis had been to allow himself to be haunted by some code of ethics. “Last request, bullshit,” he growled. “I know you don’t understand, but I had to do this for her.” Kenneth shrugged. “I don’t get it, but I’ve never been in love.” He went over to the video camera, taking it off the tripod. “Do you think you picked up any activity?” “I thought . . .” Travis didn’t know how much of last night had been a dream. Hell, maybe it was all a dream. Last night he’d been so tired. He missed Brynna. He missed them together. Missed what they had. This project had been hers. Obsessed with the Queen Mary, she claimed there was a vortex, a safe place where spirits could venture forth with ease. And added to that, it was the current Winter Solstice, the time of year when spirits and souls were most active. Well, it was no wonder he imagined she’d been with him. “Are you going to the hospital today?” Kenneth asked. “Yeah. They’ll want me to make the final arrangements.” Kenneth set down the camera. “Hey, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Brynna . . . God. . .” He leaned on the table for support. “She was so strong. I thought . . . Well, I thought she’d pull through.” For a moment, Travis was confused. If he’d only dreamt about Brynna, then that could mean . . . “I have to make a call.” He moved away, not wanting Kenneth to overhear his conversation. On the third ring, the operator picked 120
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up. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Dr. Robinson. It’s concerning Brynna Smith’s condition.” “Hold, please.” It took a minute, but Brynna’s doctor soon picked up on the other end. “Mr. Smith?” “Yes.” “I was just about to give you a call.” Travis’s heart pounded and his knees shook. He didn’t want to hear that Brynna was gone. His head buzzed and he barely heard what Dr. Robinson was telling him, but something the doctor said caught his attention. “Wait. Could you repeat that?” Travis asked. “We almost lost your wife last night, twice to be exact, but I assure you that she is fine. Better than fine, Mr. Smith. Your wife is up, alert, and demanding that you call her immediately.” The doctor paused to clear his throat. “I’m aware this is going to sound strange, but are you at the—” “Queen Mary,” Travis finished. “Yes. . . that’s exactly what she said. How would she know?” “May I speak to her?” A powerful relief filled him. He couldn’t explain it even if he wanted to. Something mystical had happened last night. All his prayers had been answered and he was being granted a second chance with Brynna. She was alive, awake, and asking for him. “Yes, yes, of course. Hold on and I’ll transfer you.” Travis glanced over at Kenneth who watched him with a worried expression “Everything okay, Boss?” he yelled to him.
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“Okay?” Travis strode over to him at a fast pace, and surprised the man by throwing his arms around his waist, giving him a huge bear hug. “No. I’m not okay.” “Hey, man, are you having a nervous breakdown or something?” Travis released him and let out a whoop as he thrust a fist above his head. “She’s alive! Brynna is alive.” “But you said . . .” “I was wrong. Brynna must have been . . . I don’t know . . . an out of body experience.” Travis was talking more to himself than to Kenneth. His attention was drawn to his phone again, when he heard someone say hello. He’d forgotten he was still on the line. He brought it to his ear. “Brynna? Brynna, is that you?” “Travis?” He squeezed his eyes shut. It was her voice, her beautiful voice. “I’m here.” She fell silent, then said, “I dreamt about you last night.” “I know, baby.” “You know?” “Yes, I know.” “Oh, God, Travis. I was so lost. I saw Jake. He told me it wasn’t my time, that I had to go back, but I didn’t know how.” The sound of her crying came over the phone and he wished he could cross the chasm separating them and hold her. “It was you,” she told him. “You helped me. Somehow, you helped me.”
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“I thought you were gone, Brynna. I thought you were a spirit and you were passing through to say goodbye.” His grip on his phone tightened. He wondered how much she remembered. “You said things.” “You said some things, too.” She paused. “Travis?” “Yes?” “Hey, Boss,” Kenneth called to him. “You have to see what’s on this film. You aren’t going to believe it.” Somehow, Travis knew he would. “Travis, are you still there?” Brynna asked. “I’m here.” “Was it a dream?” “No, Brynna, it wasn’t.” A newly awakened sense of life comforted him. They had another chance. “Will you come and get me and take me home?” “As soon as the doctor releases you, you bet I will.”
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Chapter Six Travis carried Brynna over the threshold of the cabin, her laughter a sweet sound to his ears. They’d been granted a miracle. Their souls were cleansed, allowing them to finally heal. They renewed their wedding vows the morning of December twenty-second, the dawning of the new sun for the year back in medieval times. For them, it would signify a new beginning. For a second honeymoon, it seemed only appropriate that they book a room aboard the Queen Mary. Travis cupped Brynna’s face and leaned down to kiss her. It was like coming home to a place of love and warmth. “You smell good,” he told her. “I taste good, too,” she said mischievously as she began undoing his tie. “Oh, yeah.” She took his hand, leading him over to the bed. They fell onto it, laughing. His lips met hers in a searing, demanding kiss. He made love to her fast with an urgent need to be closer, but later he loved her slowly, savoring every moment, every touch. “I love you.” Travis drew her against him. 124
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“I love you, too.” She turned to him, her gaze touching his. “How would you feel about trying to have another baby?” “Really?” She nodded, chewing on her lower lip as she waited for his answer. He kissed her softly. “I think it’s the best idea you’ve had all day . . . besides marrying me again, that is. And I’ll be happy to give you as many babies as you want.” Jake could never be replaced, but they had enough love for each other to share with another child, maybe even a few. She closed her eyes, a smile touching her lips. “Three would be fine by me.” “Three.” Surprise sounded in his voice, but then a smile spread across his face. “We’ll be mighty busy, Mrs. Smith.” “Only if you stop talking, Mr. Smith, and put that equipment of yours to proper use.” “Are you talking about my cameras or is this a pick up line?” he teased. “A proposition, Mr. Smith. Most definitely a proposition.” “Well, how can I refuse such a beautiful woman’s offer?” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and trailed caresses down her neck. “Have I told you how much I love you?” “Not in the last few seconds.” “I love you, Mrs. Smith,” he exclaimed. “Always and forever.”
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The Garden Swing Erin E.M. Hatton
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Author Information
Erin E.M. Hatton is a writer from Ontario, Canada with a passion for history and fantasy–particularly Celtic. Her first short story, Where the Sea Meets Skye, is included in Blue Moon Magic. Erin makes her home with her husband, one son, and three daughters—two of them twins. A life-long love of writing has finally taken off–if only during children's nap times. Counterpoint appears in Romance Upon a Midnight Clear and The Farmer's Son is in the Regency anthology, A Dance of Manners. Erin also has a short story available as an e-book— Firstfoot.
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Chapter One “Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Campbell?” Tess removed the elderly lady’s tray from the table. “Are you comfortable?” “Yes, dear,” Mrs. Campbell answered in her fragile voice, “and I told you before, it’s Emmeline.” She folded her hands over her middle and sat in as dignified a fashion as she could manage, bedridden and ancient. Tess perched on the edge of a wing-back chair. “Do you suppose you might want to share another story, Emmeline?” The lady’s watery eyes lit with delight. “Well, what shall I tell you . . .? I’ve already told you about my husband and family–my romance was such a tale.” Tess agreed wholeheartedly. She loved Emmeline’s stories–the woman had a rare gift for relaying everyday occurrences as though they were fairy tales. Even the stories of her everyday life sounded exotic to Tess, since Emmeline remembered the early days before computers and television, even when cars were first introduced. Emmeline helped her to consider her life and all the things she took for granted. “You know, I don’t believe I’ve told you about my parents before, have I?” Emmeline asked. Tess shook her head. “No, you haven’t. I would like to hear, though.” Tess leaned forward in anticipation.
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“Theirs was quite a romance–even more interesting than mine.” Emmeline gave a conspiratorial wink. “But very sad.” Her eyes turned away, focused on some distant thing. Usually she was animated when she spoke, and Tess began to worry. “Are you all right, Mrs. Campbell?” she asked, half-rising from her chair. “Just fine, dear,” she said, coming to herself abruptly, “and it’s Emmeline.” She settled herself more comfortably and began. “My father came over from Scotland with his sister when he was sixteen, come to seek his fortune. He worked on a farm and eventually bought his own farm with his toil. He built a fine house on the land–such a beautiful house with a tower room–that was mine–and an orchard and an old oak tree with a swing. You’ve never seen such a swing before! Father made it from an old chair he’d bought at a market. Its legs had broken off, so he drilled holes in the arms and hung it from the tree. He told me later that he’d put it there in hopes he’d have someone to push in the swing . . .” Emmeline looked about the room, as though she’d forgotten where she was. “What was I talking about? Oh, yes. Father. Before long he was the most prosperous farmer in the county. He had a great mind for business, and an even better sense of living things. But for all of that, he was lonely. He had come to the age of thirty with everything he could have wanted except a wife. “Then my mother came into his life. She came from nowhere–no one in the town could figure out how she’d arrived, but there she was. She was strange, and not a great housekeeper, but she was beautiful–in fact, she looked a lot like you. I had a picture here somewhere . . . now where did it go?” She poked around the knickknacks littering her nightstand, but came up empty handed. “Oh, well. It’s probably in a drawer somewhere, or got knocked down behind the furniture. The cleaning staff.” She shrugged and rolled her eyes. Tess smiled in commiseration. “Anyway, as I was saying, Mother was quite a beauty. And my father was quick to snap her up. They had a short courtship and it 129
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was clear they were very much in love. And then my mother disappeared, and it broke Father’s heart. For three days he searched for her, and for three more he lived as a man with no hope. Then, on the seventh day, he looked out in the yard, and there she was, sitting in the swing he’d made out of that old chair. “They married that very day–too much in love to wait any longer. I was a honeymoon baby, born ten months later. Father told me that Mother loved me so much she was willing to trade herself for me, for she died giving me birth. Father mourned her all his life–he never married again. But he was the best father a girl could have.” Again, Emmeline’s eyes grew distant, and clouded over with tears. “I’ll see him again soon, I suppose,” she murmured. “I’ll meet her.” “Oh, Mrs. Campbell.” Tess rose from her chair. “I’ll have no such talk from you!” She plumped Emmeline’s pillow once more before she left. “We expect you to be around here for a good while longer.” “We’ll see, child,” the old woman said with a wistful smile, “and it’s Emmeline.” **** When Tess returned to work after two days off, she found the lively old woman’s room empty and the bed stripped. It took a few moments for her to realize Emmeline’s prediction had come true. Much too soon, as far as Tess was concerned. Yet, based on the stories Emmeline had told her of her hundred years on earth, she’d lived a good life. A man came into the room. Tess recognized him from one of the photos Emmeline had shown her when they first met. One of the woman’s grandsons! Yet the man was old enough to be Tess’ father, if not her grandfather. He looked a little pale—quite normal under the circumstances. “Tess?” he asked tentatively. “I’m sorry. Grandma never told me your last name.” 130
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“Yes, I’m Tess.” She pointed to the nametag on her uniform. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Your grandmother was a delightful woman. How can I help you? Is there something missing from your grandmother’s things?” “Oh, no.” He smiled. “We got it all. No, actually, I have a message for you. It seems Grandma left something for you in her will.” “Really?” Though flattering, it wasn’t the first time. A few others she’d looked after had left her small tokens–a figurine, an old clock. “She left you her house.” “She what?” Tess dropped into a chair. “Why would she do that? Doesn’t the family . . .?” “No . . . no. No need to fret about that. Grandmother left plenty for all of us, and to tell you the truth, none of us really need, or want, the house. I’m afraid it needs a fair bit of work but it’s yours to do with as you choose.” The man seemed relieved to have the house off his hands. “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Tess stammered, flabbergasted. “Thank you.” “No problem at all,” the man said. “Grandmother thought a lot of you. She mentioned you to us often. I’ll have her lawyer draw up the papers for you.”
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Chapter Two Tess stood looking at her new home, the old Campbell place everything Emmeline had described, and more. A picture of yesteryear charm with its clapboard siding, gingerbread, and a turret gracing the left side. Both stories had wraparound porches and Tess couldn’t see a straight wall along any side of the building–there were so many nooks and crannies. It was a fairy tale house. Her fairy tale house. Emmeline’s grandson had described it accurately. It did need a lot of work. The windows looked to be original, the roof needed new shingles and every wood surface required fresh paint. The porch had a slight sag, and one side of the house was almost completely engulfed by wild grape vines. Beneath the rambling tangle lay what looked to be a once-cultivated orchard now gone savage, its orderly aisles choked with weeds and brush. On a lazy Saturday afternoon, thought of the amount of work to be done was staggering. But still, the house called to Tess with a wistful, lonely voice. Once it had been beautiful and could be again. It was the kind of house she had dreamed of owning one day. She recalled her childhood drawings with a little smile. The castle-like house, she as its princess with Prince Charming by her side. Things hadn’t quite turned out that way. She skirted the porch and walked the ancient garden paths that had nearly vanished. Someone must have really cared for this garden once. Among the weeds, she caught glimpses of roses and delphiniums, columbines and peonies. 132
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Before she’d finished walking around, Tess had made her decision. She could no more sell this place than give away her most treasured heirlooms. Somehow, through Emmeline’s stories, this place had become a part of her and it was all she had left of that remarkable woman who’d forever left her mark on Tess’ life. She rounded the corner of the house, and in the setting sun she saw the outline of an old oak tree, entwined with wild grapes. The tight network of vines formed a private canopy that hung to the ground, but a gap in the foliage revealed a spacious inner sanctum. A flash of sunlight exposed the gleam of dark polished wood. Curious, she approached. Inside the vine canopy, the air was still. Moss covered the ground here, all starred with tiny white flowers. Hanging from a thick branch of the oak was what had captured her attention–the fantastic swing Emmeline had described to her. It was interesting–a bulky oaken chair, fashioned like a throne, every inch covered with carvings. Looking closer, Tess was struck by the intricacy of the work– delicate interlacing of Celtic tracery depicting animals, people, and plants. The second thing that amazed her was how shiny and clean the polished wood appeared; even in the dimness of the secret place, it contrasted with the weathered and greyed ropes holding the swing. She walked to the swing, curious by how it seemed to beckon her. How long had it been since she’d pointed her toes up to the sky and flown? She tugged the thick ropes for strength and gingerly sat on the swing. The ropes creaked with long disuse, but held, and Tess let her shoes drop on the ground and began pumping her legs forward and back. Despite its apparent bulk, the swing moved easily. Three passes and it was moving at the full extent of its arc. After three more Tess dropped her head back, enjoying the intoxicating rush of childhood play and the flash of the setting sun as she passed through its beam. On the seventh pass, the world turned upside down. 133
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Spinning . . . spinning. Tess couldn’t stop herself as she passed through a whirling, roaring kaleidoscope of red light. Had the swing broken? As she spun through space, Tess barely had time to chide herself for trusting a one-hundred-year-old rope before she landed on her back with a heavy thud, knocking the wind out of her. Time and space stood still, ability to think temporarily gone. As she came back to herself, she checked her body for injuries. She could move, no sharp pains to indicate broken bones and except for a few bruises, felt quite intact. She rose to her feet slowly and looked around, grateful to find herself alone. “Thank God no one saw me!” Rubbing her backside, she turned her back on the swing and headed back to the house. Funny. In the twilight, it didn’t look like it needed as much paint. For now, though, she just needed to sit and collect her thoughts. What in the world had just happened? She climbed the steps, expecting them to creak with age and disuse, but they didn’t. Hmm, the porch seems steadier than I originally thought it would be. She reached the door and pulled out the key the attorney had given her, but found it was an old skeleton lock. Obviously this key opened another door–maybe around the back. Just in case, she tried the door and found it unlocked. She stopped just inside the door and moved her hand over the wall, feeling for the light switch. Finding none, she eased forward and bumped into a piece of furniture. Having had the foresight to expect the power to be off, she’d brought a flashlight with her. She pulled it out of her handbag and switched it on. Her eyes widened. “What?” she asked aloud, in both shock and surprise. “They must be crazy! Why would they leave all this stuff?” She stepped further in to the front hall, between a mahogany mirrored hat stand and stately grandfather clock. The 134
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adjoining parlour and dining room were fully furnished with priceless antiques, all in perfect condition. “Maybe Emmeline’s family are better off than they let on,” Tess mused, touching a barrister’s bookshelf crammed with books. Her footsteps were muffled on a beautiful tapestried carpet. Overhead a crystal chandelier caught the last of the sun’s rays and scattered it around the room. “But why would they give everything to me? And why did Emmeline even want to?” She shook her head, feeling a little silly for talking aloud to herself. A tour of the first floor, through parlour, dining room, study, and kitchen, revealed each room stuffed full of antique furnishings. Even the kitchen cupboards were filled with dishes and utensils, all old and unspeakably valuable. She was just heading up the kitchen stairwell–there was also a grand split staircase in the front hall–when she heard a sound coming from the direction of the garden. Someone whistling. Tess froze as the sound grew nearer. She switched off her flashlight, tucked it in her pocket and crept back down the stairs, her mind on items in the cupboard she could use as a weapon. A cast-iron frying pan sat beside the woodstove. That will have to do. She wrapped her hands around the handle and brandished it over her shoulder, baseball bat-style and waited behind the door. A figure on the other side was silhouetted against the glass of the sidelight. She held her breath, feeling all the world like a character in a B-class horror movie as the metal door knob rattled before the door began opening. Probably some young kid wanting to trash the old vacant Campbell house. No way would she allow that. Since it was now dark, neither Tess nor the intruder could see each other well. The darkness seemed to amplify the sound of their breathing. Terrified, she saw her chance and took it, swinging the frying pan with all her might toward the shadowed head in the dark. A hand caught hers mid-motion and the frying pan clattered to the floor. Tess screamed–a full-bodied, thoroughly unfeminine 135
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scream. Some B-movie actress she’d make. The man whirled her around and knocked her flat on her back against the table. One arm pinned her down across her belly while he fumbled with something. In a panic, Tess redoubled her efforts to free herself. “Be still, ye wee hooligan!” the man ordered, pushing harder on her belly. Breathing became difficult and she quit struggling. A match flared with a hiss, and the candles in the chandelier above the table lit. Tess flinched against the sudden light and shrank back from the stranger’s regard, then noticed he appeared confused. “You’re not but a lass!” He drew back as though burned. “What did you expect?” she asked, standing with hands on her hips, hoping to intimidate him. The stranger was at least six feet tall and proportionate in build, dressed in what appeared to be well-worn farm clothing. Jet black hair and neatly trimmed beard were glossy in the candlelight, his cheeks ruddy and eyes narrow and dark. “I expected my house to be empty,” he said in a low voice touched with amusement. “How did you come to be here, and dressed in a boy’s smallclothes?” He took in her appearance from head to toe in a way that made Tess want to cover up although she was modestly dressed in a t-shirt and Bermuda shorts. “Wait a minute.” Suddenly feeling dizzy, she placed a hand to her brow. “Your house? The attorney said it’s mine. I have the deed in my car. I think—” “Car?” he asked quizzically, eyes widening. “You have an automobile?” “Yeah.” Baffled by the odd question, she stared at him. “You must have seen it out front.” What kind of idiot was this guy? He certainly didn’t seem like a typical thief, not that she’d met any before now. Apart from his gentle air, he was very handsome. 136
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“No.” He shook his head slowly, looking at her as though she were crazy. “There’s nothing outside.” “What?” She raced to the door. The man followed her with a candle from the kitchen, and in the wavering light she could see the garden fence, and beyond it an empty lane. “It’s gone!” she whispered, shocked. “Someone stole my car!” The man looked surprised, too, and a little angry. “Who would do such a thing? Thievin’ from a poor lass.” “I’m not poor,” she snapped. “You’re wearing no shoes,” he pointed out flatly. She looked down at her feet and found them bare. “Well, I was,” she said. “I left them under the swing.” She shoved open the door and raced to the oak tree to search the ground. No shoes. She lifted her eyes to gaze at the swing. It was very much intact, still tied to the tree limb with new ropes, gleaming in the candle’s light. The grape vines. When I walked here before, I had to sweep away grape vines. “That’s impossible!” she cried, backing out of the tree’s shadow. “What, you cannot find them either?” he asked. “You must have seen them.” She rounded on him. “It had to be you who fixed the swing. It wasn’t like this when I was here just a short time ago. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but—” “Fixed it?” He raised one eyebrow. “It’s brand new.” “Just what are you trying to pull on me, buddy? Who the heck are you?” 137
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“I’m not trying to pull anything on you. I’m Hugh MacAllister, and this is my house.” The impossibilities of the evening stacked up into a teetering pile, and in true B-movie fashion, Tess fainted. **** “Are you certain she’s not a whore, Hugh?” a male voice broke into Tess’ consciousness. “She’s wearin’ a fair lot of cosmetics and very little else.” “Hush, Rabbie!” ordered a woman. “Nay.” Hugh’s voice sounded pensive. “I think not. She’s not like that.” “Known many whores, have you?” the first man said with a snort. “You know I have not.” Hugh nearly growled the words, then his voice softened. “There’s something about her that does not quite fit with our world. She’s fair strange, but I think she’s lost.” Tess came fully alert in someone’s arms and wriggled free. “What happened?” Not feeling entirely steady, Tess grabbed hold of the nearest thing, Hugh’s arm. “Easy, lass!” He caught her by the arms and led her to a bench on the porch. “You’ve just fainted.” “I should say so! This is supposed to be my house, but you say it’s yours.” She pointed a finger at Mr. MacAllister. “Now my car, and my shoes, are gone, so I have no way to get home. Something very odd is going on here, and I feel like the brunt of some sick joke.” “I have no idea of any sickness, nor any joke yet, but I can attest this is my house. As to getting home, that is clearly out of the question in the dark. You’ll have to stay the night. My sister, Jean, 138
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and her husband Rab will have you, of course, so you needn’t worry about your reputation.” For the first time she noticed the other people on the porch. A young woman, who bore a strong resemblance to the man speaking to her and another man who seemed to be her husband, judging by the protective arm around her. He raised a lantern to illuminate the whole ridiculous scene. She looked the woman over again, taking in the neck to toes Victorian-looking costume, with its cotton floral blouse and narrow wool skirt, complete with an oblong brooch at her throat. Her shining dark hair was done up in a perfect pompadour on the top of her head. And she wasn’t the only one wearing significantly unusual clothing. The men all wore old-fashioned collared shirts, trousers, and suspenders. There was something decidedly dreamlike about the whole scene. If it was a dream what could she do but go along with it? “I wouldn’t want to be a burden.” She looked plaintively in Jean’s direction. “Och, I’d never have it said I turned a soul away.” “Just till the morning, then. Thank you.” “We’d better take you home. I’m sure you’ll be wanting your rest after your . . . ordeal. Goodnight, Hugh.” Jean leaned up for a kiss on the cheek from her tall brother. Rab and Jean led Tess through the garden and along a tree-lined lane that dipped into a dark valley. The couple seemed full of questions for ‘the stranger,’ but tactfully restrained themselves. Before long, the lane led to a welcoming farmhouse. This home, like the old Campbell house, seemed far too new to be a century home. Upon entering, Tess discovered it was also full of antiques. Jean took her to the spare bedroom, a quaint wallpapered little space with an overstuffed bed and angled ceilings. As Jean filled a 139
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basin with a pitcher full of water, Tess peered out a window that faced the Campbell house. Candlelight flickered in an upstairs window. Is Hugh there, watching me? Despite the unreal circumstances of their meeting, she was drawn to him. If this was a dream, she’d be thinking about him all through the next day as she did her rounds at work. “I’ve brought a nightgown for you,” said Jean, interrupting her musings, She handed Tess a long cotton garment, trimmed with Battenburg lace at the neck and a towel. “The outhouse is just through the kitchen, if you should need it. And Miss Murphy—” “Tess, please.” “Tess,” Jean smiled shyly, “I hope you find your way.” “Thanks. Good night.” Jean carefully closed the door, and Tess turned back to the window. Find her way? Her way where? She was beginning to accept that the house on the next hill was not hers at all but the home of Hugh MacAllister. Where did that leave her? She climbed into the feather bed, sliding between clean sheets and inhaling unfamiliar smells. Thoughts whirled in her head that, no matter how hard she tried, wouldn’t conform into any logical pattern. “An outhouse? It must be a dream,” she murmured to herself before she slept.
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Chapter Three She awoke to sunlight streaming into the room and stared up at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented. Yesterday’s strange events began falling into place when Jean peeked into the room. “Good morning,” said Tess. “What time is it?” “Time? About nine o’clock.” Jean looked puzzled. “We thought it better to let you sleep after your ordeal.” “Nine?” Tess cried, frantic. “My shift starts at seven. They expected me at work two hours ago!” “Work? Where?” “At the nursing home,” Tess said impatiently. “Please, where are my clothes?” The woman stared at her dumbly, mouthing the words ‘nursing home’ in confusion. Tess snorted in disgust and went to the window. The Campbell house stood proud and tall on the next hill. At least she wasn’t far from where she’d started. “Hugh thinks you might be lost,” the woman said softly. “Maybe we could help if you tell us where you came from.” Tess started to say that she came from here, when she realized that here wasn’t exactly the same place she thought it was. She had thought, had hoped, she was dreaming. That she would awaken in her apartment and have a good laugh, along with a wistful sigh that Hugh MacAllister was only a figment of her fatigued brain. 141
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This situation could all be a hoax, but if it were, someone had gone to tremendous lengths to convince her otherwise. As she looked at Jean, at her earnest eyes, somehow she knew all of it was very real. Tears sprung to her eyes. “Och, pet,” the woman, embracing her. “Don’t fret. You’re safe here with us. We’ll help you find your way home. You can stay with us as long as you like.” “Where is Hugh?” Tess asked, longing for something even a little familiar. “He’s at church with Rab, my husband–it’s Sabbath, did you not know? My Rab is the minister.” “May we go, to find them?” Tess wiped away her tears. She needed some purpose, some sense of normalcy in this crazy world, and Hugh, as the first person she’d met since everything had changed, felt like the closest link to the life she knew. “Not like that, you can’t!” Jean said with a laugh. “Let me fetch you some things and see what I can do.” **** An hour later, they stood outside the church as the congregation let out. Tess felt breathless in Jean’s clothes–perhaps because she was squeezed to death in the woman’s extra corset. Even more so, because she just might possibly be trapped in the past with nothing but strange people and strange customs. She caught sight of Hugh coming out of the church, looking dashing in a brown three-piece suit and hat, and suddenly she relaxed. In this strange world, even a stranger could be comforting. He saw her in the same instant, and heat warmed her face at the transformation on his face. She needn’t wonder what he thought of her in Jean’s blouse and skirt, with her brown curls piled high on her head and topped with a broad-brimmed hat. She’d seen herself 142
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in the mirror, had marvelled at her own transformation–the elegant, tiny-waisted column of womanhood she had become. Hugh’s long stride ate up the distance between them, and soon he stood before Tess with his hat in his hands. “You look lovely.” His eyes held hers. “Thank you.” She couldn’t resist lowering her eyes coquettishly. “Will you take a walk with me?” he asked her, then glanced at his sister. “We won’t be gone long.” He clearly wasn’t asking permission, for he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm and left his sister standing speechless behind them. He took her to the stream that ran past the mill–it was still there in Tess’ time, though bordered by paved streets, not little trails like the one she and Hugh were walking on. People strolled on both sides of the stream–obviously a favourite place to spend Sunday afternoons. Hugh remained quiet, and Tess welcomed the time to think. Somehow, and she had absolutely no idea how, she’d tumbled into the past. Despite the impossibility, this notion was becoming increasingly more obvious. From what she remembered from history classes, she thought it to be about the turn of the 20th century, but wouldn’t swear to that. Asking what year they were walking around in was out so she settled for the next best thing. “You come from Scotland?” Tess asked the silent man beside her. He looked at her, startled, and grunted in assent. “When did you emigrate?” “Oh, I came in ’91, when I was but sixteen. I had nothing then.” “Well, you’ve certainly made something for yourself since.” Tess said, taking in his attire, and knowing the size and content of his home. Mentally she was calculating–he looked about thirty now, so that would make the present year around 1905. That is, if this wasn’t a dream. That remained a distinct possibility. In fact, 143
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something about the whole situation bore a niggling familiarity to Tess–though she couldn’t quite place what it was. “I suppose I have. But in all of that, I never thought to see myself taking a stroll with a woman whose name I didn’t even know,” Hugh mused as if to himself. “Might I have the pleasure of your name, that is, if you remember it yourself?” Tess laughed at the mirth in his eyes. “Odessa Murphy,” she said with a little curtsey, feeling very much the lady in her oldfashioned costume. “But most people call me Tess, for short.” “You’ll find I’m not most people. I shall call you Odessa–a lovelier name I’ve never heard.” He took her hand and brushed the knuckles with his lips, looking up at her from under his dark brows. Tess felt her insides squirm and looked away. This time there was nothing coquettish about it. She needed to look away or be swallowed by him. “How is it that such a charming man has not married by now?” she asked, then instantly regretted her forwardness. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have asked. It really is none of my business.” “No, it’s fine. ’Tis no great secret I’ve been lonely a long time. I suppose in the earlier years I pursued my career too closely to notice the lasses. By the time I started looking, most of them were spoken for. There are few women in the county to begin with. A good many weren’t suitable for me, and the majority found me unsuitable.” “You, unsuitable? Why would they think that?” Hugh laughed. “If I could plumb the depths of the female mind, do you not think I’d tell the world?” “I’m female and I think you’re perfectly suitable,” Tess said, then blushed. There I go again, never could keep my mouth shut. “Though I suppose I’m one of the unsuitable girls.” 144
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“Oh, no,” he said, quite seriously, then paused mid-stride. “I think you quite the lady.” “Really?” she whispered, entranced by the look in his eye. When another couple walked by, the spell broke. “Oh, aye. You’re quite unlike any woman I’ve ever met.” He stopped again and took both her hands. “I don’t know where you came from, Odessa, and I hope you find your way back if that’s what you want. But I can’t let you go without saying I hope you’ll stay a while–that I might have the chance to know you better.” Tess was stunned speechless. No man had ever shown so much interest in her before. Especially one of Hugh’s calibre. “Is that . . . an invitation?” “I suppose it is. Jean will house you, if you’re concerned with propriety.” He cleared his throat as a wave of crimson spread up his neck. “I guess I could stay,” she said softly, hardly daring to believe the possibilities. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” **** Tess woke up to Hugh’s voice in the hall downstairs. She could no more stop her instant smile than she could stop the sun from rising over the eastern horizon. “You’re abroad early, for a Saturday,” Jean said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Aye,” Hugh answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve done the milking a little early today. Is Odessa about?” “I’ll be down in a minute!” Tess called, and madly cast about her room for her clothes. She dressed quickly, tossing her hair up and 145
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pinning it, and pinching colour into her cheeks like she’d seen in the movies. She looked like a stranger. She looked beautiful. She couldn’t wait to see Hugh. Over the past six days she’d enjoyed every moment of his company. Of course, in the daytime she missed him, settling for Jean’s companionship instead. She loved that, too–the smell of the bread baking in the oven, long talks over the laundry tub, the mending and the cooking–all the things she’d taken for granted. She was almost beginning to forget how she had come here, and where she belonged. Though exhausted at the end of the day, the thought of Hugh’s homecoming cheered her. Each day he showed her a new simple wonder of his world and every evening he came for dinner, greeting her with all the enthusiasm she felt in return. On Monday, he’d taken her around his farm, showing her the vast fields of corn and barley and the barns with their livestock. Tuesday, he taught her to ride a horse and praised her quick learning. On Wednesday, he brought her with him when he helped with a calving and she’d looked on in awe. On Thursday, they’d driven into town in his wagon to buy material for her own clothes, which she had accepted only as a necessity. On Friday, they’d stayed with Jean and Rab, gathering around the piano to sing together. Today he had come in the morning, and she wondered what surprise he had for her. “Good morning, Odessa,” he said from the base of the stairs as she descended. “Good morning,” she said breathlessly. He had cleaned up after milking, and was dressed in a fine suit. “Am I underdressed?” “You look beautiful.” He kissed her hand, and Tess saw Jean lift one eyebrow behind him. He held out a bouquet of flowers to her– she recognized the roses and columbines from his own garden— and offered her his arm. “Would you do me the honour of sharing breakfast with me?” 146
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He took her to his home and laid out the picnic on the hill overlooking the village. The dawn light made the view even more spectacular, like a painting from one of the tourist shops in Tess’ time. The reminder of the future was unwelcome, and Tess banished it from her mind with a glance at Hugh’s handsome face. He smiled at her regard, and looked down at his lap. “There’s something I’d like to ask you,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes. “And I’m afraid it may be too soon for you. But it’s not too soon for me to know my own mind, and I’m more afraid to lose you.” He looked up at her then, the longing in his eyes melting her. “Odessa, I’ve come to care for you a great deal. I’m asking for your hand in marriage.” The air in her lungs stopped moving. The corset felt unbearably tight. Marriage? But she knew this couldn’t last, right? Didn’t she have to go back? Suddenly, faced with the prospect of a dream come true, she wasn’t sure. To let go of all she had ever known frightened the daylights out of her. “Hugh,” she began, wincing at his expression of dismay. “I’ve come to care for you, too. This is so new, so sudden. Could I have time to think this over?” “Of course, Odessa.” His eyes shuttered and without another word, he entered the house and shut the door. Tess walked aimlessly around the beautiful garden, her mind reeling. She’d discovered a wonderful man she had grown to love. How could she have doubts? How could she even consider giving up the opportunity for a life with him? After all, she didn’t even know if she could go back, even if she wanted to. And, in truth, she didn’t want to. But what about her job? She had responsibilities, she would be missed. She didn’t belong here. Heck, what happened when Hugh found out the truth about her? Would he still love her, or commit her to the nearest insane asylum? And in the present day and age, sanctity of marriage was much more permanent than in her time. 147
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There would be no backing out once she made her choice, be it leave or stay. She rounded the corner of the house, and before her stood the oak, with the swing that had brought her here in the first place. She stared at the swing, fixed to the spot, and recalled Hugh’s words. “Fixed it? It’s brand new!” And Emmeline’s ancient voice saying, “Father made it out of an old chair he’d bought at a market.” Suddenly the swing became more than a whimsical thing. Suddenly the handsome man who happened to live in her house a hundred years ago was more than just a man, and the old woman who’d told entertaining stories more than just an old woman. And the mother who’d disappeared, died in childbirth . . . Tess stumbled and reeled, feeling the ground tilt beneath her. It’s me! I’m Emmeline’s mother! Dead. Dead in ten months if she married Hugh now. The swing hung before her, the only still point in a world gone haywire. She had her answer. Tess grabbed for the swing’s rope and threw herself into the seat, pumping with all her might. This time when the world dissolved, she was prepared, and woke on the other side, sobbing.
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Chapter Four For the remainder of Saturday, Tess sat in the swing until sunset. On Sunday, she called work and apologized for her absence, explaining she had needed some emergency time off. After that, she drove into town and slept all day in her neglected apartment. The following weekdays she went to work, ate little, and slept. Her patients told her how they’d missed her, tried to engage her in the small talk she’d once enjoyed. Tess kept finding herself glancing at Emmeline’s room, now occupied by someone else. Nothing was the same now. It never could be. Tess had lost whatever future she would have known, for there would never be another man for her besides Hugh, and now her daughter would never be born. On Saturday, her boss sent her home early, fearing she was sick. Not knowing what else to do, Tess went to the Campbell house. This time she went inside, stepping over a gaping hole in the porch, travelling creaking floorboards, touching peeling wallpaper and electrical switches. The rooms were empty and dusty, the stairs keeling to one side. She went up the stairs carefully, guided by an internal compass around the railing to the tower room— Emmeline’s room. Papered in flowering vines and birds, Tess imagined a canopied white iron bed sitting in the corner. On the window seat sat an old cigar box stuffed with so many papers it didn’t fully close. Tess held back a moment, then opened the lid. A photograph, seamed and dog-eared, fluttered out. A little girl, not more than one year old with glossy dark curls smiled at the photographer. Her round, innocent face with irrepressible dimples reminded Tess of her own baby pictures. Emmeline. The next picture showed her a few years older, with slender arms wrapped around Hugh’s neck. Tess almost dropped the photo, seeing his 149
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face there, but forced herself to look. He was older, with greying hair and crows’ feet around his eyes and a bittersweet air of loss in his face. Yet, clearly he loved Emmeline, and she him. She began to think about her reasons for leaving. To save her life? What kind of life was she living now? A half-life, a shadow. Had she left to save Hugh pain? She recalled Emmeline’s story of her parents. It had seemed a fairy tale, as distant from her as the moon from the earth. Now it touched her intimately, and she rehearsed each word with exquisite pain. For three days he searched. For three days he lived as a man with no hope . . . She swiped away tears and picked up the next paper in the box–a marriage certificate, signed by her own hand–Odessa Murphy, alongside Hugh’s bold scrawl. The next was a birth certificate, in Hugh’s hand–Emmeline Odessa MacAllister, born 29th May, 1906. The next photo stole her breath. Her own eyes stared back at her, beneath a white wedding veil. She stood erect and beautiful, her hands resting on the back of Hugh’s chair. He looked happy, as happy as she had ever seen him in the week they’d spent together. Did he know then that he was about to lose that happiness forever? Tess held the picture of Emmeline alongside her wedding photo. Could she deny that little girl a life, the full, happy life a dear old lady had told so many stories about? Did she have the right to inflict her death upon Hugh? Did she have the right to rob him of happiness? Had she already robbed him irrevocably by leaving him? Could she undo it, and did she want to? On the seventh day, he looked out into the yard . . . She glanced back down at the photo, at the eyes of the man she loved. What price could she put on her love? Could she give her life? Without a doubt, she knew she could. With firm decision, she threw aside the photos and pelted down the stairs. The swing stirred slightly in the wind as she wrenched aside the trailing vines. Tears blurred her view of the ancient wooden chair as she grasped hold of the rope. The swing seemed immobile as 150
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the world wheeled back and forth beneath it. She could hardly wait, and each pass seemed to take longer and longer, until finally it happened, and this time, she held on. Tess sat crumpled in the swing, fingers white from clenching. For a moment, the only sound was the wind in the tree and birdsong. Then she heard the creak and slam of a door, the pelting of boots on the gravel walk, and a voice saying her name. “Odessa! Odessa!” Hugh called, running to her. His hands were on her, lifting her out of the swing and into his arms. “Odessa!” Tess couldn’t answer, just clung to him, inhaling the smell of hay and sweat. He knelt down and looked into her eyes. “I won’t ask you where you’ve gone, nor why, but I must know why you’ve come back. If ye can’t love me, then leave me now. But if you do . . .” His eyes were wild and fervent, his dark hair falling forward over his brow. “I do love you, Hugh,” she cried, finding her voice at last. “I’ll always love you.” Then remembered pain flashed through her and she faced the hardest words. “There’s something I have to tell you.” “You’re married?” he asked, his face turning white. “No! No.” She laid a finger on his lips. “Don’t ask me how I know this, please don’t. But if you knew that you could only have me for ten months and then lose me forever, would you still take me?” “Are you dying, Odessa?” he asked, taking her face in both hands. “Not yet, but I will.” Hugh looked at her, astonished, then in awe as he realized she spoke the truth. “It’s a hard thing,” he said, biting his lip, “and I know now why you left.” 151
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“Do you want me to . . .?” “Never!” he said vehemently, clasping her tightly. “Never again, until death pries you from my arms.” He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply. “Marry me. Marry me tonight.” **** Later that night they lay together in their marriage bed, Tess’ borrowed wedding dress draped over the footboard. Hugh propped himself up on his elbow, staring at her until she giggled in embarrassment. “Aren’t you going to sleep?” she asked, pushing him over. “Never.” He traced the line of her arm with his fingertip. “I want to remember everything.” That sobered her, and she kissed him. “Then I guess I can give you some company,” she said softly, rolling into his arms. “Kiss me again, Hugh, and don’t stop.” As she revelled in his marital embrace, she thought about the choice she’d made, for better or for worse, until death. She’d thought ten months would be worth giving up her life. She’d been wrong. A single night in Hugh’s arms was worth eternity without him. Any more after tonight were a fringe benefit. **** Tess’ first thought when she beheld the tiny, thrashing infant placed in her arms was that her eyes had never changed, from birth to death–they were Emmeline’s eyes as Tess had once known them. The second thought, as weakness turned her limbs to lead, was that she had so little time. “Jean,”—she grabbed her sister-in-law’s arm—“get Hugh.” 152
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“He’s on his way,” Jean replied cheerfully as she cleaned up the linens. “Jean, I’m dying,” she said softly, tears springing to her eyes. Jean looked at her for a moment, and clucked her tongue. “Nonsense. They say women always think they’re dying when they’re giving birth.” “I am,” Tess insisted. “Take care of my baby. Help Hugh, please. He’ll be so alone.” Hugh burst through the door, a look of hopeless worry on his face. “Odessa, my love,” he whispered, and came to her side. Jean stole from the room, puzzlement and concern on her face. Tess turned to Hugh and laid the baby in his arms. “Are you all right? Maybe you were wrong,” he said, looking from the tiny, squawking infant, then back to her. She shook her head sadly, lethargy stealing over her. Hugh saw it, and his eyes filled with stricken tears. She blessed him for his bravery. Knowing that this day was coming did nothing to alleviate the pain of it, but it did make the time they spent together that much more precious. “I’ll do right by her, I promise,” he said, holding the baby close. He took Tess’ hand tight in his. “Do you want me to name her for you?” Tess shook her head and closed her eyes against the swimming black spots that drowned her vision. Belatedly, the midwife noticed her bleeding with an incoherent cry and rushed to help. Tess paid her no heed, intent on sharing her last precious seconds with her family. “Her name is Emmeline,” she murmured, resting her forehead against Hugh’s thigh. “Tell her I’ll see her the second time around.”
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Epilogue The old woman laid her head against the glass, admiring her latest great-grandchild. Next to his bassinette, a wee girl wrapped in a pink blanket was squalling and pawing the air. The nurse picked her up and the sound of her cry, muffled by the glass, became louder. “I suppose Jennifer is fine,” said a woman nearby as the nurse placed the wailing infant in her arms. “I just like old-fashioned, unusual names better. There will be so many Jennifer’s her age.” “Odessa is a nice name,” said the old woman without taking her eyes from her great-grandson. The couple looked up, startled. “Odessa,” repeated the mother slowly. “Actually, I like it a lot.” The father nodded in assent. “It was my mother’s name,” said the old woman, “and is my middle name. It means ‘traveller’.” The old woman turned and laid a brief, light hand on the baby’s head. “This one has far to go, I think,” she said simply, and turned back to her great-grandson.
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Only And Always You Gerri Bowen
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Author Information Gerri Bowen loves to read and loves to write. She lives happily in Pennsylvania with her family. In addition to Only and Always You Gerri has stories in the following Highland Press anthologies: Blue Moon Enchantment, Christmas Wishes, Love Under the Mistletoe, Recipe for Love and A Dance of Manners. Gerri also has a single author anthology of all of her works – On the Wild Side If you enjoy her stories, she would like to hear from you at
[email protected].
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Chapter One Harry gazed around the ballroom, seeking his hosts, the Earl and Countess of Spode. Time to extend his appreciation for their invitation and bid his farewell. He’d reached his limit for socializing. At least Spode’s ballroom was fitted with a wall of doors that opened to the garden. A man could escape through those doors from time to time to suck in fresh air. One had to be careful, though, lest some young thing trailed after one with the ignoble intention of becoming his viscountess by arranging to be caught in a compromising position. Harry Wilkerson, Viscount Seton, was careful. He’d avoided all traps set for him by marriageminded misses and their formidable mothers for sixteen years. At age thirty-four, he wasn’t about to be caught. Not now, when the last of his sisters was to be launched, and hopefully soon married. Then he could retire from society. His gaze fell on a woman across the room and his heart skipped a beat, but she disappeared before he could determine if . . . No, Claire was in India. Although people did return home from there. What if it was Claire? He had nothing to say to her. Harry studied the women on the far side of the room. Claire’s red hair was distinctive, but he saw no red-headed woman. Just as well. Although it might be amusing to hear her excuses and justifications. Yes, and then he’d grant her an icy smile before turning and walking away. That would show her how little— “Harry! Bloody Viscount Seton!” Harry turned. “Ardmoor.” He inclined his head toward Ardmoor’s peg leg. “Nice bow.” 157
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Ardmoor picked up his leg to look. “Bloody hell! Forgot my niece decorated it for me.” Harry frowned. “Yes, sisters and nieces do the strangest things. Never understood them.” “Ha! You bloody well never will. Hear your youngest sister gets launched next week.” Harry nodded. “Finally. Been making the rounds to ensure Felicity’s ball will be well attended. Be relieved when it’s over and I can retire to Seton Hall. Hate these events.” “Your mother . . .?” Harry sighed and shifted on his feet. “Claims she’s too weak to go out. She’s not. It’s her way to get me out in society where she hopes I’ll find someone, wed and produce an heir.” He stiffened when he saw Claire. It was her! What the devil was she doing in London? Had she and her little weasel of a husband returned from India? “Shall I introduce you?” Harry whipped his head around. “Introduce me?” “To Lady Claire. She was the one you were bloody well gawking at, was she not?” “By Jupiter, no!” Harry cleared his throat. “That is, I’m well acquainted with Claire. Her. Lady Claire. Not that well acquainted!” he snapped upon sight of Ardmoor’s raised brows. “She married my mother’s godson and they went to India. Ten years ago.” “She’s just returned,” Ardmoor said. “My sister Maddie had her to dinner before tonight’s ball. Lovely woman.” “I wasn’t aware the countess and Lady Claire were acquainted.” 158
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“When Maddie made her debut, she said Claire was kind to her, since they both have red hair. They’ve corresponded for years, apparently. Maddie urged her to return when she learned she was a widow.” Harry looked back at Claire. “She’s a widow?” No doubt on the prowl for another title. “How unfortunate.” Ardmoor snorted. “It bloody well isn’t. The man was infamous. His luck ran out with his last duel. He left behind a mountain of debts and notes, but many relieved husbands.” “It surprises me to hear Lady Claire would confess such things at the dinner table.” Doubtless she counted on gaining everyone’s sympathy. Little does she realize . . . “Ha! To listen to her, her days in India were bloody idyllic. No, talk’s been trickling back from India for years about Stauton-West. If you ever conversed with anyone when you went to your clubs, you’d have known this.” Harry pursed his lips. “The adage, ‘Marry in haste, repent in leisure’, appears to apply in her case.” “Wed Stauton-West suddenly, did she?” “Three weeks by special license.” “Someone was in a hurry, weren’t they?”
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Chapter Two “Really, Claire! You can’t hide behind the potted plants all evening!” Claire smoothed her gown. “I’m not hiding, Maddie. I found a spot with a breeze and I’m claiming it for my own. Why should I hide?” “To avoid Viscount Seton? Ardmoor said he saw you scurry away when Seton was announced. And watched as you fled from plant to plant to avoid coming face to face with the man.” Claire raised her chin. “I have no wish to see him. In truth, he’s the last man, the only man I have no wish to see or to speak to.” Claire turned from Maddie’s knowing eyes. “Ever.” “He never wed, you know.” Claire lifted a shoulder. “Duty to family came first ten years ago, so I expect it still does.” “He never misses a session of parliament.” “Laudable.” “I hear his mother is frantic for him to wed and produce an heir.” Lord, is that battle-axe still alive? “I’m sure there are more than enough women willing to oblige her.” Until they meet his mother. They’d have to be desperate to endure that dragon.
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“Indeed there are. But Seton rarely shows himself during the season. When he does he never smiles, let alone indicate a preference for any one woman. You can set your watch to the two hours he allows himself before correctly taking his leave.” Maddie leaned forward and laughed. “He’s known as Ice Water Seton amongst the ton.” Claire frowned. He’d certainly changed from the laughing, amiable young man who broke her heart. **** “Zounds, Maddie!” Spode said. “Are you and your brother plotting to bring Seton and Lady Claire together?” Ardmoor watched his sister blush before she raised her chin and faced her husband. “We are. It was obvious to us they still have feelings for one another.” “Because she hid herself from his view and he departed before he might have to face her?” Spode asked. “You will cease such facetiousness at once, if you please!” Ardmoor saw Spode’s smile widen as the man rocked on his heels. “Actually, my love, if you and Ardmoor succeed with this latest endeavor, I think it would be the saving of Seton. He acts like a man twice his age. Lady Claire might have more years to her than a man seeking a wife would like, but she would rescue him from himself. What can I do to help your efforts?” “Oh, Robert!” Ardmoor snorted when Maddie launched herself into her husband’s waiting arms. **** “Harry! The Countess of Spode has invited me to tea this afternoon!” 161
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Harry looked up from his plate and swallowed. His sister sounded inordinately pleased. “No doubt because I attended their ball last evening.” The image of Claire intruded and the movement of fork to mouth halted. Her image had intruded into his thoughts all bloody night long. He pushed thoughts of Claire from his mind. The widow Claire. His sister gave a tiny squeal and smiled whilst waving her letter. “She says you and I are invited to join them in a picnic of a small, select group of friends!” Harry grunted and faced his breakfast plate. “I’m sure you will enjoy yourself.” “You’re not going?” “Too busy.” “You don’t even know when . . .” Harry put down his fork and arched his brow. “I do not attend picnics. They’re silly. A waste of time.” His arched brow fell when his sister’s eyes fill with tears. “What? I didn’t say you couldn’t attend, only that I’m not attending.” “You are Ice Water Seton!”
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Chapter Three “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Claire,” Lady Felicity said. “I’m so very interested in India. I hear so many stories, and I can’t credit they’re all true, but I do so hope they are! If I were a man, I’d travel to India. Actually, I’d travel all over the world if I were a man, and not just India. Visiting only one country seems too restrictive, don’t you agree?” Claire kept her smile in place and nodded at Lady Felicity, before turning to give Maddie a surreptitious glare. Why had Maddie invited Harry’s sister to their private tea? Maddie returned her glare with a sunny smile. “Since I am not a man, I shall,” Lady Felicity continued, “before I marry, make sure my future husband is inclined to travel and having adventures. That way . . .” Claire covered her mouth. Apparently her snort was louder than intended. “Pardon me.” Lady Felicity gave her a large, conspiratorial smile and continued talking. Claire listened, charmed by the young girl’s innocent candor and untarnished dreams and desires. Her hair was blonde, lighter than her brother’s. They both had the same clear blue eyes. Claire wondered if she and Harry had married and had children, would they have had her red hair and brown eyes? Or would they favor Harry? Possibly a mix of the two?
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“Actually,” Maddie said to Felicity, “wagers were made that Lady Claire and Seton would wed before the season was over.” Claire started. When had the conversation changed? Lady Felicity was looking at her in wonderment. “Oh, why didn’t you marry him!” Felicity cried. “I remember when he used to laugh and joke and be . . . well, be a rather wonderful brother, warm and good-natured. Now he counts the hours until he can return to Seton Hall. He sees no one, does nothing. He is Ice Water Seton!” Felicity turned to Maddie. “Do you know what he said to me when I told him about the picnic invitation?” He sees no one, does nothing. What made Harry change? Has he found duty too exacting a love? Well, that had been his choice when he rejected her. Still, Claire wasn’t comfortable in hearing about Harry’s slow but steady decline into curmudgeon-hood. “So he’ll attend?” Maddie asked. Felicity nodded. “He looked so confused by my tears, and my reference to his being Ice Water Seton completely flummoxed him. He stared at me briefly, as if I were some strange new plant he’d stumbled upon and then assured me he would attend.” Felicity turned to Claire. “I know this is an improper question, but I must know. May I ask why you and my brother never wed? Was your late husband the better man?” Claire flicked a look at Maddie before she spoke. “Your brother told me his duty to family and title precluded marriage between us. Although I was born a member of the gentry, my birth was deemed too low to form a connection with your family. I was informed I was unsuitable because of my Irish grandparents. ” “Oh.” Claire rose. “I must be off. It was good to meet you, Lady Felicity, and I wish you well this season. A word of warning, if I may. Don’t rush into a betrothal or allow yourself to be pushed to a hasty 164
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decision. Wait at least six months to fully know your future husband. I know this goes against all we’re told, but men can be devious, presenting only their good façade whilst hiding their true natures. I’m sure he will, but have your brother carefully check their finances. Some men seek only the financial rewards marriage can bring, pretending affection that isn’t present at all. Your brother will understand.”
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Chapter Four Harry looked up when his sister presented herself before his desk, her hands on her hips. “The tea didn’t go well?” “How could you!” He sighed. It appeared they were now going to play the guessing game that females loved to win. He really would be relieved when the last of his sisters was out of the house. “How could I do what?” “Tell Lady Claire her family wasn’t good enough for you!” Harry shot up, sending his papers flying across his desk. “Where did you see that woman?” “At the—” “She told you I said she wasn’t good enough?” He laughed shortly. “Just like her to twist my words. I told her that duty to family was of paramount importance, and I didn’t expect to wed anytime soon. I told her she should put herself forward if she hoped to contract a suitable marriage.” He glared at his sister. “Close your mouth.” “You told her—” “Before you chastise me further, may I ask if she told you she wed within three weeks of our conversation?” Harry nodded at her shocked expression. “That tells you how much affection she held for me. Mother was right, Claire was only interested in my title. Little did Claire know, but I was prepared to offer for her. Mother 166
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urged me to wait and see if Claire’s affection would hold true. It didn’t.” Harry arched a brow. “The subject is closed.” Claire drew her brows together. “She told me to wait for at least six months before I agreed to a betrothal.” Harry snorted. “’Marry in haste, repent at leisure’.” “She also said to make sure you carefully check my future husband’s finances, because some men marry for financial reward rather than affection. She said you would know all about that.” Harry leaned across his desk until Felicity stepped back. “On that she is correct. I know exactly how to protect you, just as I have all your other sisters. The subject, as I said before, is closed.” Felicity looked down. “I think it sad she was married for her dowry. I like her. Even if she did marry the first man to ask her because you told her she wasn’t good enough.” Harry walked around his desk and grasped his sister by her arm, escorting her to the door. “She had no dowry to speak of, so she’s lying about that. Like her if you choose, just don’t mention her to me. And I never said she wasn’t good enough.” He closed the door behind her. “Why did you object to her grandparents?” Harry flung open the door. “What grandparents?” “Her Irish grandparents.” Harry slammed and locked the door. **** Ardmoor and Spode alighted from the carriage, continuing their conversation.
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“Maddie reminded me Seton’s mother didn’t like the idea of Lady Claire becoming Seton’s wife all those years ago. Could possibly kick up a fuss this time around,” Spode said. “Ah,” Ardmoor said. “If Seton didn’t pay Stauton-West’s debts, do you suppose it was Seton’s mother? Stauton-West was the mother’s godson, according to Seton.” “A bribe? She’ll pay his debts if he marries the girl and keeps her away from her son?” “Exactly. Except I don’t understand why Lady Claire accepted Stauton-West’s suit so bloody quick if she was supposed to be in love with Seton.” “Maddie explained it to me.” After stating their wish to see Seton, Spode hurriedly explained. “Good sign he agreed to see us,” Spode told Ardmoor as they were shown to Seton’s study. “He’s never home to anyone. The luck of our Wild blood is with us.” Ardmoor grunted. “Why doesn’t he visit his bloody clubs like other men? Damned preposterous to pretend we’ve run into him in his own home.” **** Harry sat at his desk, neatening his papers, the image of Claire intruding. Why return into his life now? Couldn’t she have waited another month or so until Felicity was married off? Then he’d be away at Seton Hall, far from her distracting presence. He sat back. Wait six months before agreeing to wed? If people waited that long to know one another, no one would ever agree to wed anyone. Silly notion.
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Had she really wed the first man to ask because he spurned her? Or was his mother correct that Claire had only been interested in a title? And why, in God’s name, had she accepted Stauton-West? It was a slap in his face when he heard she wed the knave. A wastrel, rake, and gamester. What had her father been about to grant his permission? Ah, but her parents had been called out of the country and she’d been staying with her aunt and uncle. Harry drummed his fingers on his desk. Claire’s dowry had been less than modest. Stauton-West was always in debt. Yet they had sailed to India. Had Stauton-West left his debts behind? Is that why they departed so quickly? He decided his preoccupation with Claire was the reason he unaccountably agreed to see his visitors.
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Chapter Five Harry sat in his box at the theater and stared across the distance into Spode’s box. Claire was amongst the Spodes and their friends. Appeared to be having a fine time, what with everyone laughing. Harry ignored Felicity’s excited chatter beside him. He wished she would keep quiet, but allowed that as she didn’t require answers to her questions, he’d let her ramble. Claire thought he paid Stauton-West to marry her? What nonsense. She’d hidden behind potted plants to avoid him? How ridiculous. Just like a woman to hide and avoid the issue. Why hadn’t she accused him outright? It really was utter nonsense. What could possibly be so amusing that had everyone in Spode’s box laughing? At intermission, Harry turned to his sister and asked if she would care to join him in visiting. “Close your mouth,” he snapped. **** Claire saw Maddie nudge her husband the same time silence descended in their box. It lasted but a moment until everyone rushed to speak. During intermission, many had stopped by to visit with the Spodes and their guests, and renew their acquaintance with her. So whoever made an appearance, and Claire was turning to see who they might be, it must be short of astounding to cause such a reaction. Bits of conversation drifted to her, and her stomach clenched whilst heat and cold raced up and down her torso.
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It couldn’t be! Maddie and Spode swore Harry never attended the theater. But there he was, standing in the doorway, looking at her. Cold air swirled up her nose and she was struck by the sudden fear she might cast up her accounts. Still, she couldn’t help but note how well Harry looked. Ten years older, but as handsome as ever. Voices came to her from a distance, which was odd. Then Harry charged toward her. What was he about, making a scene? This would be the grand topic around the breakfast tables in London tomorrow morning. “Let me get her out to the corridor!” she heard him say. “Take your hands off her!” Claire wondered who he was speaking to, and why was his face so red? “Come with me, Lady Claire,” he said. “You need fresher air.” Claire agreed. Her knees were wobbly and her head couldn’t decide whether to throb or spin. “The dragon won’t like this,” she said, the comforting sensation of his one arm around her waist forcing her eyes closed. She gripped his other arm to keep from falling. “Dragon?” She opened her eyes upon hearing her name called, and felt the rush of cooler air on her face. She blinked in the near darkness. “Where am I?” “Someone’s carriage,” Harry replied, chafing her hands. “How do you feel?” “What?” She pulled her hands from his. She could see the vague outline of his form but not his face. “Whose carriage?” “I don’t know. Wickerdun’s or his brother. They’d just arrived when I carried you out.” “Carried . . .” Claire shoved Harry back and leaned toward the open door. She saw Spode, the earl of Wickerdun and his brother standing outside. She looked back at Harry. “Why did you carry me out here?” 171
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“You fainted,” he replied, sounding rather put out. “I never faint,” she snapped. “You said something about dragons, and then you fainted.” Claire sat back and rubbed her temples. “I never faint.” She looked in his direction when she heard him sigh. “I’m fine now.” She gathered up her skirt and moved to the door. “We need to talk before returning.” She paused and looked at Harry. She wished she could see his expression. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about.” “We do,” he said as he reached over and closed the door. Before her words of outrage were uttered, the door was opened. Spode waggled his finger at Harry. “Close the door and you’ll ruin Lady Claire’s reputation.” “Then step away so we can speak privately,” Harry snapped. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Claire said. “Will you help me descend, Lord Spode?” She pinched her lips together when Spode looked toward Harry and said, “We’ll give you three minutes.” Claire turned to glare at Harry, but with the darkness, she knew her glare went unnoticed. “What is it you wish to talk about?” “What the devil do you mean by telling people I paid Stauton-West to marry you?” “Didn’t you?” She heard the sound of, she thought, fist hitting door. “No! How could you believe such a thing of me?” 172
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“Because Phillip told me he was paid handsomely to woo me, wed me, and take me out of the country.” “And you believed him?” Claire cast her gaze to the carriage roof. “Yes. Why should I doubt him?” “Because the man always lied! He didn’t know how to tell the truth! He was a thief, a rake, a gamester. The man was no good!” “Yes, I know.” Another fist-hitting-door sound. “Then why did you marry him?” “Well, obviously I didn’t know all that before I married him. As you say, he was a liar, a very good liar. He persuaded me I was the love of his life. Said I was the most beautiful, wonderful girl he ever met, and never knew such happiness as he felt when in my presence, ad nauseam.” “And you believed him?” Claire quelled the urge to strike her fist against Harry. “As I said, he was persuasive. As soon as we sailed, he reverted to his true character. I was stuck in bed with the Mal de Mere, and I admit, not feeling kindly toward anyone, especially Phillip, after learning his surprise marriage gift was a voyage to India. Phillip said he understood why you would pay to have me away from you.” “I didn’t, I swear to you. Although I may be many things, I don’t believe I’m capable of behaving that despicably.” She’d never wanted to believe Harry had paid Phillip to marry her. It gave her a small measure of pleasure to know he hadn’t. Which meant if it wasn’t Harry, then it was his mother. The dragon. “I believe you. Now may we return before we cause another scene?” **** 173
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Harry arrived at the park before dawn, his horse ready to run. He scanned the area looking for Claire. He’d been told she still rode early in the morning. Although Harry rode daily, he was a solitary rider. Never this area where he would meet others and have to talk. “Where the devil is she?” he muttered. Up half the night thinking about her. Remembering how she felt in his arms, the floral scent she still favored . . . whatever it was, he never remembered whether it was rose or lilac. Lavender? A trace of which lingered on his coat. With the silent acknowledgement he’d lost his mind, Harry had held his coat to his nose whilst trying to sleep, inhaling the last whiffs of the flowery smell. Of Claire. Whilst sniffing, he decided it prudent to make sure she believed he hadn’t paid the little weasel to marry her. Then, too, it would be wise to make sure she hadn’t suffered any ill effects from her faint. Did she faint often? She said not, but had she contracted some disease whilst in India? Damn Stauton-West for exposing her to an unhealthy climate! Claire had red hair and the fair complexion to match. Her skin burned quickly in the sun, and as he recalled, too much heat made her ill. That’s why she liked the north. Loved Northumberland and its coast, Harry had been thrilled to hear, since his primary home was there. She enjoyed the country, just as he did. One of the many things they had in common. To be honest, he and Claire had shared many interests, held similar views on most things, and had always laughed at the same thing. “By Jupiter!” he said aloud. Spode told him yesterday, to his intense displeasure, that he, Harry, hadn’t laughed in years. Harry quickly disabused him of such a nonsensical opinion. Spode also said he was turning into an old man. Harry hadn’t shown him the door, they were old friends after all, but Harry let it be known he didn’t appreciate such wayward levity at his expense. Felicity had called him Ice Water Seton. Spode and Ardmoor mentioned that as well. 174
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“By Jupiter!” he repeated. “I am turning into an old man.”
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Chapter Six Claire turned her horse around to watch Harry ride away. Out of her life. Her gaze fell appreciatively on his broad back, admiringly on his seat, and approvingly on his muscular legs. The man was uncommonly handsome. She didn’t believe Harry knew how handsome he was. Harry would never use his handsome looks to lure a woman to him. She sighed. He probably knew how attractive his smile was, though, because he kept flashing his heart-skipping smile at her whilst all were gathered. His wit had surprised some in her group, judging from remarks made when he rode away. Spode said that was how Harry used to be. That was how Claire remembered him. Why had he come? He’d asked if she was recovered from her indisposition of last evening. When she replied she was in the pink of health, he stared at her for a moment before giving her a smile and saying he was delighted by such good news. He then turned his charm on the rest of the riders. Whenever he turned to her to speak, Claire had turned away. He ceased trying to converse with her. Why had he come? It would be so easy to open her heart to him again. And so very foolish. **** Harry bounded up the steps upon his return from his clubs. Four hours before the Hobbs’s recital. Spode said Claire would be attending. He stopped before Johnson, wondering why the butler was looking at him so strangely. “Ah! I was whistling, wasn’t I?” “Yes, my lord.” 176
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Harry cocked his head. “I haven’t whistled in a donkey’s age, have I, Johnson?” “No, my lord.” Harry whistled a short tune, and then laughed. “I’d forgotten how good it feels to whistle.” “Yes, my lord.” “Harry? Is that you, Harry? I told Johnson I wanted to see you immediately upon your arrival!” Harry looked up to see his mother at the top of the stairs. He sighed. “My lord, your mother . . .” “I heard, Johnson. I heard.” **** “. . . and after that, Lady Forbes said she heard talk you and that woman were alone in the carriage for most of the night! Then you were seen riding with her this morning. I won’t have it, Harry! That woman is out to get you, just like…” “Mother, Lady Claire is not out to get me. As usual, your friends have the facts all wrong.” “But everyone, absolutely everyone, is talking about the interest you’re showing in that woman.” Harry smiled. “I advise you to become inured of the talk, Mother, for I intend to pay particular attention to Lady Claire.” “She’s out for your title! Money!”
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Harry threw back his head and laughed. “She turned down an offer of marriage to an Italian count after she was widowed. As for money, when she arrived in London she learned she’d inherited a substantial amount from a grandparent.” “Her Irish grandparent.” Harry clenched his jaw. “I don’t see that it matters whether the grandparent was Irish or English. No, Mother, she is not out for my title or money.” “Pretty lies she tells. And you are foolish to believe her, Harry!” “No, Mother, my information came from visiting my clubs and talking to people. In truth, she behaves as if she abhors my very sight.” “An act. She’s out to get you!” Harry smiled as he thought of this morning. He’d stopped and turned to look, to catch another glimpse of Claire. She’d been staring after him. Caught in the act, she’d turned and galloped in the other direction, to catch up with her companions. After pretending a disinterest in him, Claire had been staring after him! “No, mother, she’s not out to get me. I’m out to get her.” **** Claire studied the programme and smiled when she saw Lady Emily, the earl of Spode’s sister, was scheduled to play. Oooh, she was going to play a selection from Beethoven’s Piano Sonata #14! She wished it was the entire— The heat of his body hit her the instant his scent reached her nose. Claire turned to face Harry and called herself all kinds of fool when her stomach quivered at the sight of his smile. “Good evening, Lady Claire.” 178
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It was difficult not to return his smile, but she succeeded. “You’re sitting in my cousin’s chair.” “Your cousin was happy to relinquish her chair to me. See, she’s smiling. I think she likes me.” Claire looked where Harry pointed and saw Ellen smiling widely. No doubt her cousin thought she’d done Claire a good turn. She’d have to have a talk with Ellen. “I like your feather,” Harry drawled. Claire pinched her lips together, but it was no use. His expression made her laugh out loud. “Ah, I made you laugh. Do you recall how we used to try to get the other to laugh first?” Claire nodded, still smiling. “Want to wear my feather?” “It might clash with my clothes.” “No, feathers work well with black. We could stick it down your cravat, behind your head.” When he shook his head she tapped him with her rolled up programme. “Imagine how regal you’d look each time you turned or inclined your head. A big, fluffy feather to accompany your every nod and command. You’d be known as Viscount Fluffy-Head.” His bark of laughter drew all eyes to them. She and Harry leaned forward toward one another and laughed. Claire laughed until she had to wipe her eyes, and looked at Harry. His expression drained the levity from her. “Claire, can we . . .?” “Ah, the music is about to begin,” she said and whipped out her fan, keeping her eyes to the front. **** 179
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Harry didn’t attend to the music. He was happy. Claire was back in his life and . . . When had he realized he still loved her? He thought back over the last two days, and decided it didn’t matter. He loved her. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he didn’t think he was, she still felt something for him. Hopefully it was love. She was skittish around him, but he had rejected her all those years ago; he could appreciate her reluctance to trust. He understood, once Spode explained what his wife explained to him. Claire had been so hurt by his rejection, her sense of worth nil, that she accepted the first man to look upon her with approval. Having four sisters who cried when one looked at them ‘funny,’ Harry was acquainted with the female need for approval. It was just a matter of time before he convinced her he cared for her and wanted her as his wife. **** Why was he displaying such attention? She couldn’t credit . . . no, couldn’t allow herself to believe his singular interest pointed toward marriage. Claire had forgotten his presence briefly, whilst Lady Emily played the pianoforte, but now the music was over. The time had come for her to face Harry and tell him she didn’t want his consideration. “Shall we have some refreshment?” he asked. Claire nodded. This was going to be difficult. She’d never noticed how the sound of his voice flowed over her body like a caress. Had it always done? He handed her a glass of lemonade. “May I escort you to the Spode picnic?” Claire studied her glass. “I’m attending with my cousin.” “I shall escort you both. She likes me, remember?”
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Claire smiled. He always made her smile. Well, not always. “I don’t believe it wise for you to continue paying attention to me.” She looked up when he didn’t reply. He wore a slight frown. “If you tell me you have absolutely no feeling for me, that you loathe the very sight of me, I shall oblige you and never trouble you again.” The blasted man! “I . . .” “But you must look me in the eye and tell me you loathe me. Can you do that, Claire?” Claire shook her head. “It isn’t about how I feel. It’s about—” “Oh, but it is all about how you feel,” he said. “This isn’t an idle flirtation, Claire. I’m pursuing you. I want to marry you, if you’ll have me. Something I should have done ten years ago.” Claire wrapped his words carefully around her heart. She would treasure them always. She shook her head and stepped back, before she did something impulsive, like accept his proposal. “Your mother dislikes me.” She raised her chin when he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “You make it seem trivial, and it’s not! Your mother would make our lives miserable if we wed. Such animosity can wreak havoc in a marriage. I won’t have it. If I ever marry again, I intend to be as happy and content as possible.” “Mother will come around. I’ll talk to her.” “No, Harry, she won’t come around. To force the issue will only alienate everyone involved.” “Has she ever said anything to you?” Claire forced a smile and sipped her lemonade before she spoke. If she told him the truth he might do something rash, and she didn’t want to cause a division in his family. “Some things need not be said aloud.” 181
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“I refuse to believe this can’t be resolved. By Jupiter, I do this in committees all the time! So, may I escort you and your cousin to the picnic?” **** Claire wasn’t surprised when Lady Seton was announced the next day. Her aunt and cousin received the news with twitters and nervous smoothing of hair, caps and gowns. “I believe it would be best if I saw Lady Seton alone.” “Oh, but Claire,” her aunt said, “how would it look if—” “This isn’t a social call, aunt. The woman is coming here to warn me away from her son.” Her aunt and cousin exchanged a look between them. “Then we shall remain and support you.” “Please, I prefer to face her alone. There are things I wish to say, and if you and Ellen are present, I wouldn’t be comfortable expressing myself.” **** Harry was shocked yet pleased to learn his mother was paying a call on Claire. He said as much to Claire’s aunt and cousin. The way they looked at one another caused prickles of alarm to run down his spine. “Is there something I should know?” After more looks passing between them, the aunt gestured up the stairs. “My daughter and I were forced to remove ourselves from the vicinity. Perhaps it is best if you take your mother home, Lord Seton.” Prickles of alarm turned to dread. Harry took the steps two at a time, and followed the sounds of dissension. He stood outside the door and listened. 182
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**** “. . . pray, do not force me—” “You, Lady Seton, are the one who is no lady. You, my lady, are no better than a bawd!” “How dare—” “You admitted you paid your godson to wed me. What do you think that makes you?” “He made you a lady! I helped you, you ungrateful chit! I gave him funds to ensure the two of you would live comfortably for—” “Phillip gambled away your money before we arrived in India. Were you so naïve you thought a gamester might actually save his money and not gamble it away?” Lady Seton looked down her nose at Claire. “A proper wife would have known how—” “Rubbish! The man was an out-and-out rotter! When he wasn’t seducing anything in skirts, he was gambling with their husbands.” Lady Seton gave an icy smile. “If a man strays, it’s because of his wife.” “You are correct, Lady Seton, on that score. I banned Phillip from my bed when we sailed from London.” Claire leaned close and winked. “And don’t you know,” she said in an Irish accent, “he never bothered me once he saw my skain. I always keep it close,” she said as she slapped her leg. Lady Seton stood. “That confirms what I’ve always known. You’d murder us all in our sleep! Just wait until Harry hears about this!” Claire rose as well. “Yes, do tell him. Heaven knows I tried last evening.” 183
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**** Harry turned when he concluded his mother was taking her leave, and saw the cousin and aunt behind him, their faces grim. “Don’t tell her I was here, please,” he said before making his way out. Having his carriage moved so his mother wouldn’t see, Harry sat back, still reeling from what he’d heard. Good God, his own mother had maneuvered it all, had paid to have Claire wed to another man. Not just any other man, but Stauton-West! He gave orders to follow his mother’s carriage and was relieved she returned home instead of visiting. He didn’t think he could contain himself for much longer. As it was, what he had to say wouldn’t take very long.
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Chapter Seven “I’m sorry,” Claire said to her aunt and cousin. “I assure you, she won’t be returning.” Heavens, all she wanted to do was fall on her bed and cry. There was no telling what Lady Seton would tell Harry, but certainly nothing good. “That reminds me. When Lord Seton arrives, extend my apologies, but I couldn’t possibly go to the picnic today.” Guilt pricked her when Ellen’s face fell. “Oh, Ellen, you were so looking forward to attending! I’ll—” “No,” Ellen said. “There will be other picnics.” Claire frowned at the look passed between mother and daughter. “What is it?” “Lord Seton was here earlier,” her aunt said. “He stood outside the door and listened.” Claire closed her eyes. “Did he hear me call her a poisonedtongued harpy?” “I’m not sure,” her aunt replied. “I believe he began listening when you called her a bawd,” Ellen said. Claire opened her eyes. Really, what did it matter? Hadn’t she told him it would never work between them? Now he’d understand. She should be relieved he’d heard. Why then, did it feel like her heart was breaking all over again? “Oh? And did he have any comment?” Her aunt shook her head. “Said not to tell you he was here.” “I thought he meant his mother,” Ellen said. 185
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“It doesn’t matter,” Claire said. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire to my room.” She turned, then stopped. “Oh, bother! I need to send a note to the countess and excuse our absence.” **** Claire waited for the tears to come. Nothing. Just the image of Harry. She thought she’d been careful in guarding her heart, but apparently not. Had some part of her actually believed she and Harry would marry? How pathetic she was. Hadn’t she learned ten years ago it was not meant to be? A knock at her door interrupted her musings. “A note from Viscount Seton,” Ellen said, handing her the missive. Claire tore the seal and quickly scanned the contents. Her heart shuddered. “He begs our forgiveness. He won’t be able to escort us to the picnic after all, but hopes we enjoy ourselves. He says an important matter has arisen that must be attended to immediately.” “Oh, Claire . . .” Claire could feel the tears coming. “I’d rather be alone, Ellen, if you don’t mind.” She shut the door in her cousin’s face. **** “Claire,” her aunt said through the door, “I strongly urge you to see him. He’s most insistent.” Claire sniffed and covered her face with her arm. “I’m in no condition to see anyone. Tell him to come tomorrow afternoon. I plan to leave in the morning.” “Claire,” Ellen said, “We really think you should see him. It’s not at all what you believed. He wants to see you, to . . . oof!” 186
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Claire raised her arm from her face. “He wants to what?” “Just come out and you’ll see.” “I am in no condition to see anyone.” Judging by the way her eyes only opened part way, they were swollen. She knew her face must be red and splotchy. It would take hours for her to look normal. “Now, Claire,” her uncle’s voice came from behind the door, “it isn’t polite to keep your fi . . . oof!” Claire looked to the door. Someone’s elbow was busy. “I’m not receiving. My eyes are nearly swollen shut. I’m sure I look diseased.” Hearing everyone depart, Claire rose from her bed and looked at her reflection. Worse than she expected. On the bright side, she’d had a wonderful cry and felt the better for it. Or did this sudden lightness of spirit spring from the fact her aunt, uncle and cousin were so insistent she talk to Harry? They wouldn’t insist unless they knew she would want to hear what he had to say. She held a cold, wet cloth across her eyes. Perhaps she’d been too precipitant in sending Harry away. Claire tore the cloth from her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror. She was doing it again. After her confrontation with Lady Seton, how could she allow herself to believe in what could never be? **** At Claire’s aunt’s suggestion, Harry returned at nine that evening. He hadn’t understood why Claire wouldn’t see him, until her cousin said she’d been crying. His experience with four sisters, and the aftermath of their tears, cleared the situation. He hoped she would consider herself presentable. He was anxious to get this settled.
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Upon seeing Claire’s expression when announced, it was evident she didn’t expect him. He was at her side before her relatives left the room and holding her hands in his when the door was partially closed. “Before you answer me,” Harry said, “I should tell you I’ve sent Mother away. She won’t be returning.” He smiled at her shocked expression. “Did you think there would be no consequences when I discovered what she did? What she did to the both of us?” “Oh.” “Are you going to cry?” He looked into her tear-brimmed eyes. “I thought you’d be gladdened by my announcement.” She nodded, tears running down her cheeks. “I am, truly. But she’ll come back. You can’t keep her out of town forever.” Harry snorted. “Better than that. I’m keeping her out of the country. She’s bound for India. Now, will you marry me, Claire?” Harry’s heart turned over at the sight of Claire’s smile. “Oh, Harry!” He kept her from throwing her arms around him. “I take that to mean yes. Before we celebrate, allow me to present you with your choice of ring to announce our engagement. They’re family heirlooms. This I picked for you ten years ago. But I brought these others so you could compare . . .” He turned when her hand touched his cheek, and saw her lips nearing his. “I suppose we could celebrate now.” “Yes, please. I’ve waited so long to feel your lips on mine.” Some minutes later, Harry reluctantly pulled away. It was either that or ravish her here and now. “You will marry me?” he asked as he nibbled her ear. “Soon?” 188
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“Yes. But you must promise to kiss me like this every day.” He chuckled and kissed her hands. “We have years of kissing to catch up on, my love. Days and nights devoted to kissing. That I promise you. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I love you, Claire. I always have. It’s always been you. Only you.” His chest swelled at the sight of her smile. “I love you as well, Harry. Only and always you.”
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Special of the Day
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Author Information Kimberly Ivey is a multi-published author who writes contemporary, historical, and fantasy novels and novellas. She teaches Creative Writing at her local college and makes her home in her native Texas with her husband of 32 years, the youngest of their three children, and several spoiled and demanding pets. Special of the Day is Kimberly’s newest story for Highland Press. Please visit her website at: http://kimberlyivey.tripod.com
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Chapter One Sunny Day descended the steps of the Galveston County Courthouse, and then proceeded to the parking lot, aware that Nick Delatorre wasn’t far behind. In court that morning, Nick claimed his family’s diner, The Greasy Spoon, began losing customers after she opened her new restaurant next door to his at the Strand Street location two months prior. Thankfully, Judge Taylor threw out the ridiculous ‘noncompetition clause’ suit Nick filed. There was no competition between her restaurant and Nick’s, at least not in her mind. Healthy New Day, her vegan bistro, didn’t serve the same fare as Nick’s place. Still, the judge ordered both her and Nick to dine in one another’s restaurant for a week in order to establish mutual respect. She groaned inwardly as she hurried to her car. She’d die— absolutely die—if she was forced to ingest one morsel of The Greasy Spoon’s artery-clogging slop! A shudder raced up her spine as she envisioned pink, peppered pork chops swimming in a congealing pool of greasy yellow gravy. She opened her car door and slid onto the warm, leather seat. One glance into the rear view mirror showed Nick barreling toward her. He motioned for her to roll her driver’s side window down. She shook her head no emphatically and started the engine. After what you put me through in court this morning, Nick Delatorre, I’m not giving you the time of day.
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She sped from the parking lot, leaving a trail of spewed gravel in her wake. **** Ten minutes later, Nick pulled up in front of The Greasy Spoon Diner, located on historical Strand Street in Galveston, Texas. He stared at the building which housed his family’s decades-old legacy, then swiped a weary hand down his face. Hard to imagine that hurricane Ike nearly wiped out the island’s iconic diner. A true miracle the century-old building remained intact after a twelve foot storm surge flooded the first floor. Now the restaurant was up and running at full speed again with shiny new fixtures and furniture, but with much of the same vintage look. A few of the other businesses had also reopened in the neighborhood, but no restaurants other than Sunny Day’s bistro. Although many islanders relocated to the mainland after their homes and businesses were destroyed in the storm, a few regulars remained and faithfully stopped by for lunch every day. But Sunny, his ex-fiancée, had recently returned to the old neighborhood. And now she’d opened a restaurant next door. He swiped a hand down his face. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what had brought her back to the island. He groaned inwardly and shook his head. What had possessed him to file that ridiculous suit against Sunny? Had he truly been worried she’d steal his restaurant’s customers? You did it, Nick, because she hurt you once, the voice inside said. With an exasperated sigh, he shoved open the car door in time to notice Sunny also arriving next door at her restaurant. The leggy blonde exited gracefully from the car, fluffed her magnificent mane of wheat-blonde hair, and shot him an arresting look over lowered sunshades. A pose she’d no doubt learned on the fashion runways in New York. His heart skidded to a stop as memories of another time flooded back. Her appearance hadn’t changed since their senior year at 193
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State U fourteen years ago and memories of their passionate love affair remained fresh in his mind. They’d planned to marry after graduation and return to Galveston. When his father, Jake Delatorre, grew ill during the middle of the semester, he’d left college to return home and manage his family’s diner. Sunny hadn’t understood his decision, but he’d had no other choice. His mother needed him. So did his younger sister, Paloma, barely sixteen at the time. Sunny argued he was throwing away his plans of getting a business degree, as well as their dreams for a secure future together. Nick eventually lost touch with her and didn’t realize she’d returned to the old neighborhood until he saw her moving in. She leased the empty commercial building with the loft apartment next to his diner and opened Healthy New Day. As Sunny turned and sashayed into her upscale restaurant, he watched the enticing sway of her hips beneath her form fitting skirt. Was this seductive display for his benefit? Nick Jr. sprung to life in his pants and nudged insistently at his zipper, reminding him he hadn’t received any special attention in a while. Don’t look, Nick. Why torture yourself? You blew your chances with Sunny fourteen years ago. Damn. He hadn’t meant to alienate her by taking her to court. He’d only wanted her to relocate her business elsewhere and she’d refused. Since her restaurant opened two months ago, The Greasy Spoon had been losing customers in a steady flow. He knew why, too. Shipyard and dock workers who’d once stopped in for a lunch burger and old-fashioned milkshake comprised sixty percent of his clientele. Now it appeared they had eyes for something tastier on their menu—Sunny Day, ex-model and former soap opera diva. Nick shook his head, wondering how different their lives might have turned out if only he’d stayed at the university that semester. Would she have gone to New York anyway and pursued a 194
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modeling and acting career? Or would they have graduated together, married and settled down in their Galveston Island hometown to raise a houseful of kids? He’d never know the answer to that question. Not wanting to relive the past, he shook off the memories and stepped from his car, pausing mid-step. What was that remark she’d made to the judge about his diner’s food being ‘slop’? Funny, but she’d had no problem eating at The Greasy Spoon in high school when they’d stop in for a burger and shake after the Ball High football games. He quickly reminded himself Sunny was a product of New York society now, and that she’d made the big-time by starring in the daytime soap, The Rich and the Ruthless, for two seasons. She probably thought she was better than him. But Nick reminded himself that he, too, had achieved a level of success he never expected. Two years after leaving State U, he enrolled in night classes at the local university and obtained his Master’s degree in business. Afterward he stayed on at the diner because he loved being a part of his family’s business, as well as interacting with customers he’d known all his life. Immersing himself in work also consumed every moment, filling free time that wouldn’t be wasted reminiscing over the only woman he’d ever loved and lost. Over the past few years he’d invested in lucrative commercial properties, both on the island and the mainland. He could have retired four years ago, but he prided himself on managing his family’s restaurant. The Greasy Spoon served generous portions of all-American fare, from platter-sized chicken fried steaks with white cream gravy to tender BBQ ribs, smothered pork chops, and fresh Gulf seafood. His mother’s desserts were touted as the best in Texas. In fact, Mama Delatorre’s Famous Coconut Dream Pie had even garnered a state Blue Ribbon Award twice. And what did Sunny serve at her vegan restaurant? Tasteless tofu paste rolled up in lettuce leaves and a suspicious-looking red drink with green flecks, tagged by locals as a laxative in a glass. His gut 195
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gurgled as he remembered he’d been court-ordered to eat at her restaurant. He made a mental note to buy a bottle of extra strength antacid. He’d started to push open the restaurant’s door when one of his regular lunch customers, a retired, blind Episcopalian priest and his guide dog, Rusty, walked toward him. “Good morning, Father Richardson,” Nick called out and held the door open to allow the man and his Irish Setter entrance. “Good morning, Nick.” Father Richardson moved past. “So how’d you make out in court today, son?” Nick hung his head and followed him inside the restaurant. “Judge Taylor threw the case out.” Father Richardson paused as if in contemplation. “I see.” Then the priest smiled at his own joke. “Figuratively, that is.” He reached down and patted Rusty’s head. “We’ve been hankering for a Beefy Burger, Nick. I promised old Rusty here a side order of homestyle cheese and chili fries. Hold the jalapenos.” “Um, father . . .” Nick hesitated. Feeding animals in the restaurant, even a guide dog, violated health codes. But how did he tell a man of God that he couldn’t feed his companion? As if Father Richardson had read his mind he replied, “I know, Nick. Not supposed to feed the pooch in the restaurant. That’s okay,” he said with a smile. “I’ll take a doggie bag home for Rusty.” Father Richardson made his way over to his regular table and Nick headed to the kitchen. He found his chef, Paco, fast at work, slicing thick onion rings for the batter. Aggie, his top waitress, had a scowl on her face that would sour a pitcher of lemonade. Aggie looked directly at him. “She’s a bitch, Nick! A grade A, super deluxe bitch!” 196
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Nick reeled back. Whoa! Who was Aggie fighting with now? Aggie’s eyes narrowed on him. “When I heard the outcome of your case from Mildred, who found out from Debbie, who found out from Jason what’s-his-name who works in the court clerk’s office, I phoned Sunny Day and gave her a piece of my mind. I told her this war wasn’t over by a long shot and that if she keeps stealing customers from The Greasy Spoon, I’ll personally snatch every blonde hair from her empty little air head!” “I’m guessing that didn’t go over well at all,” he muttered. Aggie put a hand on her hip. “Do you know what she had the audacity to say to me?” “Not a clue.” Paco ceased slicing and looked at Aggie. “She wants to date you?” Aggie glared at him. He smiled and made a motion with his hand toward Nick. “What? She wants to date our boss man?” Their eyes turned on him and Nick’s face warmed. Aggie snorted. “Yeah, right. Like old man Delatorre here would have a chance with an ex-super model.” Old man Delatorre? He wasn’t old at thirty-five. Yet Nick’s sails deflated at her remark. Aggie and Paco didn’t know he’d once dated Sunny, and he sure as hell didn’t intend to tell them now. “Gee, thanks, Aggie. You really know how to boost a guy’s ego.” Aggie continued as if he’d said nothing. “She called us animal murderers because we serve hamburgers and steaks. Said in the next life we’ll pay for killing our furry animal brothers and sisters. Have you ever heard anything so insane?”
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Nick waved it off. Sunny had always been a great animal lover, but he’d read in one of her magazine interviews she’d turned vegan. Paco resumed slicing. “Look at me. I’m killing my vegetable brothers and sisters.” He reached for a freshly washed yam and hacked off one end, then the other. “Silence of the yams!” he cried before breaking into his best Anthony Hopkins impersonation. “I ate my yam with a nice Chianti and green beans.” “That’s fava beans, you moron,” Aggie quipped. “Gawd. Everyone thinks they’re a comedian these days.” To avoid Paco and Aggie’s mindless banter, Nick left the kitchen and returned to the dining area to find Sunny seated at the table adjacent to Father Richardson’s. Well, well, well. Has she come to eat crow? Or perhaps ‘slop’ is more to her taste? He sauntered over to her table. “Getting started with the court decree early, are we?” He pulled a menu from the holder and placed it before her. “Judge Taylor’s orders don’t begin until tomorrow.” She pushed the menu aside. “I don’t need to browse your heartwrenching descriptions of shredded animals, Nick. Just bring me a garden salad. No cheese or croutons or dressing. Oh, and a glass of ice water with two wedges of lemon, please. A sprig of mint, too, if you have it.” “We don’t serve garden salad at The Greasy Spoon, Sunny. And I don’t have a ‘sprig of mint,’ either,” he added, punctuating the phrase. “I have Taco Ranchero salad with fajita meat and pinto beans, a smoked honey-glazed ham and potato salad, a crispy chicken tender salad with or without jalapenos, and a mighty man meat-lover’s salad with pepperoni, ground beef, ham and crumbled bacon. Which will it be?”
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She sighed and drummed her perfectly manicured nails on the polished tabletop. “If you have lettuce and tomato, you can make a garden salad.” “Fresh out of lettuce,” he fibbed. She lifted a finely arched brow. “I saw the produce truck deliver a crate to you at seven this morning.” Aha! So she has been watching me with binoculars from the second floor window of her loft apartment! “Spying on me now, Sunny?” She gasped. “I . . . I saw a crate of lettuce being delivered to this restaurant, Nick Delatorre.” Perhaps she had, but she wasn’t getting any. “What you saw was cabbage.” Her pretty blue eyes narrowed into angry slits. “I’m a restaurateur, Nick. I happen to know lettuce from cabbage.” Yeah, well he knew shit from Shinola, too, and she’d watched him through binoculars this morning! He couldn’t resist. “Sorry, but we ran out of lettuce fifteen minutes ago, angel face. It seems a rabbit colony placed an order for lettuce for their annual company luncheon.” She rose from her chair, eyes flashing in anger, her full glossy lips pursing into a pout. She was so damned sexy when she was mad. He would have loved nothing more at that moment than to pull her into his arms and kiss that scowl off her face. “You don’t intend to make this easy, do you?” He grinned. “Nope.” “Okay, what must I do to get a garden salad around this place?”
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He almost said, “Bring your own lettuce,” but decided that might not go over well. Then off the top of his head he said, “Agree to have dinner with me tonight.” She glared at him as if he’d sprung antlers. “After what you put me through this morning in court, you’re lucky I’m even civil to you.” He winked, gave her his most arresting smile. “Then let me make it up to you. I’ll give you a beefy burger and a side order of onion rings—all on the house.” She snatched up her purse. “I’ll break Judge Taylor’s court order and risk jail time before I will eat one morsel of slop in this socalled restaurant.” Slop? Again with that word! She’d slammed the restaurant in court, too, implying that The Greasy Spoon’s menu was unhealthy. His eyes searched hers, but she gave nothing away. What was Sunny uptight about? What had caused this change in her? Probably the same thing that caused so much tension in his life, he thought as Nick Jr. popped up to pester him again. He’d been too long without sex, and he figured she had too. At least he hoped. The idea of another man touching her sent a pang of jealousy coursing through him. Yep, he figured a vigorous twenty-minute work-out atop his queen-sized mattress would straighten them both out. “Sunny, I assure you my restaurant serves the finest ‘slop’ this side of Galveston Bay. Ask any of my regular clientele. But—” He glanced around. “Oh, there aren’t many of my regulars here. Why, they must be at your restaurant again.” She made a face. “Either you serve me a plain garden salad, Nick, or I’m out of here.” “Fine. I’ll serve you a salad. What do you want in the damned thing? Tomato? Carrots?” His eyes pinned hers. “Maybe a sprig of mint?” 200
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Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips and his knees buckled slightly at the eroticism. Had she done it on purpose, to throw him off guard? “I want a cucumber,” she answered breathily. “A big, long, thick, hard cucumber. Yes, that’s what I want in my salad, Nicky.” Nicky. She called him Nicky? Just like in the old days. He started to speak, but lost his voice. Sweat beaded across his forehead. She wriggled a brow. Wait. Was he imagining this? He clenched his eyes shut and counted to three before opening them again. She smiled. “What’s wrong, Nick? Don’t you wanna put a cucumber in my salad?” The cucumber in his pants jerked to attention at her double entendre. Damn, but it was suddenly warm in the restaurant. He tugged at his shirt collar and mopped a bead of sweat from his brow again. A snicker came from Nick’s left. He looked at Father Richardson, but the priest pretended to be engrossed in the morning newspaper—although the print was upside down. Nick turned back toward Sunny, but she’d started toward the door. His eyes followed the seductive sway of her hips beneath the skirt as those long, shapely legs propelled her into the foyer. Another snicker to his left. Nick sidled over to Father Richardson’s table. “Is something amusing, Father?” “Sounds like she got your goat, son.” Father Richardson was the only person beside immediate family who knew he and Sunny had once dated. “Yeah, I guess she did. Sorry you overheard.”
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The elderly priest took a sip of his iced tea. “Oh, relax, Nick. I didn’t become an Episcopalian priest until I was almost thirty-five years old. And I didn’t marry my beloved Martha—God rest her soul—until I was over forty. But in my youth . . . well, I was a rather wild and crazy young man.” Nick bit back a grin. Right. What did this old guy do in his younger days? Tip over outhouses on Saturday night? Put chewing gum in his teacher’s desk chair? “You, Father? Somehow I can’t imagine you as the town bad boy.” “I was a dashing young man back in the day, I’ll have you know. A real lady killer.” Father Richardson knocked a french- fry onto the floor and Rusty wolfed it down. “Broke girls’ hearts by the dozen, I did. Damned near got shot once, too, by an irate father who was convinced I’d ruined his daughter.” He rubbed his chin contemplatively. “Little gal’s first name was Lucille, although her last name escapes me right now. Whew-wee! What a feisty gal my little red-haired Lucille was.” Father Richardson froze, then cleared his throat as if embarrassed he’d revealed too much. Nick chuckled. He supposed even men of God were still men of the flesh, too. “So what do you suggest I do to win the girl back, Doctor of Love?” “Are you daffy, boy? Ask her on a date.” “I already asked her to have dinner with me. She declined.” “No, no, no. You’re going about this the wrong way. She wants you to chase her. Women like that sort of thing. Makes ‘em feel they’re the ones in control of the relationship.” Nick looked the other way while Father Richardson dumped another fry onto the floor for the dog. “Maybe in the olden days the girls liked playing hard to get. Today it’s called stalking and it’s illegal.”
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Father Richardson wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Sunny turned you down because you heckled her about the salad.” He felt around for the bottle of ketchup, flipped open the top and glopped more onto his plate. “And that remark you made about buying her a burger didn’t go over well, either. She’s vegan. Get over it, Nick. It’s her right to eat whatever she wants—Styrofoam, tinfoil, or dirt.” He capped the ketchup bottle. “What I suggest you do is swallow your pride, phone her and apologize for being a horse’s patootie. Call a truce. Tell her you want to put this whole mess with the lawsuit behind you and make nice. Then ask her out again. I guarantee that admitting you were wrong will work like a charm.” Nick scratched his head. Hell, anything was worth a shot. He looked the other way while Father Richardson pinched off a bite of his burger and slipped it under the table to the dog. He’d just refilled the priest’s tea glass when he was greeted by Ray and Mandy Yarbrough and their four children who’d since come into the restaurant. The children scrambled away toward their favorite booth. “Well, if it isn’t the Yarbrough family. How have you been, Raymond?” he called. “Great,” Raymond Yarbrough answered as he walked over to shake Nick’s hand. “You remember my wife, Mandy.” Mandy smiled and shook his hand quickly. “You’ll have to excuse me. The kids are eating sugar from the packets. Great to see you again, Nick. By the way, I love the renovations. Glad to see your place up and running again.” Nick paused as he watched the couple wrestle away the condiment holder from the giggling children. A tinge of sadness struck his heart. What he wouldn’t give to have a house filled with kids like the Yarbroughs. He sighed in regret and retreated to the back office to phone Sunny. 203
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Chapter Two Sunny slid from her decadent gardenia bubble bath and reached for a thick, fluffy pink towel. Nick Delatorre still wanted her, of that she had no doubt. And he wanted her in a bad way if the bulge in the front of his jeans earlier had been any indicator. He’d phoned after lunch time and asked her on a movie date tonight, stating he wanted to call a truce. Why the sudden change of heart? The question gnawed at her. Did it really matter? This was exactly what she wanted—what she’d come home for in the first place—to attempt a reunion with Nick. Getting rid of her abusive fiancé two years ago had been the best gift she’d ever given herself. Well, that and a year of therapy which followed. Although she realized she hadn’t loved him, she’d been afraid to try her hand at romance again until now. And she wasn’t really angry at Nick for taking her to court to enforce the noncompetition clause in their commercial leases—only a bit annoyed. Besides, how could she stay angry at the only man she’d ever truly loved, especially one with a sexy dimpled grin and soft baby blue eyes that made her feel like a love-struck teenage girl each time she looked at him? She bent forward and towel dried her hair. One thing hadn’t changed between them over the years—the sizzling chemistry between them each time they were together. Never had that been more evident than in the restaurant today. She stood and combed her damp hair back with her fingers. She was dying to satisfy her curiosity. Had he forgiven her for the hateful words she’d flung at him years ago? And was there enough 204
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of a spark left between them to try again? Relax. He wants to take you on a movie date, doesn’t he? A better idea popped into her mind. She’d rent a sexy foreign movie, buy an expensive bottle of red wine, and break out the scented massage oils and candles. What better way to get to know Nick Delatorre all over again than to entertain him in comfortable and private surroundings? The night ahead seemed filled with all sorts of interesting possibilities. She reached for her polka dotted note pad on the counter and jotted down the name of a movie and a few items to pick up, then slipped the pad into her clutch purse, pulled on a strapless sun dress and dashed off to run a few quick errands. **** Nick showered twice that afternoon before his scheduled date with Sunny. He misplaced his car keys, lost the new pair of navy socks he swore he’d laid on the bed. As if that weren’t bad enough, he realized he didn’t have any condoms that were in date. They’d expired a year ago. That fact alone attested to the sad and sorry state of his love life, especially considering the shelf life of condoms was about five years. It had been much longer than that since he’d been intimate with a woman. He stopped off at World Mart and picked up a fresh box of twelve—the dirty dozen as he jokingly called them—only to remember he hadn’t put on deodorant. He picked up a stick of manly smelling stuff—not his regular brand—and applied it in the aisle while an appalled shopper looked on. After paying for his purchases, which included a bouquet of spring flowers from the kiosk near the register, he dashed over to Sunny’s loft apartment. She answered the door wearing nothing but a pale blue satin bathrobe and her award-winning smile. He checked his watch. “Am I early?”
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She reached out, hooked a finger in the waistband of his jeans and yanked him toward her. “You’re right on time, Nicky.” The door clicked shut behind him. He swallowed hard. Uh-oh. She called him Nicky again. “You’re not dressed.” She reached around and flipped the lock on the door. “No, I’m not dressed and with a little luck, Nick, you’ll soon be joining me au naturale.” She dimmed the light switch on the wall, revealing nearly two dozen flickering white candles of all shapes and sizes in the room. Warmth crept over his face and throat when he realized her plans for him. It appeared to have been a good idea to pick up protection. “W-what about our movie date?” he asked. She reached up and popped open the first button on his shirt and her eyes lifted to his. “I rented one. Hope you like your flicks hot and sexy.” He swallowed hard as the next few buttons came open beneath her agile fingers. Oh, yeah. He liked his movies hot all right, but he figured he wouldn’t be engrossed in anything involving a plot line once things progressed with Sunny. “Should we order take out?” “Not to worry,” she said with a smile. “I’ve taken care of everything. I have red wine chilling,” she said as she popped open another button. “I’m baking vegetable lasagna. Is that all right?” “Yep,” he squeaked as her fingertips grazed his chest. She opened his shirt and then licked her lips. His breath caught in his throat as she smoothed her warm palms over his skin and tangled her fingertips in his dark chest hair. “On second thought, we might have to forget dinner, Nicky. You look good enough to eat right now, if I do say so.” 206
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Ordinarily, he might have been flattered, but for some reason her lines sounded rehearsed. He reached up and caught her hands in his. What was she up to? What was the rush? “Sunny, what are you doing?” “Seducing you, Nick Delatorre.” The magic of the moment faded. They weren’t wild and crazy college kids anymore. They couldn’t go back in time and recapture the passion of their youthful affair, even as much as he desired her at that moment. “Sunny, wait.” Her hands slid from his grasp. “Oh, my God, Nick. I didn’t even ask if you were in a relationship. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s not that.” She eyed him curiously. “You’re not gay now, are you?” He frowned. That was one hell of a question. “No, Sunny, I’m not gay.” Disappointment clearly etched her face. “I see.” She eased away from him and the air between them cooled. He watched as she picked up a book he recognized as their college yearbook. Had she been reminiscing, recalling old times spent in his dorm room? That would certainly explain her amorous mood. “I found this the other day.” She flipped it open to the marked page and held it open for him to see. “You haven’t changed much— other than a few silver threads in your dark hair.” Nick moved closer and thumbed back a page. “You haven’t either.” He tapped her picture with his index finger. “You still look twentyone.”
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She set the book aside. “Many times I’ve wondered what went wrong between us.” Nick knew damned well what killed their relationship. He’d left school and returned home to run the diner and Sunny resented his decision. She’d never understood his loyalty to his family, although she did know the story. His biological father abandoned his teenage mother before he was born and left her in dire circumstances. Penniless and unemployed, she’d fled her family’s abusive home to spare him. Thankfully she met Jake Delatorre, a widower who formally adopted him. Nick owed his stepfather everything. The man had given him his name, for heaven’s sakes, and had sent him through college. Still, Sunny’d been livid when he announced he was returning home to work at The Greasy Spoon. She told him he was blowing his chance of a lifetime to earn a college degree and build a successful career for himself. “We were too young, Nick. I was so shallow.” She drew his hand into hers and inched closer. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you and what we had together.” Same here, Sunny. “You were so pissed when I left college. You believed I was throwing away all our dreams.” She sighed. “I didn’t understand then what the business meant to you and your family. They needed you. You were a good son, Nick. I was wrong to blame you.” He heard the sincerity in her voice and his heart melted a bit. For years afterward he’d been bitter she hadn’t supported his decision, but time had lessened the hurt. He reached up and brushed a wisp of blonde hair away from her face. “I wasn’t supportive about your dreams of becoming an actress, either.” She gave a half laugh. “Two seasons on The Rich and the Ruthless does not an actress make.” She nibbled her lower lip, the same 208
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sexy nervous gesture he remembered. She glanced about the room. “I’d hoped we might stay in tonight if that’s all right with you?” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, then skimmed them lightly along her throat and down to the vee of the robe. Yeah, it was all right. It was more than all right. He’d dreamed of this moment for years, wondered what he’d do if she ever reentered his life. Would it be as if no time at all had passed between them? Or would the hurt still be there? Her blue eyes closed and she inhaled sharply as he eased the front of the robe aside and caressed a breast. Fuller than he remembered but still as lovely. “Do you want me, Nick?” she whispered. He tugged at the sash on the robe and it opened. Was she kidding? He was seconds short of having her right there on the sofa like some damned horny adolescent. His lips brushed hers. “You know I do.” Her fingers threaded into his. He’d been too long without the tenderness of a woman’s touch. Too long without Sunny. He lost control as long denied passions erupted. Her robe fell away and his hands sought out every curve, each luscious inch of her. She tasted so damned good, so sweet and he couldn’t get enough of her. They tumbled onto the beige sectional sofa, Sunny landing on top. She tore open the rest of his shirt, unzipped his pants and freed his straining sex from the confines of his jeans. Everything happened so fast, he didn’t think. Didn’t want to. He only wanted to lose himself in this moment with Sunny, in the heat of passion, in the softness of the woman he loved. Loved? The stunning revelation hit him full force. He still loved her. He went numb as the cataclysm of emotions swallowed him and the 209
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pain of the past blurred into the present. The deep sexual attraction was still there, yet nothing had been settled between them. Before he could form words to speak, she bent to kiss him. Their tongues mated and danced. Her impassioned moans threatened to drive him over the edge. He tasted her deeply, inhaled the familiar scent of lilac perfume that was uniquely Sunny. His Sunny. “Please,” she murmured against his mouth as she delivered quick baby kisses to his lips. “I need you now.” She appeared unaware of the turmoil unfolding within him as she straddled his thighs and ducked lower to drop frenzied kisses on his chest. Too fast, he thought as the world spun out of control. “I have condoms,” he whispered feebly. Apparently she didn’t hear, or care. His hands threaded into her silken hair and he closed his eyes, surrendering. So damned good. Yet so wrong at the same time. As much as he wanted Sunny—no, wanted this—nothing would be solved by a quick romp. He opened his eyes. “Sunny . . . you have to . . . stop,” he choked out. She paused, then gazed at him with misty, passion-filled eyes. “Nick?” “This isn’t right. Not like this.” She sat up and brushed a lock of golden hair from her eyes. “But you used to like this.” He rubbed a palm down his face. “I did. And . . . I . . . I do, but . . .” He couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “We have to stop.” 210
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God knew he didn’t want to, but it wasn’t right. Not like this anyway. She lifted herself off of him and reached for her robe. “You said you wanted me.” Hell yeah, he wanted her—more than any other woman—but not like this. Not an impulsive quickie on the sofa like the two college kids from the past who hadn’t a care in the world. If there was any chance of rebuilding a relationship, he wanted to take time and explore the possibilities. He wanted their first time making love again to go slow and last a good long time. He wanted it to mean something to both of them. She whisked her robe on and tied the sash. “Get out, Nick.” He started to speak, but stopped. What had he done to anger her? All he’d said is they shouldn’t rush into things. “You heard me,” she said when he didn’t move. “Get out.” Nick lifted off the sofa, pulled up his boxers and jeans and zipped them, then grabbed his shirt. “You’re angry because I stopped you?” She turned her face away. “I assure you I won’t attack you again. Come to my restaurant tomorrow for lunch. I’ll eat at The Greasy Spoon the day after tomorrow.” She walked to the door and held it open for him as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. Sunny always did that—pretended nothing was wrong when it clearly was. She stared at ceiling above the doorway. “Goodbye, Nick.” “Sunny, don’t do this.” “Be there on time. It’s a court order, you know. The sooner we get this whole mess over with, the sooner we can be out of one another’s lives.” 211
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He blew out a breath of exasperation. “You shut me out once before and refused to see my side of the situation.” She ignored him. Damn this stubborn woman! He cursed under his breath. Fine. There was no use in talking to a brick wall. He barely cleared the threshold when the door slammed behind him. He jingled the keys in his pocket as he made his way to his loft apartment a few doors down feeling sick, feeling lost, and wondering if he’d done the right thing after all. **** Sunny crumbled at the door. Her ex-fiancé was right. She wasn’t anything special to any man and never would be. She certainly wasn’t a business woman with brains an intelligent man like Nick Delatorre wanted to be with. Although he hadn’t admitted to seeing anyone else, she was certain there must be another woman in his life. Why else would he have turned her down? How could she face him again? She shoved her head into her hands. Oh, what must he think of her, seducing him like an alley cat the moment he arrived! He probably thought she did that with other men, too. Who could be his new love interest? She drew a steadying breath, sat back on the sofa and propped her feet on the cocktail table. That cute young waitress Aggie—the one who’d chewed her out after court? She’d seen the way Aggie looked at Nick, like the sun rose and set on his broad shoulders. Aggie was also a brain, an honor student at Texas A & M University in Galveston. She’d also seen the young woman leaving Nick’s apartment late the other night. She bit down on her lip to stop its trembling. That must be it. Nick was involved with Aggie. Well, she really couldn’t blame the girl for her infatuation with a dashing older man. She also couldn’t blame Nick for his interest in a perky young woman who was his intellectual equal. Besides, he 212
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was still so damned handsome and sexy, and he’d always had that effect on the ladies. “No, you lost him years ago, Sunny,” she whispered tearfully. What were you thinking of by coming back to Galveston? Did you really believe you could reclaim the past? She wiped away a tear at the realization of the futility of her move. She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes. It was time to put the ghosts of what might have been to rest once and for all. She would close the diner in a few more months when her lease expired and return to New York. It was time to move on and forget about Nick Delatorre forever. At least that’s the lie she told herself as she cried herself to sleep.
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Chapter Three The next few days passed painfully slowly. He and Sunny never spoke or looked the other’s way when dining in one another’s restaurants, but it was obvious to their employees something was going on. Thankfully, there were only two more days of courtordered dining. He would try and hold up as best as he could. “Okay, what gives, Nick?” Aggie asked as she cornered him in his office one day at lunch. “Word has it you and blondie had a hot date the other night but things turned sour. Come on. Spill it. I want details, mister. The good, the bad, and the uuugly.” Nick shook his head. What was it with these people? Wasn’t he allowed any privacy? He dragged a weary hand down his face. The last topic he wanted to discuss was his disastrous date with Sunny. “It’s personal, okay?” Aggie hefted herself up on the corner of his desk as if she had no plans to leave any time soon. “So it wasn’t ‘all systems go’ the other night, eh, Nick?” She wiggled a brow at him, reached out to punch him lightly in the arm. “You know what they say, old man. You don’t use it, you lose it.” Nick glared. For Pete’s sake! If Aggie hadn’t been newly-engaged to his cousin, Matt, he would have fired her on the spot. He pasted on his best poker face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Aggie grinned. “Blondie thinks you couldn’t do the wild thing with her because you and I are messing around.” Nick rose sharply, almost knocking his chair over. “W-what? She said that?” 214
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Aggie snorted a laugh. “Yep. She saw me leaving your apartment late the other night. She just assumed we were doing it.” Nick blinked. “You mean the night you brought Matt’s surprise birthday gift over and asked me to hide it at my place?” Aggie nodded. “Blondie asked me if I was the one who rocked your world. Of course after what she said the other day about us being animal murderers I said yes just to piss her off.” Aggie snickered like a naughty child who’d pulled a prank over on someone. “You should have seen the look on her face. Ever since, she’s been eyeing me like she could drive a wooden stake through my heart.” This was insane. Sunny was jealous of Aggie? Why? Because you didn’t make love to her that night. Still, he’d denied being involved with anyone when she inquired. On second thought, perhaps he hadn’t exactly stated such. “She’s hopping mad. I can’t wait to get back out there on the floor and start some more crap with her.” “She’s here?” Nick rounded the desk and Aggie caught him by the arm. “Slow down, race horse. She’ll be here a while. Miss High and Mighty just chowed down on our special of the day—a platter of feast-sized chicken fried steak with gravy. She also ordered another slice of Mama Delatorre’s Coconut Dream Pie.” Nick stared at Aggie as his thoughts slammed into reverse. Wait. Sunny is vegetarian. “What did you say?” he asked. “She ordered a second piece of coconut pie. In fact, I’m about to take another dessert tray out to her right now.” “No.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean that. She ate chicken fried steak? Are you sure?”
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Aggie nodded. “Gobbled it down like she hadn’t eaten in a month. Honestly, I don’t know where she put it. The woman must have a hollow leg.” She snickered. “No wait, she’s so skinny . . . make that a hollow twig.” Aggie had crossed the line. No matter what had happened between him and Sunny, he still loved her. “Aren’t you working, Aggie? Or would you like for me to clock you out and give you the rest of the month off without pay?” Aggie slid from the desk. “You know, I think I’ll be getting that coconut pie now.” Nick tore out of the office once Aggie left and hurried to the dining room. He spied Father Richardson at Sunny’s table. Both were laughing and enjoying themselves over some Coconut Dream pie. Rusty sat at the priest’s feet like a loyal servant. Well, if it isn’t a tender scene out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Sunny froze when she saw him moving toward her. She whispered something to the priest, who nodded and stood. As Father Richardson turned to move to an adjacent table, he collided with Aggie who was carrying a sample dessert tray of Mama Delatorre’s pies. The scene unfolded in slow motion like in a movie. No, like a train wreck. Nick didn’t want to look, but by God he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The tray flew from Aggie’s hands, then tipped on the way down. Assorted colorful pie fillings and whipped cream splattered Sunny’s hair and blouse. Aggie’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Father Richardson eased away from the chaotic scene while Rusty tucked his tail and ducked beneath the table for cover. Nick watched as the dog reached out a lone paw to swipe at a forlorn piece of pie crust. Sunny rose and faced Aggie, squaring off, hands on hips, her eyes blazing. Nick swore he heard the theme song from the movie High Noon playing in the background. Aggie’s hands fisted at her sides. Sunny drew herself up to her full height. Uh-oh. 216
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“Aggie! Sunny, no!” Sunny snatched her dessert plate and dumped the half-eaten pie over Aggie’s head. Aggie growled, slung off the mess, then reached across and grabbed Sunny’s iced tea glass and splashed the liquid in her face. Sunny shrieked at the icy onslaught. Casually, she sauntered over to Father Richardson’s table, lifted his tea glass with much ceremony and pitched the contents onto the front of Aggie’s waitress uniform. But in the process, Sunny accidentally sloshed another patron, Lucille Bikini, one of The Greasy Spoon’s retired waitresses. Lucille rose, all four foot nine inches of attitude on spiked heels. She plucked at her saturated blouse. “All right, you two gals,” she belted out, “since when did The Greasy Spoon start having wet T shirt contests?” Father Richardson perked up. “Lucille? Lucille Bikini? Is that you?” Lucille adjusted her eyeglasses so she might see better. “Why, if it’s not Studs Richardson in the flesh! Why, you old scamp. Let me give you a great big hug.” Rusty darted from beneath Father Richardson’s chair to lap at spilled gravy at the precise moment Mary Helen, the mayor’s sister-in-law, tried to dash away from the scene. Dog and Mary Helen collided, and the shrieking woman pitched forward. Nick caught her before she hit the floor. The food throwing resumed between Sunny and Aggie. Father Richardson and Lucille Bikini, along with a few other customers, took shelter from the flying food beneath their tables. Nick pulled Sunny off Aggie and turned her in his arms to face him. “Sunny . . . Aggie . . . stop this insanity right now!” 217
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A crusty dinner roll pinged Nick on the side of the head and he turned to catch two of the Yarbrough boys looking guilty, yet pleased with themselves. “How dare you tell me to stop!” Sunny shrieked. “Look at what your girlfriend did to me!” “Aggie’s not my girlfriend.” Nick ducked his head and licked a glob of whipped cream and gooey pie filling from the corner of Sunny’s mouth. Mmmm. Toasted coconut with whipped cream. His thoughts turned a dangerous direction. “I’ve always loved my mama’s coconut pie, but on you, Sunny . . .” He lowered his voice so only she could hear, “it tastes even better.” Sunny’s eyes widened. “You’re insane!” She squirmed in his embrace but he held her firm, fearing a mêlée if he turned her loose. “Let me go, Nick! I think I have some leftover mashed potatoes and gravy for Aggie!” He burst into laughter. She was a mess, a damned fine, ridiculous looking mess. He leaned in for another tasty lick of pie filling. “There’s no way in hell I’m ever letting you go again!” he said loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. “Well, it’s about time you came to your senses,” came Father Richardson’s reply from beneath the table. Taking Sunny by the hand, Nick led her through the restaurant toward the stairs that lead to his loft apartment. He paused once on the landing to pull a dazed Sunny back into his arms for quick kiss. She struggled in his embrace. “Don’t touch me! Go kiss your precious Aggie!” “There is no Aggie. She was only trying to make you jealous.” 218
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She eyed him warily. “What are you talking about?” “Aggie’s engaged to my cousin Matt.” He reached up and brushed a strand of sticky hair from her eyes. “There is no other woman. Haven’t you realized that? You’re the only one for me. Always have been, always will be.” He dipped to kiss her again and she pressed her palms to his chest. “But you didn’t want me the other night.” He scoffed. “Are you out of your mind? Of course I wanted you. I still want you, damn it.” He grasped her hand and drew her palm down to press it against the bulge at his crotch. “Now, tell me, woman, does this feel like a man who doesn’t want you?” He released her hand and threaded his fingers into her thick, foodsplattered hair. “God, you’re so damned beautiful right now.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “No I’m not. I’m a hideous mess,” she whispered. “Not to me you aren’t. Now just shut up and kiss me again.” Still kissing, they tumbled through the door of his apartment, locked in an embrace. Whipped cream and coconut pie filling smeared their faces. Between kisses, Sunny worked open the buttons on her blouse before he had a chance to help. About to burst, Nick spun her around and propelled her into the bedroom as he unfastened his pants. They fell upon the bed. Sunny bucked beneath him. “Now, Nick. Now.” Lifting her skirt, he choked on a breath and closed his eyes. He stilled and died an excruciatingly beautiful death. It had been so damned long. “I didn’t . . . use protection,” he rasped. “We should stop.”
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Her ankles locked behind his thighs, imprisoning him. “Don’t you even think about stopping now.” She joined him in a dance as old as time, but with steps uniquely their own. He made love to her slowly, as if to make up for their years apart. When he came it was explosive, her soft cries mingling with his own. A few minutes later, Nick’s thoughts drifted down, his emotions zigzagging like a feather on the wind as his body spasmed intermittently with aftershocks. Utterly spent, he moved to her side, then collapsed. She lay down beside him and drew the comforter over them before snuggling against him. “Kind of like old times,” she murmured against his chest. His arm went around her. “Better than old times. Now there’s no need to hurry, no fear of being caught together in my dorm room or yours. You’re here with me where you belong—where you’ve always belonged—in my arms.” She raised up a bit to look at him. “What are you saying?” “I gave you up once, Sunny, but I won’t do it again. We’re getting married. We’re going to build that magnificent dream house we always talked about and fill it up with a dozen snotty-nosed Delatorre brats.” She laughed, then sat up on her knees and shoved her wild mane of pie filling-smeared hair out of her face. “Are you serious?” “I know what I want. What I’ve always wanted. You.” She shook her head. “But what about The Greasy Spoon? What about my restaurant?” He reached up and flicked away a piece of pie crust from her cheek. “We’ll keep our businesses, but I have a solution to ease my work load. My sister Paloma’s new husband, David Hopkins, has 220
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recovered from his accident and wants to start his own business. He and I talked about forming a partnership and opening a new restaurant together. Instead, I might make him a partner in The Greasy Spoon. That would free up my time to pursue other interests such as tending to my beautiful wife and our twelve kids.” “But it was your dream to run the restaurant.” He propped himself up on one elbow and caressed her very gooey arm. “No. It was Pop’s dream, not mine. I only did what was right at the time. Pop was sick for a long time with his heart and Mom and Paloma needed me. After he recovered, they retired to Florida and he left me with the diner. But in the process of trying to do the right thing by my family, I lost you. I won’t let that happen again, Sunny. I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?” Tears shimmered in her navy eyes. “Oh, Nick. I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you. I was such a fool back then. I should have been more supportive of your decision to help your family. I was only thinking of myself and my career. I realized that a long time ago. Of course I’ll marry you.” He stroked the stiff flecks of meringue in her hair. “Then it’s time for a new beginning for both of us.” “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, we could simply date a while—maybe even move in together and see how things go.” “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I want to marry you, Sunny. Besides, it’s a great time to start a family. I’ve been saving and investing in real estate these past few years. I’ve garnered quite a nest egg. Not enough to buy the Moody mansion,” he said with a chuckle. “But perhaps you might like to live in a beach condo or in one of the historical homes in the Strand district. Take your pick. It will be my wedding gift to you.” “Oh, Nick, you know how much I love the Strand!” He rolled onto his back and grinned. “And chicken fried steak, too, from what Aggie told me.” 221
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Sunny’s eyes narrowed. Oops. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned Aggie’s name again so soon. “I thought you were a vegetarian,” he offered. “I was several years ago when I was modeling and acting. The strict diet is how I kept the pounds off. I haven’t been a vegan in years, Nick. It was all an act, part of the left-over image I wanted to project.” “Then why the hell did you open a vegan restaurant?” She shrugged. “I figured the novelty of different fare would be a boon to local business after the devastation of the hurricane. And it was. People came from all over the state to see what Healthy New Day was about. But I have a confession to make.” She snuggled beside him. “My heart really wasn’t in running a restaurant. Sure, I wanted to try my hand at business, to see if I had the brains to do it, but I could have done that anywhere. I’ve spent every day since we broke up kicking myself in the head for losing you. I came back to Galveston because I wanted to be near you again. I needed to find out if there was anything left between us worth salvaging.” Nick thought of all the time he’d wasted believing she never gave him a second thought. He pulled the woman he loved against his chest—a gooey, whipped cream-smeared woman. Sunny had finally come home to him and all was right with his world. **** Father Richardson officiated at their wedding the following week, bringing his guest and now fiancée, Lucille Bikini. Nick’s sister, Paloma Delatorre Hopkins, hosted the private affair at her and her husband, Robert’s, Victorian-style home on historic Church Street with immediate family and close friends in attendance. Paloma and Nick’s mother had long since reconciled their differences since 222
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her own wedding a few years before, and she and his Pop arrived from Florida. However, once news leaked of the impending nuptials, camera crews and reporters from every major television network were dispatched to the scene. Crowds mobbed the street on their wedding day. Two crazed fans crashed the garden wedding in midceremony and proclaimed their undying love for Sunny, a.k.a. Athena Wexford Carrington from The Rich and the Ruthless. As he and Sunny exchanged vows and rings, Nick’s heart swelled with love for his beautiful bride. Later that night in the sanctuary of their candlelit honeymoon suite at the Galvez Hotel, he and Sunny reclaimed the missing years with tender caresses long into the night and whispered promises of a bright future together filled with love, laughter and, of course, a dozen little Delatorres.
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Kimberly Ivey
Mama Delatorre’s Coconut Dream Pie
1 9” pre-baked pie shell Filling: 1 cup sugar ¼ cup cornstarch ½ teaspoon salt 3 cups milk 4 egg yolks, slightly beaten 2 tablespoons butter 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 1 cup coconut 1 cup sweetened whipped cream chocolate candy curls, optional Bake pie shell according to directions; cool. Mix sugar, cornstarch and salt in saucepan. Gradually stir in milk, and then egg yolks. Bring to a slow boil. Cook over low to medium heat, stirring constantly to avoid scorching until mixture thickens and is pudding consistency. Remove from heat. Add butter, vanilla and ¾ cup coconut. Stir well. Pour into the baked pie shell. NOTE: Allow hot filling mixture to cool slightly if using a graham cracker crust. Stretch plastic wrap over filling and refrigerate for at least 2 hours but no longer than 24. Before serving, top with fresh whipped cream, lightly toasted coconut flakes if desired, and chocolate candy curls. Serves 8
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cÜt|áx yÉÜ [|z{ÄtÇw cÜxáá UÉÉ~á4 Holiday Op - "Get ready for special operations men the way you've never seen them before. For holiday adventures you'll never forget, be sure to treat yourself to this wonderful collection by Avocato, Nina, Elizabeth, DeVane and DeAngelo." ~Christina Skye **** The Mosquito Tapes by Chris Homes - Nobody tells a bio-terror story better than Chris Holmes. Just nobody. And like all of Chris Holmes’ books, this one begins well—when San Diego County Chief Medical Examiner Jack Youngblood discovers a strange mosquito in the pocket of a murder victim. Taut, tingly, and downright scary, The Mosquito Tapes will keep you reading well into the night. But best be wary: Spray yourself with Deet and have a fly swatter nearby. ~ Ben F. Small, author of Alibi On Ice and The Olive Horseshoe, a Preditors & Editors Top Ten Pick **** Romance on Route 66 by Judith Leigh and Cheryl Norman – Norman and Leigh break the romance speed limit on America's historic roadway. ~ Anne Krist, author of Burning Bridges, Ecataromance Reviewers’ Choice Award **** Ah, the memories that Operation: L.O.V.E. brings to mind. As an Air Force nurse who married an Air Force fighter pilot, I relived the days of glory through each and every story. While covering all the military branches, each story holds a special spark of its own that readers will love! ~ Lori Avocato, Best Selling Author **** In Fate of Camelot, Cynthia Breeding develops the Arthur-LancelotGwenhwyfar relationship. In many Arthurian tales, Guinevere is a rather flat 225
character. Cynthia Breeding gives her a depth of character as the reader sees both her love for Lancelot and her devotion to the realm as its queen. The reader feels the pull she experiences between both men. In addition, the reader feels more of the deep friendship between Arthur and Lancelot seen in Malory's Arthurian tales. In this area, Cynthia Breeding is more faithful to the medieval Arthurian tradition than a glamorized Hollywood version. She does not gloss over the difficulties of Gwenhwyfar's role as queen and as woman, but rather develops them to give the reader a vision of a woman who lives her role as queen and lover with all that she is. ~ Merri, Merrimon Books **** Rape of the Soul - Ms. Thompson's characters are unforgettable. Deep, promising and suspenseful this story was. I couldn’t put it down. Around every corner was something that you didn't know was going to happen. If you love a sense of history in a book, then I suggest reading this book! ~ Ruth Schaller, Paranormal Romance Reviews **** Static Resistance and Rose – An enticing, fresh voice. Lee Roland knows how to capture your heart. ~ Kelley St. John, National Readers Choice Award Winner **** Southern Fried Trouble - Katherine Deauxville is at the top of her form with mayhem, sizzle and murder. ~ Nan Ryan, NY Times bestselling author **** In the Lion’s Mouth by Jean Harrington - Impressive! Harrington delights with an evocative tale sure to please. A strong heroine, intense emotion, and a vivid setting make In the Lion’s Mouth a breathtaking romance. Well done! ~ Sue-Ellen Welfonder, USA Today Best-Selling Author **** Madrigal: A Novel of Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera takes 226
place four years after the events of the original novel. The classic novel aside, this book is a wonderful historical tale of life, love, and choices. However, the most impressive aspect that stands out to me is the writing. Ms. Linforth's prose is phenomenally beautiful and hauntingly breathtaking. ~ Bonnie-Lass, Coffee Time Romance **** Filled with the perfect blend of intrigue and plot twists, Luck of the Draw by Teryl Oswald is a stunning debut by a fresh new voice in Women’s Fiction. A no miss! ~ Renee Ryan, Award Winning Author of Inspirational Fiction **** Cave of Terror - Highly entertaining and fun, Cave of Terror was impossible to put down. Though at times dark and evil, Ms. Bell never failed to inject some light-hearted humor into the story. Delightfully funny with a true sense of teenagers, Cheyenne’s character will appeal to many girls of that age. She is believable and her emotional struggles are on par with most teens. The author gave just enough background to understand the workings of her vampires without boring the reader. I truly enjoyed Ryan and Constantine. Ryan was adorable and a teenager’s dream. Constantine was deliciously dark. Ms. Bell has done an admirable job of telling a story suitable for young adults. ~ Dawnie, Fallen Angel Reviews **** The Sense of Honor - Ashley Kath-Bilsky has written a historical romance of the highest caliber. This reviewer fell in love with the hero and was cheering for the heroine all the way through. The plot is exciting and moves along at a good pace. The characters are multi-dimensional and the secondary characters bring life to the story. Sexual tension rages through this story and Ms. Kath-Bilsky gives her readers a breathtaking romance. The love scenes are sensual and very romantic. This reviewer was very pleased with how the author handled all the secrets and both characters reacted very maturely when the secrets finally came to light. ~ Valerie, Love Romances and More **** Highland Wishes by Leanne Burroughs. This reviewer found this book a wonderful story set in a time when tension was high between England and Scotland. The storyline is a fast-paced tale with much detail to specific areas of history. The reader can feel this author’s love for Scotland and its many wonderful heroes. 227
This reviewer was easily captivated by the story and was enthralled by it until the end. The reader will laugh and cry as you read this wonderful story. The reader feels all the pain, torment and disillusionment felt by both main characters, but also the joy and love they felt. Ms. Burroughs has crafted a well-researched story that gives a glimpse into Scotland during a time when there was upheaval and war for independence. This reviewer commends her for a wonderful job done. ~Dawn Roberto, Love Romances **** I adore this Scottish historical romance! Blood on the Tartan has more history than some historical romances—but never dry history! Readers will find themselves completely immersed in the scene, the history and the characters. Chris Holmes creates a multi-dimensional theme of justice in his depiction of all the nuances and forces at work from the laird down to the land tenants. This intricate historical detail emanates from the story itself, heightening the suspense and the reader's understanding of the history in a vivid manner as if it were current and present. The extra historical detail just makes their life stories more memorable and lasting because the emotions were grounded in events. The ending is quite special and bridges links with Catherine's mother's story as well as opening up this romance to an expansive view of Scottish history and ancestry. Blood On The Tartan is a must read for romance and historical fiction lovers of Scottish heritage. ~Merri, Merrimon Reviews **** I can’t say enough good things about Ms. Zenk’s writing. Chasing Byron by Molly Zenk is a page turner of a book not only because of the engaging characters, but also by the lovely prose. In fact, I read the entire thing in one day. Reading this book was a jolly fun time all through the eyes of Miss Woodhouse, yet also one that touches the heart. It was an experience I would definitely repeat. Ms. Zenk must have had a glorious time penning this story. ~Orange Blossom, Long and Short Reviews **** Moon of the Falling Leaves is an incredible read. The characters are not only believable, but the blending in of how Swift Eagle shows Jessica and her children the acts of survival is remarkably done. The months of travel indeed shows hardships each much endure. Diane Davis White pens a poignant tale that really grabbed this reader. She tells a descriptive story of discipline, trust and love in a time where hatred and prejudice abounded among many. This rich tale offers vivid imagery of the beautiful scenery and landscape, and brings in the tribal 228
customs of each person, as Jessica and Swift Eagle search their heart. ~Cherokee, Coffee Time Romance **** Jean Harrington’s The Barefoot Queen is a superb historical with a lushly painted setting. I adored Grace for her courage and the cleverness with which she sets out to make Owen see her love for him. The bond between Grace and Owen is tenderly portrayed and their love had me rooting for them right up until the last page. Ms. Harrington’s The Barefoot Queen is a treasure in the historical romance genre you’ll want to read for yourself! Five Star Pick of the Week!!! ~ Crave More Romance **** Almost Taken by Isabel Mere is a passionate historical romance that takes the reader on an exciting adventure. The compelling characters of Deran Morissey, the Earl of Atherton, and Ava Fychon, a young woman from Wales, find themselves drawn together as they search for her missing siblings. Readers will watch in interest as they fall in love and overcome obstacles. This is a very sensual romance that wins the heart of the readers. This is a creative and fast moving storyline that will enthrall readers. Ava, who is highly spirited and stubborn, will win the respect of the readers for her courage and determination. Deran, who is rumored in the beginning to be an ice king, not caring about anyone, will prove how wrong people’s perceptions can be. Almost Taken is an emotionally moving historical romance that I highly recommend. ~ Anita, The Romance Studio **** Leanne Burroughs easily will captivate the reader with intricate details, a mystery that ensnares the reader and characters that will touch their hearts. By the end of the first chapter, this reviewer was enthralled with Her Highland Rogue and was rooting for Duncan and Catherine to admit their love. Laughter, tears and love shine through this wonderful novel. This reviewer was amazed at Ms. Burroughs' depth and perception in this storyline. Her wonderful way with words plays itself through each page like a lyrical note and will captivate the reader till the very end. Read Her Highland Rogue and be transported to a time that is full of mystery and promise of a future. This reviewer is highly recommending this book for those who enjoy an engrossing Scottish tale full of humor, love and laughter. ~Dawn Roberto, Love Romances 229
**** Bride of Blackbeard is a compelling tale of sorrow, pain, love, and hate. The story is hard to put down. From the moment I started reading about Constanza and her upbringing, I was torn. Each of the people she encounters on her journey has an experience to share, drawing in the reader more. Ms. Chapman sketches a story that tugs at the heartstrings. I believe many will be touched in some way by this extraordinary book that leaves much thought. ~ Cherokee, Coffee Time Romance **** Isabel Mere’s skill with words and the turn of a phrase makes Almost Guilty a joy to read. Her characters reach out and pull the reader into the trials, tribulations, simple pleasures, and sensual joy that they enjoy. Ms. Mere unravels the tangled web of murder, smuggling, kidnapping, hatred and faithless friends, while weaving a web of caring, sensual love that leaves a special joy and hope in the reader’s heart. ~ Camellia, Long and Short Reviews **** Beats A Wild Heart - In the ancient, Celtic land of Cornwall, Emma Hayward searched for a myth and found truth. The legend of the black cat of Bodmin Moor is a well known Cornish legend. Jean Adams has merged the essence of myth and romance into a fascinating story which catches the imagination. I enjoyed the way the story unfolded at a smooth and steady pace with Emma and Seth appearing as real people who feel an instant attraction for one another. At first the story appears to be straightforward, but as it evolves mystery, love and intrigue intervene to make a vibrant story with hidden depths. Beats a Wild Heart is well written and a pleasure to read, but you should only start reading if you have time to indulge yourself. Once you start reading you won't be able to put this book down. ~ Orchid, Long and Short Reviews **** Down Home Ever Lovin’ Mule Blues - How can true love fail when everyone and their mule, cat, and skunk know that Brody and Rita belong together, even if Rita is engaged to another man? Needless to say, this is a fabulous roll on the floor while laughing out loud story. I am so thrilled to discover this book, and the author who wrote it. Rarely do I 230
locate a story with as much humor, joy, and downright lust spread so thickly on the pages that I am surprised I could turn the pages. Down Home Ever Lovin’ Mule Blues is a treasure not to be missed. ~Suziq2, Single Titles.com **** Saving Tampa - What if you knew something horrible was going to happen but you could prevent it? Would you tell someone? Sure, we all would. What if you saw it in a vision and had no proof? Would you risk your credibility to come forward? These are the questions at the heart of Saving Tampa, an on-theedge-of-your-seat thriller from Jo Webnar, who has written a wonderful suspense that is as timely as it is entertaining. ~ Mairead Walpole, Reviews by Crystal **** When the Vow Breaks by Judith Leigh - This book is about a woman who fights breast cancer. I assumed the book would be extremely emotional and hard to read, but it was not. The storyline dealt more with the commitment between a man and a woman, with a true belief of God. The intrigue of the storyline was that of finding a rock to lean upon through faith in God. Not only did she learn to lean on her relationship with Him, but she also learned how to forgive her husband. This is a great look at not only a breast cancer survivor, but also a couple whose commitment to each other through their faith grew stronger. It is an easy read and one I highly recommend. ~ Brenda Talley, The Romance Studio **** A Heated Romance by Candace Gold - A fascinating romantic suspense tells the story of Marcie O'Dwyer, a female firefighter who has had to struggle to prove herself. While the first part of the book seems to focus on the romance and Marcie's daily life, the second part seems to transition into a suspense novel as Marcie witnesses something suspicious at one of the fires. Her life is endangered by what she possibly knows and I found myself anticipating the outcome almost as much as Marcie. ~ Lilac, Long and Short Reviews **** Into the Woods by R.R. Smythe - This Young Adult Fantasy will send chills down your spine. I, as the reader, followed Callum and witnessed everything he and his friends went through as they attempted to decipher the messages. At the same time, I watched Callum's mother, Ellsbeth, as she walked through the 231
Netherwood. Each time Callum deciphered one of the four messages, some villagers awakened. Through the eyes of Ellsbeth, I saw the other sleepers wander, make mistakes, and be released from the Netherwood, leaving Ellsbeth alone. There is one thread left dangling, but do not fret. This IS a stand-alone book. But that thread gives me hope that another book about the Netherwoods may someday come to pass. Excellent reading for any age of fantasy fans! ~ Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews **** Like the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Dark Well of Decision by Anne Kimberly is a grand adventure with a likable girl who is a little like all of us. Zoe’s insecurities are realistically drawn and her struggle with both her faith and the new direction her life will take is poignant. The references to the Bible and the teachings presented are appropriately captured. Author Anne Kimberly is an author to watch; her gift for penning a grand childhood adventure is a great one. This one is well worth the time and money spent. ~Lettetia, Coffee Time Romance **** The Crystal Heart by Katherine Deauxville brims with ribald humor and authentic historical detail. Enjoy! ~ Virginia Henley, NY Times bestselling author **** In Sunshine or In Shadow by Cynthia Owens - If you adore the stormy heroes of ‘Wuthering Heights’ and ‘Jane Eyre’ (and who doesn't?) you'll be entranced by Owens' passionate story of Ireland after the Great Famine, and David Burke - a man from America with a hidden past and a secret name. Only one woman, the fiery, luscious Siobhan, can unlock the bonds that imprison him. Highly recommended for those who love classic romance and an action-packed story. ~ Best Selling Author, Maggie Davis, AKA Katherine Deauxville **** Rebel Heart - Jannine Corti Petska does an excellent job of all aspects of sharing this book with us. Ms. Petska used a myriad of emotions to tell this story and the reader quickly becomes entranced in the ways Courtney’s stubborn attitude works to her advantage in surviving this disastrous beginning to her new life. This is a wonderful rendition of a different type which is a welcome addition to the historical romance genre. I believe that you will enjoy this story; I know I 232
did! ~ Brenda Talley, The Romance Studio **** Pretend I’m Yours by Phyllis Campbell is an exceptional masterpiece. This lovely story is so rich in detail and personalities that it just leaps out and grabs hold of the reader. Ms. Campbell carries the reader into a mirage of mystery with deceit, betrayal of the worst kind, and a passionate love that makes this a whirlwind page-turner. This extraordinary read had me mesmerized with its ambiance, its characters and its remarkable twists and turns, making it one recommended read in my book. ~ Linda L., Fallen Angel Reviews **** Cat O’ Nine Tales by Deborah MacGillivray. Enchanting tales from the most wicked, award-winning author today. Spellbinding! A treat for all. ~ Detra Fitch, The Huntress Reviews **** Brides of the West by Michèle Ann Young, Kimberly Ivey, and Billie Warren Chai - All three of the stories in this wonderful anthology are based on women who gambled their future in blindly accepting complete strangers for husbands. It was a different era when a woman must have a husband to survive and all three of these phenomenal authors wrote exceptional stories featuring fascinating and gutsy heroines and the men who loved them. For an engrossing read with splendid original stories I highly encourage reader's to pick up a copy of this marvelous anthology. ~ Marilyn Rondeau, Reviewers International Organization **** Faery Special Romances - Brilliantly magical! Jacquie Rogers' special brand of humor and imagination will have you believing in faeries from page one. Absolutely enchanting! ~ Dawn Thompson, Award Winning Author **** Flames of Gold (Anthology) - Within every heart lies a flame of hope, a dream of true love, a glimmering thought that the goodness of life is far, far larger than the challenges and adversities arriving in every life. In Flames of Gold lie five short stories wrapping credible characters into that mysterious, poignant mixture 233
of pain and pleasure, sorrow and joy, stony apathy and resurrected hope. Deftly plotted, paced precisely to hold interest and delightfully unfolding, Flames of Gold deserves to be enjoyed in any season, guaranteeing that real holiday spirit endures within the gifts of faith, hope and love personified in these engaging, spirited stories! ~ Viviane Crystal, Reviews by Crystal **** Romance Upon A Midnight Clear (Anthology) - Each of these stories is well-written and will stand-alone and when grouped together, they pack a powerful punch. Each author shares exceptional characters and a multitude of emotions ranging from grief to elation in their stories. You cannot help being able to relate to these stories that touch your heart and will entertain you at any time of year, not just the holidays. I feel honored to have been able to sample the works of such talented authors. ~Matilda, Coffee Time Romance **** Christmas is a magical time and twelve talented authors answer the question of what happens when Christmas Wishes come true in this incredible anthology. Christmas Wishes shows just how phenomenal a themed anthology can be. Each of these highly skilled authors brings a slightly different perspective to the Christmas theme to create a book that is sure to leave readers satisfied. What a joy to read such splendid stories! This reviewer looks forward to more anthologies by Highland Press as the quality is simply astonishing. ~ Debbie, CK2S Kwips and Kritiques **** Recipe for Love (Anthology) - I don't think the reader will find a better compilation of mouth watering short romantic love stories than in Recipe for Love! This is a highly recommended volume–perfect for beaches, doctor's offices, or anywhere you've a few minutes to read. ~ Marilyn Rondeau, Reviewers International Organization **** Holiday in the Heart (Anthology) - Twelve stories that would put even Scrooge into the Christmas spirit. It does not matter what type of romance genre you prefer. This book has a little bit of everything. The stories are set in the U.S.A. and Europe. Some take place in the past, some in the present, and one story takes place in both! I strongly suggest that you put on something comfortable, brew up 234
something hot (tea, coffee or cocoa will do), light up a fire, settle down somewhere quiet and begin reading this anthology. ~ Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews **** Blue Moon Magic (anthology) is an enchanting collection of short stories. Blue Moon Magic offers historicals, contemporaries, time travel, paranormal, and futuristic narratives to tempt your heart. Legend says that if you wish with all your heart upon the rare blue moon, your wishes were sure to come true. In some of the stories, love happens in the most unusual ways. Angels may help, ancient spells may be broken, anything can happen. Even vampires will find their perfect mate with the power of the blue moon. Not every heroine believes they are wishing for love, some are just looking for answers to their problems or nagging questions. Fate seems to think the solution is finding the one who makes their heart sing. Blue Moon Magic is a perfect read for late at night or even during your commute to work. The short yet sweet stories are a wonderful way to spend a few minutes. If you do not have the time to finish a full-length novel, but hate stopping in the middle of a loving tale, I highly recommend grabbing this book. ~ Kim Swiderski, Writers Unlimited Reviewer **** Legend has it that a blue moon is enchanted. What happens when fifteen talented authors utilize this theme to create enthralling stories of love? Readers will find a wide variety of time periods and styles showcased in this superb anthology. Blue Moon Enchantment is sure to offer a little bit of something for everyone! ~ Debbie, CK2S Kwips and Kritiques **** Love Under the Mistletoe (Anthology) is a fun anthology that infuses the beauty of the season with fun characters and unforgettable situations. This is one of those books that you can read year round and still derive great pleasure from each of the charming stories. A wonderful compilation of holiday stories. Perfect year round! ~ Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies **** Love and Silver Bells (Anthology) - I really enjoyed this heart-warming 235
anthology. The characters are heart-wrenchingly human and hurting and simply looking for a little bit of peace on earth. Luckily they all eventually find it, although not without some strife. But we always appreciate the gifts we receive when we have to work a little harder to keep them. I recommend these warm holiday tales be read by the light of a well-lit tree, with a lovely fire in the fireplace and a nice cup of hot cocoa. All will warm you through and through. ~ Angi, Night Owl Romance **** Love on a Harley (Anthology), is an amazing romantic anthology featuring six amazing stories. Each story was heartwarming, tear jerking, and so perfect. I got tied to each one wanting them to continue on forever. Lost love, rekindling love, and learning to love are all expressed within these pages beautifully. I couldn’t ask for a better romance anthology; each author brings that sensual, longing sort of love that every woman dreams of. Great job ladies! ~ Crystal, Crystal Book Reviews **** No Law Against Love (Anthology) - If you have ever found yourself rolling your eyes at some of the more stupid laws, then you are going to adore this novel. Twenty-four stories fill this anthology, each one dealing with at least one stupid or outdated law. Let me give you an example: In Florida, USA, there is a law that states ‘If an elephant is left tied to a parking meter, the parking fee has to be paid just as it would for a vehicle.’ Yes, you read that correctly. No matter how many times you go back and reread them, the words will remain the same. The tales take place in the present, in the past, in the USA, in England . . . in other words, there is something for everyone! Best yet, profits from the sales of this novel will go to breast cancer prevention. A stellar anthology that had me laughing, sighing in pleasure, believing in magic, and left me begging for more! This is one novel that will go directly to my ‘Keeper’ shelf, to be read over and over again. Very highly recommended! ~ Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews **** No Law Against Love 2 (Anthology) - I’m sure you’ve heard about some of those silly laws, right? Well, this anthology shows us that sometimes those silly laws can bring just the right people together. I highly recommend this anthology. Each story is a gem and each author has certainly given their readers value for money. ~ Valerie, Love Romances and More 236
Now Available from Highland Press Publishing: Non-Fiction/Writer’s Resource: Rebecca Andrews The Millennium Phrase Book Historicals: Jean Adams Eternal Hearts Isabel Mere Almost Silenced Jean Harrington In the Lion’s Mouth Cynthia Breeding Prelude to Camelot Cynthia Breeding Fate of Camelot Ashley Kath-Bilsky The Sense of Honor Isabel Mere Almost Taken Isabel Mere Almost Guilty Leanne Burroughs Highland Wishes Leanne Burroughs Her Highland Rogue Chris Holmes Blood on the Tartan Jean Harrington The Barefoot Queen Linda Bilodeau The Wine Seekers Judith Leigh 237
When the Vow Breaks Jennifer Linforth Madrigal Brynn Chapman Bride of Blackbeard Diane Davis White Moon of the Falling Leaves Molly Zenk Chasing Byron Katherine Deauxville The Crystal Heart Cynthia Owens In Sunshine or In Shadow Jannine Corti Petska Rebel Heart Jeanmarie Hamilton Seduction Phyllis Campbell Pretend I’m Yours Historical/Horror: Dawn Thompson Rape of the Soul Mystery/Comedic: Katherine Deauxville Southern Fried Trouble Action/Suspense: Chris Holmes The Mosquito Tapes Eric Fullilove The Zero Day Event Romantic Suspense: Candace Gold 238
A Heated Romance Jo Webnar Saving Tampa Lee Roland Static Resistance and Rose Contemporary: Jean Adams Beats a Wild Heart Jacquie Rogers Down Home Ever Lovin’ Mule Blues Teryl Oswald Luck of the Draw Young Adult: Amber Dawn Bell Cave of Terror R.R. Smythe Into the Woods Anne Kimberly Dark Well of Decision Anthologies: Lori Avocato/Anne Elizabeth/Tara Nina/DC DeVane/ Lia DeAngelo Holiday Op Leanne Burroughs/Amy Blizzard/Patty Howell/Susan Barclay/Judith Leigh On A Cold Winter’s Night Polly McCrillis/Rebecca Andrews/Amber Dawn Bell/ Erin E.M. Hatton/Billie Warren Chai All That Glitters Anne Elizabeth/C.H. Admirand/DC DeVane/Tara Nina/ Lindsay Downs Operation: L.O.V.E. Cynthia Breeding/Kristi Ahlers/Gerri Bowen/ Susan Flanders/Erin E.M. Hatton 239
A Dance of Manners Judith Leigh/Cheryl Norman Romance on Route 66 Deborah MacGillivray Cat O’Nine Tales Deborah MacGillivray/Rebecca Andrews/Billie WarrenChai/Debi Farr/Patricia Frank/Diane Davis White Love on a Harley Zoe Archer/Amber Dawn Bell/Gerri Bowen/Candace Gold/Patty Howell/Kimberly Ivey/Lee Roland No Law Against Love 2 Michèle Ann Young/Kimberly Ivey/Billie Warren Chai Brides of the West Jacquie Rogers Faery Special Romances Holiday Romance Anthology Christmas Wishes Holiday Romance Anthology Holiday in the Heart Romance Anthology No Law Against Love Romance Anthology Blue Moon Magic Romance Anthology Blue Moon Enchantment Romance Anthology Recipe for Love Deborah MacGillivray/Leanne Burroughs/ Amy Blizzard/Gerri Bowen/Judith Leigh Love Under the Mistletoe Deborah MacGillivray/Leanne Burroughs/ Rebecca Andrews/Amber Dawn Bell/Erin E.M. Hatton/Patty Howell/Isabel Mere Romance Upon A Midnight Clear Leanne Burroughs/Amber Dawn Bell/Amy Blizzard/ Patty Howell/Judith Leigh 240
Flames of Gold Polly McCrillis/Rebecca Andrews/ Billie Warren Chai/Diane Davis White Love and Silver Bells Children’s Illustrated: Lance Martin The Little Hermit
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