Navy Brat

He was the handsomest man in the bar, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
It was all Erin MacNamera could do to keep her own coffee-brown eyes trained away from him. He sat on the bar stool, his back to the multi-tiered display of ornamental liquor bottles. His elbows were braced against the polished mahogany counter, and he nonchalantly held a bottle of imported German beer in his hand.

Against her will, Erin’s gaze meandered back to him. He seemed to be waiting for her attention, and he smiled, his mouth lifting sensuously at the edges. Erin quickly looked away and tried to concentrate on what her friend was saying.

“… Steve and me.”

Erin hadn’t a clue as to what she’d missed. Aimee was in the habit of talking nonstop, especially when she was upset. The reason Erin and her co-worker were meeting was that Aimee wanted to discuss the problems she was having in her ten-year marriage.

Marriage was something Erin fully intended to avoid, at least for a good long while. She was focusing her energies on her career and on teaching a class titled Women in Transition two evenings a week at South Seattle Community College. With a master’s degree clutched in her hot little hand, and her ideals and enthusiasm high, Erin had applied to and been accepted by the King County Community Action Program as an employment counselor, working mainly with displaced women. Ninety percent of those she worked with were on public assistance.

Her dream was to give hope and support to those who had lost both. A friend to the friendless. An encourager to the disheartened. Erin’s real love, however, was the Women In Transition course. In the past few years she’d watched several women undergo the metamorphosis from lost and confused individuals to purpose-filled adults holding on tight to a second chance at life.

Erin knew better than to take the credit or the blame for the transformation she saw in these women’s lives. She was just part of the Ways and Means Committee.

Her father enjoyed teasing her, claiming his eldest daughter was destined to become the next Florence Nightingale and Mother Teresa all rolled into one tenacious, determined, confident female.

Casey MacNamera was only partially right. Erin certainly didn’t see herself as any crusader, fighting against the injustices of life.

Nor was Erin fooling herself about finances. She didn’t intend to become wealthy, at least not monetarily. Nobody went into social work for the money. The hours were long and the rewards sporadic, but when she saw people’s lives turned around for good she couldn’t help being uplifted.

Helping others through a time of painful transition was what Erin had been born to do. It had been her dream from early in her college career and had followed her through graduate school and her first job.

“Erin,” Aimee said, her voice dipping to a whisper, “there’s a man at the bar staring at us.”

Erin pretended not to have noticed. “Oh?”

Aimee stirred the swizzle stick in her strawberry daiquiri, then licked the end as she stared across the room, her eyes studying the good-looking man with the imported ale. Her smile was slow and deliberate, but it didn’t last long. She sighed and said, “It’s you who interests him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m married.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Erin argued.

“Sure he does.” Aimee uncrossed her long legs and leaned across the minuscule table. “Married women give off vibes, and single men pick them up like sonar. I tried to send him a signal, but it didn’t work. He knew immediately. You, on the other hand, are giving off single vibes, and he’s zeroing in on that like a bee does pollen.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” Aimee agreed in a thin whisper, “but I doubt it.” She took one last sip of her drink and stood hurriedly. “I’m leaving now, and we’ll test my theory and see what happens. My guess is that the minute I’m out of here he’s going to make a beeline for you.” She paused, smiled at her own wit, then added, “The pun was an accident, clever but unintentional.”

“Aimee, I thought you wanted to talk….” Erin, however, wasn’t quick enough to convince her friend to stay. Before she’d finished, Aimee had reached for her purse. “We’ll talk some other time.” With a natural flair, she draped the strap of her imitation-snakeskin handbag over her shoulder and winked suggestively. “Good luck.”

“Ah …” Erin was at a loss as to what to do. She was twenty-seven, but for the majority of her adult life she’d avoided romantic relationships. Not by design. It had just worked out that way.

She met men frequently, but she dated only occasionally. Not once had she met a man in a bar. Cocktail lounges weren’t her scene. In her entire life she’d probably been inside one only a couple of times.

Her social life had been sadly neglected from the time she was in junior high and fell in love for the first time. Howie Riverside had asked her to the Valentine’s Day dance, and her tender young heart had been all aflutter.

Then it had happened. The way it always had. Her father, a career navy man, had been transferred, and they’d moved three days before the dance.

Somehow Erin had never quite regained her stride with the opposite sex. Of course, three moves in the next four years – unusual even for the navy – hadn’t been exactly conducive to a thriving relationship. They’d been shuffled from Alaska to Guam to Pensacola and back again.

College could have, and probably should have, been the opportunity to make up for lost time, but by then Erin had felt like a social pygmy when it came to dealing with men. She hadn’t known how to meet them, how to flirt with them or how to make small talk. Nor had she acquired a number of the other necessary graces.

(Continues…) Read more

Navy Baby

On her knees on the bathroom floor, Hannah Raymond viewed parts of the toilet that were never meant to be seen at such short range. Her stomach rolled and heaved like a tiny canoe being swept down a raging river. The tile felt icy against her knees, yet beads of perspiration moistened her brow. Closing her eyes in an effort to hold back the waves of nausea, Hannah drew in several deep, even breaths. That seemed to help a little, but not enough.
“Oh, God,” she prayed silently, “please, oh, please, don’t let me be pregnant.” No sooner had the words crossed her lips when she lost what little breakfast she’d managed to down that morning.

Her monthly period was late. Over two months late. But that could be attributed to the stress she’d been under these past several weeks. The stress and the grief. It had been nearly four months since Jerry’s death. She ached to the bottom of her soul for him, and would, she was convinced, until the end of her life. She’d loved Jerry for six years, had planned her entire life around him. They were to have married soon after the first of the year.

Now there would be no wedding because there was no Jerry. Grief caught her once more in a stranglehold of pain and she squeezed her eyes closed, battling the tears, as well as the nausea. Adding to her torment was the knowledge that if she was pregnant, the child she carried wouldn’t be Jerry’s.

The face of the sailor had imprinted itself onto her mind, bold as could be. He was tall, powerfully built and strong featured. With a sense of dismay she pushed his image away, refusing to think about that July night or dwell on her folly.

Once again her stomach heaved, and Hannah brushed the thick folds of shiny brown hair away from her face and leaned over the porcelain toilet.

“Hannah?” Her father knocked politely against the bathroom door. “Honey, you’d best hurry or you’ll be late for Sunday school.”

“I … I’m not feeling very well this morning, Dad.” Her words were immediately followed by another bout of vomiting.

“It sounds like you’ve got the flu.”

Bless his heart for offering her an excuse. “Yes, I think I must.” She prayed with everything in her being that this was some intestinal virus. If living a good life, following the Golden Rule and being the best preacher’s kid she knew how to be were ever to work on her behalf, the time was now.

“Go back to bed and if you feel up to it later, come over for the service. I’m preaching from the Epistle to the Romans this morning and I’d like your opinion.”

“Sure, Dad.” But from the way she was feeling now, she wouldn’t be out of bed any time within the next week.

“You’ll be all right here by yourself?” Her father’s voice echoed with concern.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Once again she felt her stomach pitch. She gripped the sides of the toilet and her head fell forward, the effort of holding it up too much for her.

Her father hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“I’ll be all right in a little bit,” she managed in a reed-thin voice.

“If you need me,” George Raymond insisted, “just call the church.”

“Dad, please, don’t worry about me. I’ll be much better soon. I’m sure of it.”

Her father’s retreating footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Hannah sighed with relief. She didn’t know what she was going to do if she was pregnant. Briefly she toyed with the idea of disappearing until after the baby was born. Going into hiding was preferable to facing her father with the truth.

George Raymond had dedicated his life to serving God and others, and having to confess what she’d done didn’t bear contemplating. Hannah loved her father deeply, and the thought of disgracing him, the thought of hurting him, brought a pain so strong and so sharp that tears instantly pooled in her eyes.

“Please God,” she prayed once more, “don’t let me be pregnant.” Slowly rising from the floor, she swayed and placed her hand against the wall as an attack of dizziness sent the room spinning.

She staggered into her bedroom and fell on top of the mattress. Kicking off her shoes, she sat up long enough to reach for the afghan neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Spreading it over her shivering shoulders, she gratefully closed her eyes.

Sleep came over her in swells as though the ocean tide had shifted, lapping warm, assuring waves over her distraught soul. She welcomed each one, eager for something, anything that would help her escape the reality of her situation.

It had happened in mid-July, only three short weeks after the tragic accident that had claimed her fiancé’s life. Her father had been out of town, officiating at a wedding in Yakima. He was staying over and wasn’t scheduled to arrive back in Seattle until late Saturday afternoon. Hannah had been invited, too, but she couldn’t have borne sitting through the happy event when her own life was filled with such anguish. How grateful she’d been that her father hadn’t asked her to travel with him, although she knew he would have welcomed her company.

Before he left, George Raymond had asked if she’d take a load of boxes to the Mission House in downtown Seattle. He’d done it, Hannah knew, in an effort to draw her out of the lethargy that had claimed her in the weeks following Jerry’s funeral.

She waited until late in the afternoon, putting off the errand as long as she could, then loaded up the back of her father’s old Ford station wagon without much enthusiasm.

Hannah had driven into the city, surprised by the heavy flow of traffic. It wasn’t until she’d found a parking spot in the alley in back of the Mission House that she remembered that Seafair, the Seattle summertime festival celebrating ethnic heritages and community, was being held that weekend. The whole town was festive. Enthusiasm and good cheer rang through the streets like bells from a church steeple. Several Navy ships were docked in Elliott Bay and the famed torchlight parade was scheduled for that evening. The city sidewalks and streets were crammed. Read more

Moon Over Water

“Eternal rest grant upon her, oh, Lord….” Lorraine Dancy closed her eyes as the first shovelful of dirt hit her mother’s casket. The sound seemed to reverberate around her, magnified a hundred times, drowning out the words intoned by Father Darien. This was her mother— her mother—and Virginia Dancy deserved so much more than a cold blanket of Kentucky mud.

Lorraine had received word the evening of April first that her mother had been involved in a horrible freeway accident. In the beginning she’d thought it was some kind of cruel hoax, a distasteful practical joke, but the mud-splattered casket was real enough to rip her heart wide open.

Her chest tightened with the effort to hold back tears. A low mewling escaped her lips and her trembling increased as she listened to the priest’s words in the gray afternoon.

After a while, the friends who’d come to say their last farewells started to move away. Father Darien gently took hold of Lorraine’s hands and in sincere compassionate tones offered a few final words of comfort. Reaching deep within herself, Lorraine managed to thank him.

Still, she remained, standing by her mother’s grave.

“Sweetheart.” Gary Franklin, her fiancé, stepped closer and placed his arm around her waist. “It’s time to go home.”

She resisted and held her ground when Gary tried to steer her toward the waiting limo. She wasn’t ready to leave her mother. Not yet. Please, not yet. It made everything so final…to turn her back and walk away.

This shouldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. But the reality of the moment was undeniable—the open grave, the nearby headstones, the muddy ground. Her fears assailed her from all sides, sending a chill down her spine. Lorraine wasn’t sure she could survive without her mother’s love and support. Virginia had been her touchstone. Her example. Her mother.

“Sweetheart, I know this is difficult, but you can’t stay here.” Gary again tried to urge her away from the grave.

“No,” she said, her voice stronger now. What made it all the more difficult, all the more painful, was the complete lack of warning. Lorraine had talked to her mother that very weekend. They were so close; it had been the two of them against the world for as long as Lorraine could remember. Not a day passed that they didn’t connect in some way—with a conversation, a visit, an email message. On Saturday they’d spent more than an hour on the phone discussing plans for the wedding.

Her mother had been delighted when Lorraine accepted Gary’s proposal. Virginia had always liked Gary and encouraged the relationship from the beginning. Gary and her mother had gotten along famously.

Just last weekend—just a few days ago—her mother had been alive. During their phone call Virginia had chatted endlessly about the kind of wedding she wanted for her only child. They’d discussed the wedding dress, the bridesmaids, the flowers, the invitations. Lorraine had never heard her mother sound more excited. In her enthusiasm, Virginia had even mentioned her own wedding all those years ago and the only man she’d ever loved. She rarely spoke of Lorraine’s father. That was the one thing she didn’t share with her daughter—at least not since Lorraine’s early teens. Those were private memories, and it was as though Virginia held them close to her heart. They’d sustained her through the long lonely years of widowhood.

Lorraine couldn’t remember her father, who’d died when she was three. Her mother had loved Thomas Dancy so completely she’d never entertained the thought of remarrying. No man, she’d once told Lorraine, could live up to the memory of the one she’d lost.

Her parents’ love story was possibly the most romantic Lorraine had ever heard. When she was small, her mother had often told her how wonderful Thomas had been. In later years, of course, she hardly ever talked about him, but Lorraine remembered those long-ago stories—of her father being a decorated war hero and how her parents had defied everyone by getting married. They were the adventure tales, the marvelous bedtime stories of her early childhood, and they’d made a deep and lasting impression on her. It was one of the reasons Lorraine had waited until she was twenty-eight before becoming engaged herself. For years she’d been searching for a man like her father, a man who was noble. Honest. Brave. A man of integrity and high ideals. No one seemed right until Gary Franklin came into her life.

“Lorraine, everyone’s gone.” Gary’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Not yet. Please.” She couldn’t leave her mother, not like this. Not in a cold wet grave when Virginia Dancy hadn’t even reached the age of fifty. The pain was more than Lorraine could bear. As the agony of the moment overwhelmed her, tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Come on, honey, let me get you away from here,” Gary murmured in a compassionate voice.

Lorraine took a step in retreat. She didn’t want Gary. She didn’t want anyone except her mother. And her mother was in a grave. “Oh, Mom,” she cried, then broke into sobs, unable to stop herself.

Gary turned her in his arms and held her protectively against him. “Let it out, sweetheart. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry.”

Lorraine hid her face in his shoulder and wept as she hadn’t since that night the state patrolman had come to her with the tragic news. How long Gary let her weep, she didn’t know. Until her eyes stung and her nose ran and there were no more tears to shed.

“The house is going to fill up and you’ll need to be there,” Gary reminded her.

“Yes, we should go,” she agreed, and wiped her nose with the tissue he handed her, grateful that Virginia’s neighbor, Mrs. Henshaw, would be there to let everyone in. Lorraine was calmer now, more self-possessed. People would want to talk about her mother, and since Lorraine was the only one left in the family, she’d have to be in control of her emotions.

Together she and Gary started toward the parking lot. Away from her mother. Away from the only parent she’d ever known.

Lorraine’s one, small comfort was the knowledge that after twenty-five years apart, her parents were finally together again.

Lorraine couldn’t sleep, but then she hadn’t really expected to. She should be exhausted. She was exhausted; she’d barely slept in days. This past week had been the most emotionally draining of her life. But even now, after the funeral and the wake, she was too restless to collapse into sleep.

Gary seemed to think that spending the night at her mother’s house wasn’t the best idea. He was probably right. Her judgment, along with everything else, had been thrown off-kilter by her mother’s death.

The wake had been here, at Virginia’s place, since Lorraine’s apartment was much too small to host the event, and a restaurant seemed too impersonal. Parishioners from St. John’s Church where Virginia had faithfully attended Mass all these years, plus a large group of neighbors, coworkers and friends, had lingered to tell Lorraine how sorry they were. They, too, appeared to have difficulty accepting the suddenness of her mother’s death.

Virginia had been an active member of St. John’s and a devout Catholic. For twenty years she sang in the choir and worked tirelessly for her church “family.” As a stockbroker with a large national firm, she’d made a name for herself in the business world. Turnover at the firm was high, and Virginia had learned that office friendships were often fleeting. Nevertheless, the house had been crammed with people.

Contrary to what Lorraine had assumed, she wasn’t needed as hostess. Friends and neighbors arrived bearing casseroles, breads and salads, which soon covered the dining-room table. The extras spilled into the kitchen and lined the countertops.

Lorraine was grateful to everyone, especially Gary who’d been both helpful and kind. Yet throughout the wake, all Lorraine had wanted was to be alone, to grieve by herself without people pressing in on her. But that wasn’t possible. It took her a while to realize that the friends who’d come were in need of solace, too. So she’d thanked them for their condolences and done her best to take on the role of comforter. Before long, she’d found herself depleted of energy, and she’d sunk into her mother’s favorite chair. Sitting there helped her feel closer to the mother she’d loved so deeply. It eased the ache of loneliness that threatened to consume her in a room full of people.

An endless stream of sympathy and advice had come at her.

“Of course you’ll want to keep the house…”

Lorraine had nodded.

“Naturally you’ll be selling the house…”

Lorraine had nodded.

“Your mother was a fine woman.”

“We’re all going to miss her.”

“She’s in a happier place now…”

“.such a senseless tragedy.”

Lorraine had agreed with one and all.

By the time everyone had left, it was dark. Gary had helped her with the cleanup and urged her to return to her own apartment. Or to his. He didn’t seem to understand her need to stay here, but how could he? He’d never lost a parent.

“You should go on home,” she’d told him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t be alone. Not tonight.”

“It’s what I want,” she’d insisted, yearning for him to leave. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and one she didn’t fully comprehend. She loved Gary, planned to spend the rest of her life with him, but at that moment she’d wanted him out the door. She had to deal with her grief and pain in her own way.

“You need me,” Gary told her with loving concern.

“I do,” she said. “Just not right now.”

Disappointment registered in his deep brown eyes and he nodded with obvious reluctance. “You’ll phone if you change your mind?”

Lorraine had said she would.

He’d kissed her on the forehead in a sweet gesture of love and consolation. Shivering with the evening’s cold, Lorraine had stood out on the porch and watched him drive off.

She’d cleared away the dishes, then wandered aimlessly through the house, pausing in the entrance to each room. Tenderly she caressed the things that had once been her mother’s most prized possessions. She closed her eyes and pictured her mother and father together at last and the wonderful reunion they must be enjoying.

Lorraine was comforted by the knowledge that Virginia had been happy during the last weeks of her life. She’d been thrilled at the news of her daughter’s engagement, thrilled at the prospect of planning a large formal wedding. No sooner had Lorraine said yes to Gary’s proposal than Virginia had started making elaborate plans for the October wedding. She’d valued tradition and frowned on Lorraine’s having chosen a small emerald necklace in lieu of the usual engagement ring.

“You have your wish now, Mom,” she said aloud. The wedding ring on her left hand had belonged to her mother. The inside of the band was engraved with the words “I’ll love you always. Thomas.” The funeral director had given it to her that very day, just before he’d closed the casket. Lorraine had slipped it on and wouldn’t remove it until the time came for her own wedding. Her mother had worn this ring since the day Thomas Dancy placed it on her finger, and now Lorraine would wear it, too.

“What am I going to do without you, Mom?” Lorraine said into the stillness of the night, her eyes welling with tears. It surprised her that she had any left.

She mulled over everything she’d done that had been a disappointment to her mother. She’d dropped out of medical school after her second year and trained as a nurse-practitioner, instead. Virginia had said little, but Lorraine knew her mother regretted that decision. She liked to think she’d made up for it when she met Gary, who sold medical supplies to Group Wellness, where Lorraine worked.

The fact that she’d become a lapsed Catholic had distressed her mother, as well, but Lorraine had never identified with the church the way Virginia had. She attended a nondenominational Christian church, but her mother would have preferred she remain Catholic.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she whispered, knowing she’d let her mother down in countless other ways.

When she’d finished her emotional journey through the house, Lorraine had taken a hot shower and changed into a nightgown, one she’d bought Virginia the previous Christmas. After giving the matter some thought, she’d chosen to sleep in her mother’s room, rather than her own. When she was frightened as a child, she’d always climbed into her mother’s bed. Lorraine was frightened now, afraid of the future, afraid to be without Virginia, without family.

As she lay there sleepless, she gathered her memories around her, finding consolation in the happiness they’d experienced. Day-to-day life had been full of shared pleasures, like cooking elaborate meals together, watching the classic movies they both loved, exchanging favorite books. Virginia also worked for several church-sponsored charities, and Lorraine sometimes spent an evening helping her pack up boxes of food for needy families, or stuffing envelopes. Her mother had been a wonderful woman, and Lorraine was proud of her. She’d been devout in her faith, hardworking, kindhearted. Smart, but generous, too.

After an hour or so, Lorraine gave up even trying to sleep. She sat up and reached for the framed photograph of her parents, which rested on the nightstand. The picture showed Virginia as young and beautiful, wearing a full, ankle-length dress with a wreath of wildflowers on her head. Her long straight hair fell nearly to her waist. She held a small bouquet of wildflowers in one hand; with the other hand she clasped her husband’s. Her eyes had been bright with happiness as she smiled directly into the camera.

The Thomas Dancy in the picture was tall and bearded, and wore his hair tied in a ponytail. He gazed at his bride with an identical look of love and promise. Anyone who saw the photograph could tell that the two of them had been deeply in love.

As recently as last weekend, when they’d been discussing Lorraine’s wedding plans, she’d teased her mother about the photo, calling her parents “flower children.” Virginia had been good-natured about it and merely said, “That was a long time ago.”

Sadly this photograph was the only one Lorraine had of her parents together. Everything else had been destroyed in a fire when she was in grade school. Lorraine remembered the fire, not realizing until years later all that she’d lost. Her parents’ photographs and letters, her father’s medals.

Lorraine knew that Virginia O’Malley had met Thomas Dancy her freshman year in college and they’d quickly fallen in love. The war in Vietnam had separated them when her father volunteered for the army in 1970. He’d survived the war and come home a hero. It was a year later, during a routine physical, that something unusual had shown up in his blood work. That something had turned out to be leukemia. Within six months, Thomas was dead and Virginia was a young widow with a child. Read more

Daddy’s Little Helper

The new schoolteacher wouldn’t last.

It didn’t take Mitch Harris more than five seconds to make that assessment. Bethany Ross didn’t belong in Alaska. She reminded him of a tropical bird with its brilliant plumage. Everything about her was vivid, from her animated expression to her sun-bleached hair, which fell to her shoulders in a frothy mass of blond. Even blonder curls framed her classic features. Her eyes were a deep, rich shade of chocolate.

She wore a bright turquoise jumpsuit with a wide yellow band that circled her trim waist. One of her skimpy multicolored sandals dangled from her foot as she sat on the arm of Abbey and Sawyer O’Halloran’s sofa, her legs elegantly crossed.

This get-together was in her honor. Abbey and Sawyer had invited the members of the school board to their home to meet the new teacher.

To Mitch’s surprise, she stood and approached him before he had a chance to introduce himself. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” Her smile was warm and natural. “I’m Bethany Ross.”

“Mitch Harris.” He didn’t elaborate. Details wouldn’t be necessary because Ms. Ross simply wouldn’t last beyond the first snowfall. “Welcome to Hard Luck,” he said almost as an afterthought.

“Thank you.”

“When did you get here?” he asked, trying to make conversation. He twisted the stem of his wineglass and watched the chardonnay swirl against the sides.

“I flew in this afternoon.”

He hadn’t realized she’d only just arrived. “You must be exhausted.”

“Not really,” she was quick to tell him. “I suppose I should be, considering that I left San Francisco early this morning. The fact is, I’ve been keyed up for days.”

Mitch suspected Hard Luck was a sorry disappointment to her. The town, population 150, was about as far from the easy California lifestyle as a person could get. Situated fifty miles north of the Arctic Circle, Hard Luck was a fascinating place with a strong and abiding sense of community. People here lived hard and worked harder. Besides Midnight Sons, the flight service owned and operated by the three O’Halloran brothers, there were a few small businesses, like Ben Hamilton’s café. Mitch himself was one of a handful of state employees. He worked for the Department of the Interior, monitoring visitors to Gate of the Arctic National Park. This was in addition to his job as the town’s public safety officer—PSO—which meant he was responsible for policing in Hard Luck. Trappers wandered into town now and then, as did the occasional pipeline worker. To those living on the edge of the world, Hard Luck was a thriving metropolis.

Lately the town had piqued the interest of the rest of the country, as well. But Bethany Ross had nothing to do with that. Thank heaven, although Mitch figured she’d stay about as long as some of the women the O’Halloran brothers had brought to town.

Until recently only a small number of women had lived here. Not many were willing to endure the hardship of being this far from civilization. So the O’Halloran’s had spearheaded a campaign to bring women to Hard Luck. Abbey was one of their notable successes, but there’d been a few equally notable failures. Like—who was it?—Allison somebody. The one who’d lasted less than twenty-four hours. And just last week, two women had arrived, only to return home on the next flight out. Bethany Ross had actually applied for the teaching job last spring, before all this nonsense.

Unexpectedly she smiled—a ravishing smile that seemed to say she’d read his thoughts. “I plan to fulfill my contract, Mr. Harris. I knew what I was letting myself in for when I agreed to teach in Alaska.”

Mitch felt the heat rise to his ears. “I didn’t realize my…feelings were so transparent.”

“I don’t blame you for doubting me. I don’t exactly blend in with the others, do I?”

He was tempted to smile himself. “Hard Luck isn’t what you expected, is it?”

“I’ll adjust.”

She said this with such confidence he began to wonder if he’d misjudged her.

“Frankly, I didn’t know what to expect. With Hard Luck in the news so often, the idea of moving here was beginning to worry me.”

Mitch didn’t bother to conceal his amusement. He’d read what some of the tabloids had written about the town and the men’s scheme to lure women north.

“My dad was against my coming,” Bethany continued. “It was all I could do to keep him from flying up here with me. He seems to think Hard Luck’s populated with nothing but love-starved bush pilots.” Read more

Because of the Baby

Two exes reunite in this second chance romance from #1 New York Times bestselling author, Debbie Macomber. Located 50 miles into the Arctic Circle where a population of 150 people—mostly men—reside, Hard Luck is in deep need for more women. It’s up Read more

Midnight Sons and Daughters

Scott O’Halloran and Chrissie Harris are all grown up now. After years away from Alaska, Scott is back in town, and everybody’s wondering if he’s here to stay. Especially Chrissie, the girl he left behind.

Valerie

“Norah? Is that you?” Valerie Bloomfield’s voice rose expectantly. She’d been trying to reach her sister for the past hour with no success.

“Valerie, where are you?”

“I’m on a layover in Chicago.” She glanced around the departure lounge and surveyed the other passengers. “How’s Dad?”

Norah hesitated, and that slight pause sent Valerie’s worry escalating into panic. “Norah…” she began.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected.”

“Did you tell him I’m on my way?” Valerie had been in the middle of a business meeting in New York when she received the message. Her youngest sister had called the Houston office, and they’d passed on the news of her father’s heart attack. Valerie had left immediately, catching the first available flight. Unfortunately that meant going to Oregon via Chicago.

“Dad knows you’re coming.”

“Were you able to get hold of Steff?”

Norah’s sigh signaled her frustration. “Yes, but it took forever and my Italian is nonexistent. She’s planning to catch whatever she can out of Rome, but she has to get there first—she’s in some little village right now. It might take her a couple of days. The connection was bad and I couldn’t understand everything she said. Apparently there’s some sort of transportation strike. But she’s doing her best….”

Valerie’s sympathies went out to Stephanie, the middle Bloomfield sister. She must be frantic, stuck halfway across the world and desperate to find a way home.

“When will you get here?” Norah asked anxiously.

“The plane’s scheduled to land at six-ten.”

“Do you want me to meet you? I could—”

“No,” Valerie interrupted. She didn’t think it was a good idea for Norah to leave their father. “I’ve already ordered a car. It shouldn’t take me more than forty minutes once I land, so don’t worry about me.”

“But the hospital’s an hour’s drive from the airport. You shouldn’t even try to make it in less.”

It generally did take an hour, but Valerie had every intention of getting there a lot sooner. “I should be at the hospital somewhere around seven,” she said evasively.

“I’ll see you then.” Norah sounded resigned.

“Don’t worry, kid, everything’s going to be all right.”

“Just be careful, will you?” Norah pleaded. “You being in an accident won’t help Dad any.”

“I’ll be careful,” Valerie promised, smiling at her sister’s words. Trust Norah to take the practical approach. After a brief farewell, Valerie closed her cell phone and slipped it into her purse.

Half an hour later, she boarded her plane. She’d only brought a carry-on bag, unwilling to waste precious time waiting for luggage to be unloaded. Shutting her eyes, she leaned back in her seat as the plane taxied down the runway.

Her father was dying. Her dear father… His hold on life was precarious, and the burning need to get to him as quickly as possible drove her like nothing she’d ever experienced.

She was exhausted but sleep was out of the question. Valerie bent down for her purse, rummaging through it until she found the antacid tablets. She popped one in her mouth and chewed it with a vengeance. Read more

Someday Soon

Her first mistake was agreeing to attend this Christmas party. Her second was downing a glass of champagne and then, for courage, another.

Her third error in judgment was remembering Michael.

The only reason Linette Collins had agreed to come was that it was easier to give in to Nancy and Rob than argue.

It was well past time for her to socialize again, they claimed. Long past time for her to grieve. Only no one had told her how she was supposed to grow another heart. No one had told her all the time she’d been granted to mourn her husband was two short years.

Her heart had been rubbed raw in the time it had taken leukemia to claim her young husband’s life. Since Michael’s death the days had blended together, one twenty-four-hour period dragging into the next until the weeks and months had blurred together in a thick fog of disenchantment.

Linette had gotten on with her life, the way everyone said she should. She went to work every day. She ate. Slept. She managed to do all that was required of her and nothing more, simply because she hadn’t the energy. Or the inclination.

Then, out of the blue, when she was least expecting it, she’d found peace. A shaky sort of acceptance that teetered, then, gradually, with time, righted itself.

This serenity happened as if by magic. She woke one morning and realized the pain she’d constantly carried with her didn’t seem quite as heavy. The doubts, the fears, the never-ending litany of questions, faded. Unsure of how it had happened, Linette had graciously accepted this small slice of peace, this unexpected reprieve, and clung to it tenaciously

Each day the feeling had grown stronger, and for the first time in months she felt whole. Almost whole, she amended.

But when she’d stepped into this Christmas party she hadn’t been prepared for the festivities to hit her quite this way. The fun, the singing, the laughter, reminded her forcefully that it had been almost two years to the day since Michael’s death.

“I’m so pleased you came,” Nancy said as she squeezed past Linette. Her sister-in-law smelled of cinnamon and bayberry and looked incredibly lovely in her sleeveless winter green velvet gown. Linette’s own white wool dress didn’t fit as well as it should. She’d done what she could to disguise how loose it was with a narrow gold belt.

“I’m pleased I came, too,” Linette bed, but it was only a small white one and unfortunately necessary. She sipped champagne and forced herself to smile.

“Did you sample the hors d’oeuvres?” Nancy asked. “You must! I spent hours and hours assembling those little devils. Try the teriyaki chicken bits first. They’re wonderful.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips and kissed them noisily.

“I’ll give them a taste,” Linette promised.

Without warning, Nancy’s arms shot out and hugged Linette long and hard. When she drew back, Linette noticed tears shimmering in her sister-in-law’s eyes. Nancy’s lower lip quivered as she struggled to hold in the emotion. “I miss him so much,” she said, choking out the words. “I still think about him. It doesn’t seem like it’s been two years.

“I know.” Instead it felt as if several lifetimes had passed.

Linette squeezed Nancy’s hand. It often happened like this, her comforting others. How ironic.

“Oh, damn. I didn’t mean for that to happen,- Nancy murmured, pressing her index fingers beneath each eye while she blinked furiously in an effort to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

“It’s only natural you should miss Michael,” Linette offered, briefly wrapping her arm around Nancy’s waist.

“It just hit me all at once that he was gone. I’m sorry, Linette, the last thing you need is for me to remind you of Michael, especially tonight. This is a party, we’re supposed to be having fun.” Nancy reached for the champagne bottle and Linette’s glass. She sipped from her own glass, then laughed lightly. “He’d want us to celebrate.”

That was true. Michael had always been generous and loving.

“Oh, my,” Nancy said a tad breathlessly, turning around abruptly. Her startled eyes flew to Linette’s. “Tell me, how do I look?” she asked, nervously brushing her hands down her skirt.

Linette blinked, surprised by Nancy’s lack of confidence. “Great.”

“You’re sure?,

“I’m positive. Why?’

“Rob’s boss and his wife just arrived.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” Linette assured her.

“My makeup’s okay?” She dabbed at her cheeks.

“A beauty queen would envy you that face.

Nancy laughed. “Rob’s up for promotion, you know.”

Linette didn’t, but the news wasn’t a surprise. She’d often admired her brother-in-law for his intelligence and ambition.

With a toothpaste-ad smile on her lips, Nancy left, and Linette glanced at her watch once more. Ten more minutes, she decided, and then she’d make an excuse and leave. Silently she’d slip back to life without Michael.

The minute Cain arrived at the Christmas party, he’d noticed her. Like him, she was alone. Uncomfortable. Eager to escape. She was a lovely thing. Petite and fragile. He found himself studying her almost against his will. It wasn’t that she was strikingly beautiful. ‘Winsome” came to mind, although it was an old-fashioned word and not often used these days. But then, she seemed to be a quaint kind of woman.

It was almost as if she’d stepped out of another time and place. Perhaps it was the sense of being lost that he felt. A sense of being alone and slightly afraid, uncomfortably aware of being out of place.

Not afraid, he decided. The more he studied her, the more he realized this woman had walked through a deep, dark valley. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he’d come to trust his intuition. She sipped from the champagne glass and briefly gnawed on the corner of her lip. Watching her made Cain wonder if she’d made her way completely across that valley. Maybe he should find out. No. He decided to leave well enough alone. Read more

Sooner or Later

They can’t fight forever… No one in the tiny town of Boot Hill, Texas, knows the real Shaun Murphy. Heck, most of them don’t even know his first name – and that’s the way Murphy likes it. But he can’t Read more

Bride on the Loose

It was one of those days. Jason Manning scrubbed his hands in the stainless-steel sink, then applied ointment to several scratches. He’d just finished examining and prescribing antibiotics for a feisty Persian cat with a bladder infection. The usually ill-mannered feline had never been his most cooperative patient, but today she’d taken a particular dislike to Jason.

He left the examining room and was greeted by Stella, his receptionist, who steered him toward his office. She wore a suspiciously silly grin, as if to say “this should be interesting.”

“There’s a young lady who’d like a few minutes with you,” was all the information she’d give him. Her cryptic message didn’t please him any more than the Persian’s blatant distaste for him had.

Curious, Jason moved into his book-lined office. “Hello,” he said in the friendliest voice he could muster.

“Hi.” A teenage girl who seemed vaguely familiar stood as he entered the room. She glanced nervously in his direction as if he should recognize her. When it was obvious he didn’t, she introduced herself. “I’m Carrie Weston.” She paused, waiting expectantly.

“Hello, Carrie,” Jason said. He’d seen her around, but for the life of him, couldn’t recall where. “How can I help you?”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Ah… no.” He couldn’t see any point in pretending. If a cat could outsmart him, he was fair game for a teenager.

“We’re neighbors. My mom and I live in the same apartment complex as you.”

He did his best to smile and nod as though he’d immediately placed her, but he hadn’t. He racked his brain trying to recall which apartment was hers. Although he owned and managed the building, Jason didn’t interact much with his tenants. He was careful to choose renters who cared about their privacy as much as he cared about his. He rarely saw any of them other than to collect the rent, and even then most just slipped their checks under his door around the first of the month.

Carrie sat back down, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “I—I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been trying to talk to you for some time, and… and this seemed to be the only way I could do it without my mother finding out.”

“Your mother?”

“Charlotte Weston. We live in 1-A.”

Jason nodded. The Weston’s had been in the apartment for more than a year. Other than when they’d signed the rental agreement, Jason couldn’t recall speaking to either the mother or her daughter.

“Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem… exactly.” Carrie stood once again and opened her purse, taking out a thin wad of bills, which she leafed through and counted slowly. When she’d finished, she looked up at him. “It’s my mother,” she announced.

“Yes?” Jason prompted. He didn’t have a clue where this conversation was leading or how long it would take the girl to get there. Stella knew he had a terrier waiting, yet she’d purposely routed him into his office.

“She needs a man,” Carrie said, squaring her shoulders.

“I beg your pardon?” The girl had his attention now.

“My mother needs a man. I’m here to offer you one hundred dollars if you’ll take her out on a date. You are single, aren’t you?”

“Yes…but…” Jason was so surprised, he answered without thinking. Frankly, he didn’t know whether to ask which of his brothers had put her up to this, or simply to laugh outright. He couldn’t very well claim he’d never been propositioned before, but this was by far the most original instance he’d encountered in thirty-odd years.

“She’s not ugly or anything.”

“Ah…I’m not sure what to tell you.” The girl was staring at him so candidly, so forthrightly, Jason realized within seconds it was no joke.

“I don’t think my mother’s happy.”

Jason leaned against the side of his oak desk and crossed his arms. “Why would you assume my taking her out will make a difference?”

“I… don’t know. I’m just hoping. You see, my mom and dad got divorced when I was little. I don’t remember my dad, and apparently he doesn’t remember me, either, because I’ve never heard from him. Mom doesn’t say much about what went wrong, but it must’ve been bad because she never dates. I didn’t care about that before, only now…”

“Only now what?” Jason asked when she hesitated. Read more

Caroline’s Child

Clutching the mail in one hand, Grady Weston paced the narrow corridor inside the post office. He glanced distractedly at the row of mailboxes, gathering his courage before he approached Caroline Daniels, the postmistress.

His tongue felt as if it’d wrapped itself around his front teeth, and he was beginning to doubt he’d be able to utter a single sensible word. It shouldn’t be so damned difficult to let a woman know he found her attractive!

“Grady?” Caroline’s voice reached out to him.

He spun around, not seeing her. Great. Not only was he dreaming about her, now he was hearing her voice.

“Open your box,” she instructed.

He fumbled for the key and twisted open the small rectangular door, then peered in. Sure enough, Caroline was there. Not all of her, just her brown eyes, her pert little nose and lovely mouth.

If he’d possessed his brother’s gift for flattery, Grady would have said something clever. Made some flowery remark. Unfortunately all he managed was a gruff unfriendly sounding “Hello.”

“Hi.”

Caroline had beautiful eyes, dark and rich like freshly brewed coffee, which was about as poetic as Grady got. Large and limpid, they reminded him of a calf’s, but he figured that might not be something a woman wanted to hear, even if he considered it a compliment. This was the problem, Grady decided. He didn’t know how to talk to a woman. In fact, it’d been more than six years since he’d gone out on an actual date.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.

He wanted to invite her to lunch, and although that seemed a simple enough request, he couldn’t make himself ask her. Probably because their relationship so far hadn’t been too promising. Calling it a “relationship” wasn’t really accurate, since they’d barely exchanged a civil word and had never so much as held hands. Mostly they snapped at each other, disagreed and argued—if they were speaking at all. True, they’d danced once; it’d been nice, but only when he could stop worrying about stepping on her toes.

Who was he kidding? Holding Caroline in his arms had been more than nice, it had been wonderful. In the month since, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that one dance. Every night when he climbed into bed and closed his eyes, Caroline was there to greet him. He could still feel her softness against him, could almost smell the faint scent of her cologne. The dance had been ladies’ choice, and that was enough to let him believe—hope—she might actually hold some regard for him, too. Despite their disagreements, he’d been the one she’d chosen to ask.

“You had lunch yet?” Grady asked, his voice brusque. He didn’t mean to sound angry or unfriendly. The timbre of his voice and his abrupt way of speaking had caused him plenty of problems with Maggie, Caroline’s five-year-old daughter. He’d been trying to get in the kid’s good graces for months now, with only limited success. But he’d tried. He hoped Caroline and Maggie gave him credit for that.

Caroline’s mouth broke into a wide grin. “Lunch? Not yet, and I’m starved.”

Grady’s spirits lifted considerably. “Well, then, I was thinking, seeing as I haven’t eaten myself..” The words stumbled all over themselves in his eagerness to get them out. “You want to join me?”

“Sure, but let me get this straight. Is this an invitation, as in a date?”

“No.” His response was instinctive, given without thought. He’d been denying his feelings for her so long that his answer had come automatically. He feared, too, that she might misread his intentions. He was attracted to Caroline and he wanted to know her better, but beyond that—he wasn’t sure. Hell, what he knew about love and marriage wouldn’t fill a one-inch column of the Promise Gazette.

Some of the happiness faded from her smile. “Understood. Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you out front.” She moved out of his range of vision.

Grady closed the box, but left his hand on the key. How could anyone with the skills to run a thriving cattle ranch in the Texas Hill Country be such a fool when it came to women?

He rapped on the post-office box hard enough to hurt his knuckles. “Caroline!” Then he realized he had to open the box. He did that, then stared through it and shouted for her a second time. “Caroline!”

Her face appeared, eyes snapping with impatience. “What’s the rush?” she demanded. “I said it’d take me a few minutes.”

The edges of the postbox cut into his forehead and chin and knocked his Stetson askew. “This is a date, all right?”

She stared back at him from the other side, and either she was overwhelmed by his offer to buy her lunch or surprised into speechlessness.

“All right?” he repeated. “This is a date.”

She continued to look at him. “I shouldn’t have asked,” she finally said.

“I’m glad you did.” And he was. He could think of no better way to set things straight. He hadn’t invited her to lunch because he needed someone to pass the time with; if that was what he’d wanted, he could have asked his sister, Savannah, or her husband or Cal Patterson—or any number of people. No, he’d asked Caroline because he wanted to be with her. For once he longed to talk to her without interference or advice from his matchmaking sister. It didn’t help to have Maggie there hiding her face in her mother’s lap every time he walked into the room, either. This afternoon it’d be just the two of them. Caroline and him.

Grady respectfully removed his hat when she joined him in the lobby.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Caroline said.

“I was in town, anyway.” He didn’t mention that he’d rearranged his entire day for this opportunity. It was hard enough admitting that to himself, let alone Caroline.

“Where would you like to eat?” he asked. The town had three good restaurants: the cafe in the bowling alley; the Chili Pepper, a Texas barbecue place; and a Mexican restaurant run by the Chavez family.

“How about Mexican Lindo?” Caroline suggested.

It was the one he would have chosen himself. “Great.”

Since the restaurant was on Fourth Avenue, only two blocks from the post office, they walked there, chatting as they went. Or rather, Caroline chatted and he responded with grunts and murmurs.

Grady had long ago realized he lacked the ability to make small talk. Unlike his younger brother, Richard, who could charm his way into—or out of—anything. Grady tried not to feel inadequate, but he was distinctly relieved when they got to the restaurant.

In a few minutes they were seated at a table, served water and a bowl of tortilla chips along with a dish of extra-hot salsa. He reached for a chip, scooped up as much salsa as it would hold and popped it in his mouth. He ate another and then another before he noticed that Caroline hadn’t touched a single chip.

He raised his eyes to hers and stopped chewing, his mouth full.

Caroline apparently read the question in his eyes. “I don’t eat corn chips,” she explained. “I fill up on them and then I don’t have room for anything else.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Oh.”

A moment of silence passed, and Grady wondered if her comment was a subtle hint that she was watching her weight. From what he understood, weight was a major preoccupation with women. Maybe she was waiting for him to tell her she shouldn’t worry about it; maybe he was supposed to say she looked great. She did. She was slender and well proportioned, and she wore her dark brown hair straight and loose, falling to her shoulders. In his opinion she looked about as perfect as a woman could get. Someday he’d tell her that, but not just yet. Besides, he didn’t want her to think he was only interested in her body, although it intrigued him plenty. He admired a great deal about her, especially the way she was raising Maggie on her own. She understood the meaning of the words responsibility and sacrifice, just like he did.

She was staring at him as if she expected a comment, and Grady realized he needed to say something. “You could be fat and I’d still have asked you to lunch.”

Her smooth brow crumpled in a puzzled frown.

“I meant that as a compliment,” he sputtered and decided then and there it was better to keep his trap shut. Thankfully the waitress came to take their order. Grady decided on chicken enchiladas; Caroline echoed his choice.

“This is really very nice,” she said and reached for the tall glass of iced tea.

“I wanted us to have some time alone,” he told her. “Any particular reason?”

Grady rested his spine against the back of his chair and boldly met her look. “I like you, Caroline.” He didn’t know any way to be other than direct. This had gotten him into difficulties over the years. Earlier that spring he’d taken a dislike to Laredo Smith and hadn’t been shy about letting his sister and everyone else know his feelings. But he’d been wrong in his assessment of the man’s character. Smith’s truck had broken down and Savannah had brought him home to the ranch. Over Grady’s objections she’d hired him herself, and before long they’d fallen in love. It came as a shock to watch his sane sensible sister give her heart to a perfect stranger. Still, Grady wasn’t proud of the way he’d behaved. By the time Laredo decided it’d be better for everyone concerned if he moved on, Grady had wanted him to stay. He’d gone so far as to offer the man a partnership in the ranch in an effort to change his mind. Not that it’d done any good. To Grady’s eternal gratitude, Laredo had experienced a change of heart and returned a couple of months later. Love had driven him away, but it had also brought him back.

Savannah and Laredo had married in short order and were now involved in designing plans for their own home, plus raising quarter horses. Savannah, with her husband’s active support, continued to grow the antique roses that were making her a name across the state.

In the weeks since becoming his brother-in-law, Laredo Smith had proved himself a damn good friend and Grady’s right-hand man.

“I like you, too,” Caroline said, but she lowered her gaze as she spoke, breaking eye contact. This seemed to be something of an admission for them both.

“You do?” Grady felt light-headed with joy. It was all he could do not to leap in the air and click his heels.

“We’ve known each other a lot of years.”

“I’ve known you most of my life,” he agreed, but as he said the words, he realized he didn’t really know Caroline. Not the way he wanted, not the way he hoped he would one day. It wasn’t just that he had no idea who’d fathered Maggie; apparently no one else in town did, either. He wondered what had attracted her to this man, why she hadn’t married him. Or why he’d left her to deal with the pregnancy and birth alone. It all remained a mystery. Another thing Grady didn’t understand about Caroline was the changes in her since her daughter’s birth. In time Grady believed she’d trust him enough to answer his questions, and he prayed he’d say and do the right thing when she did.

Their lunches arrived and they ate, stopping to chat now and then. The conversation didn’t pall, but again he had to credit Caroline with the skill to keep it going. Half an hour later, as he escorted her back to the post office, Grady was walking on air.

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” he said, watching her for some sign of encouragement. “If you want,” he added, needing her reassurance.

“Sure.”

Her response was neither encouraging nor discouraging.

“I’d like to talk to Maggie again, if she’ll let me.”

“You might try this afternoon, since she’s spending the day with Savannah.”

This was news to Grady, but he’d been busy that morning and had left the house early. He hadn’t spoken to Savannah other than a few words over breakfast, and even if he’d known Maggie was staying with his sister, he wouldn’t have had time to chat with the girl that morning.

“I’ll make a point of saying hello,” he said. His heart lifted when it suddenly struck him that he’d be seeing Caroline again later in the day, when she came to pick up Maggie.

They parted. Whistling, Grady sauntered across the asphalt parking lot toward his truck. He felt damn good. The afternoon had gone better than he’d hoped.

He was about to open the cab door when Max Jordan stopped him.

“Grady, have you got a moment?” The older man, owner of the local Western-wear store, quickened his pace.

“Howdy, Max.” Grady grinned from ear to ear and didn’t let the somber expression on Max’s face get him down. “What can I do for you?”

Max shuffled his feet a couple of times, looking uncomfortable. “You know I hate to mention this a second time, but Richard still hasn’t paid me for the clothes he bought three months ago.”

The happy excitement Grady had experienced only moments earlier died a quick death. “It was my understanding Richard mailed you a check.”

“He told me the same thing, but it’s been more than two weeks now and nothing’s come. I don’t feel I should have to wait any longer.”

“I don’t think you should, either. I’ll speak to him myself,” Grady promised.

“I hate to drag you into this,” Max muttered, and it was clear from his shaky voice how much the subject distressed him.

“Don’t worry about it, Max. I understand.”

The older man nodded and turned away. Grady climbed into his truck and clenched the steering wheel with both hands as the anger flooded through him. Leave it to his brother to lie and cheat and steal!

What infuriated Grady was that he had no one to blame but himself. He’d allowed Richard to continue living on the Yellow Rose. Allowed him to tarnish the family name. Allowed himself to believe, to hope, that the years away had changed his brother.

All his illusions had been shattered. They were destroyed like so much else Richard had touched. He’d done his damnedest to ruin Grady, and he’d come close. But Richard had succeeded in ruining his own life—his potential to be a different person, a worthwhile human being.

Charming and personable, a born leader, Richard could have accomplished great things. Instead, he’d used his charisma and personality to swindle others, never understanding that the person he’d cheated most had been himself.

Six years earlier Richard had forged Grady’s signature and absconded with the cash their parents had left—cash that would have paid the inheritance taxes on the ranch and covered the burial expenses. Grady and Savannah had found themselves penniless following the tragedy that had claimed their parents’ lives. It’d taken six long, backbreaking, frustration-filled years to crawl out of debt. Grady had sacrificed those years to hold on to the ranch while Richard had squandered the money. When it had run out, he’d returned home with his tail between his legs, looking for a place to stay until he received a severance check from his last job—or so he’d said.

Deep down Grady had wanted to believe in Richard. His sister had begged him to let their younger brother stay. But she didn’t need to beg very hard or very long for him to relent. Unfortunately it had become apparent that a liar and a cheat didn’t change overnight—or in six years. Grady’s brother was the same now as the day he’d stolen from his family.

Despite the air conditioner, the heat inside the truck cab sucked away Grady’s energy. It should have come as no surprise to discover that Richard had lied to him again. This time would be the last, Grady vowed. Oh, yes, this episode was the proverbial last straw. Read more

Bride Wanted

His billboard was brazen, but with mere weeks to find a wife to warm his winter nights, forthright frontiersman Chase Goodman couldn’t waste time on sweet talk. Lesley Campbell was not in the market for pretty promises. She’d been fooled Read more

Stephanie

Stephanie Bloomfield returns home to Orchard Valley, Oregon; her father has suffered a heart attack, and all three sisters are gathering at his side. Fortunately, by the time Steffie arrives, he’s already begun to recover. But Steffie has other worries, Read more

Springtime Sunshine

“I’m so stupid,” Jamie Warren wailed, tossing the crumpled tissue over her shoulder. Rich Manning, who was sitting across the kitchen table from her, held out a fresh one. “I trusted Tony, and he’s nothing more than a…jerk.”

She yanked the tissue from Rich’s hand and ingloriously blew her nose. That tissue took the same path as the previous one. “I feel like the biggest fool who ever lived.”

“It’s Tony who’s the fool.”

“Oh, right. Then why am I the one sitting here crying my eyes out?” Jamie really didn’t expect him to answer. Calling Rich at an ungodly hour, sobbing out her tale of woe, wasn’t the most considerate thing she’d ever done, but she had to talk to someone and he was the first person who’d come to mind.

He was the kind of friend she felt comfortable calling in the middle of the night. The kind of friend who’d immediately drive over if she needed sympathy or consolation. They’d been close ever since they’d worked together on their yearbook in high school. Although they didn’t see each other often, Jamie had always felt their relationship was special.

“At least crying’s better than getting drunk, which is what I did when I found out Pamela was cheating on me,” Rich admitted with a wry twist of his mouth. He got up and poured them each another cup of coffee.

“You haven’t seen her since, have you?”

“Sure, I have. I wouldn’t want her to think I was jealous.”

Despite everything, Jamie laughed. “You’re still dating her? Even after you learned she was seeing another guy behind your back?”

Rich shrugged carelessly, as though the entire situation was of little consequence, something Jamie knew not to be the case. Although he’d been devastated, he’d worn a nonchalant facade. He might’ve fooled everyone else, but not Jamie. His flippant attitude couldn’t camouflage the pain.

“I took her to a movie a couple of times,” Rich continued. “I played it cool. But as far as I’m concerned, it was over the minute I heard about that other guy.”

“It’s over with me and Tony, too,” Jamie murmured. Just saying the words produced a painful tightening in her chest. She was truly in love with Tony and had been for nearly a year. They’d often talked about getting married and raising a family together. Jamie wanted children so badly. The weekend before, they’d gone shopping for engagement rings. Her mother, who was crazy about him, had been thrilled. Since Jamie was over thirty her mom tended to worry about her marriage prospects, but even she said that waiting for a man like Tony Sanchez had been time well spent. Sharing the bad news with her widowed mother had been almost as upsetting as learning about the betrayal itself.

“You’re sure the other woman’s baby is his?” Rich asked, reaching for her hand. “She could be stirring up trouble.”

“He didn’t bother to deny it.” In the beginning, Jamie had hoped the woman was lying. She’d searched Tony’s face, praying it was all some malicious joke. His beautiful dark eyes had turned defensive, but gradually the regret, the doubt, had shown, and he’d slid his gaze away from hers. It had been a mistake, he’d told her, a momentary slip in judgment. A one-night fling that meant nothing. He felt terrible about it and promised nothing like this would ever happen again.

Tony was cheating on her before they were even married, and Jamie didn’t need a crystal ball to know that pattern would almost certainly continue.

“This isn’t the first time,” she admitted, biting her lower lip to control the trembling. “Margie, in New Accounts, mentioned seeing Tony with a blonde a month or so ago. He’d told me he was out of town and I…I was sure it was just a case of mistaken identity. I should’ve known then.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Rich said, bending to brush a wisp of dark brown hair from her temple. “There were plenty of signs that Pamela was playing me for a fool, too, but I was so taken with her—”

“Bust line. Which was always your primary interest.”

“That’s probably why I never dated you,” he countered, grinning.

Jamie smiled. The joke was an old one between them. When they’d first been assigned to work together on the yearbook, Rich had been a popular football player and she’d been a nondescript bookworm. They’d clashed constantly. One day, after a particularly nasty confrontation, she’d shouted that if she had a bigger bust, he might actually listen to her. Rich had gone speechless, then he’d started to laugh. The laughter had broken the ice between them and they’d been friends ever since. The best of friends.

“I hear there’s help in the form of surgery,” he teased, leveling his gaze at her chest.

“Oh, honestly.” Her breasts weren’t that small, but it was comfortable and easy to fall into their old banter. Focusing on something other than what a mistake Tony had turned out to be provided her with a good—if momentary—distraction. She’d wasted an entire year of her life on him. An entire year!

Rich reached for his coffee, then leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if anyone’s faithful anymore.”

“I’m the last person you should be asking that,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She didn’t blame Rich for having doubts. Relationships all around her seemed to be failing. Friends, whose marriages had appeared strong and secure, were divorcing. At work affairs were rampant. Casual sex. Jamie was sick of it all.

“When Mark Brooks cheated on my sister Taylor, she took that teaching position in another state,” Rich went on to say. “You know, I never much liked Mark. From the first I felt there was something off about him. I wish I’d spoken to Taylor about it.”

“I felt so bad for her.”

“The whole family was worried. Then she moved to the backwoods of Montana and a few months later, she married Russ Palmer. Everyone was sure she’d made a terrible mistake, marrying a cowpoke on the rebound, but I’ve never seen her happier. And now Christy’s married to Cody Franklin.”

“Christy’s married to whom?”

“The Custer County sheriff. She’s living in Montana, too.”

“But I thought she was engaged to James Wilkens! Good grief, I was at her engagement party just a few months ago.”

“It’s a long story, but James is out of the picture.”

“Christy dumped James?” It was hard to believe. Jamie had assumed they were perfect for each other. They’d acted like the ideal couple at the engagement party, sipping champagne and discussing wedding dates with their families.

Rich chuckled. “If you’re surprised by that, wait until you hear this. While Christy was still engaged to James, she was married to Cody.”

Jamie was shocked. She didn’t know Rich’s youngest sister well, but she would never have imagined Christy doing anything so underhanded. “I am surprised.”

“There were mitigating circumstances and it’s not as bad as it sounds, but Christy is yet another example of how fickle women can be.”

“Women?” Jamie protested. “Men are notoriously untrustworthy—they always have been.”

It looked as though Rich wanted to argue. He straightened and opened his mouth, then shook his head. Sighing, he drank the last of his coffee. “I’ve begun to think commitment means nothing these days.”

“I hate to be so cynical, but I agree.”

Standing, Rich carried his mug to the kitchen sink. “Are you going to be able to sleep now?”

Jamie nodded, although she wasn’t convinced. However, she’d taken enough of Rich’s time for one night and didn’t want to keep him any longer.

“Liar,” he whispered softly.

Jamie smiled and got up, too. He slipped his arms around her and she laid her cheek against his shoulder. It felt good to be held. Rich’s comfort was that of a loving friend, someone who truly cared about her without the complications of romance or male-female dynamics.

“You’re going to get through this.”

“I know,” she whispered. But she hadn’t been confident of that until she’d talked to Rich. How fortunate she was to have him as her friend. “We both will,” she added.

A sigh rumbled through Rich’s chest. “Don’t you wish life could be as simple now as it was in high school?”

That remark gave Jamie pause. “No,” she finally said, then laughed. “I was so shy back then.”

“Shy?” Rich argued, releasing her enough to cast her a challenging look. “You were a lot of things, Jamie Warren, but shy wasn’t one of them.”

“Maybe not with you.”

“I wish you had been, then you might’ve done things my way without so much arguing.”

“You’re still upset that I didn’t use your picture on the sports page, aren’t you? We’ve been out of high school for thirteen years and you haven’t forgiven me for using that shot of Josh McGinnes instead.”

Rich chuckled. “I could be upset, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She led him to the door of her condo. “Seriously, though, I really am grateful you came.”

“Call if you need me?”

She nodded. The worst of it was over. She would pick up the pieces of her life and start again, a little less trusting and a whole lot more wary.

Two months later, Rich was sitting in his office at Boeing when the image of Jamie Warren’s tear-streaked face drifted into his mind. It was as if their conversation had taken place just the night before—even though he’d talked to her two or three times over the holidays, and she’d sounded good. Cheerful, in fact. Certainly in better spirits than he’d been himself.

She hadn’t made any attempt to fool him. Tony had hurt her badly. From what she’d said, he’d made several attempts to resume their engagement, but she’d rejected the idea in no uncertain terms. It was plain to Rich that Tony Sanchez didn’t really know Jamie Warren. The woman was stubborn enough to impress a mule. Once she made up her mind, that was it. Oh, she appeared docile and easygoing, but Rich had collided with that stubborn streak of hers a time or two and come away battered and bruised.

It bothered Rich that Jamie had never married. She’d always loved children, and he’d fully expected her to have a passel of kids by now.

Most men, he realized, passed Jamie over without a second glance. That bothered him even more.

The problem, not that he’d call it a problem, was that she didn’t possess the looks of a beauty queen. She wasn’t plain, nor was she unappealing. She was just— he hated to admit it—ordinary. Generally, there was one thing or other that stood out in a woman. A flawless face. Cascades of shining hair, blond or gold or black… Jamie’s wasn’t blond and it wasn’t brunette but somewhere in between. And it wasn’t long, but it wasn’t short either. Some women had eyes that could pierce a man’s soul. Jamie had brown eyes. Regular brown eyes. Not dark or seductive or anything else, just brown eyes. Nice, but average.

She was about five-five, and a little on the thin side. Giving the matter some consideration, Rich noted that there didn’t seem to be any distinguishing curves on her. Not her hips, and certainly not her breasts. He could be mistaken of course, since he hadn’t really looked at her that way.… To be honest, he’d never looked at her in any way other than as a friend.

She didn’t have a body that would stop traffic. The thing was, a woman could have an ordinary face, but if she had curves, men fell all over themselves. Rich hated to admit something so derogatory about his fellow man, but he felt it was true.

What few took the time to see was Jamie’s warm heart and generous spirit. He’d never known a more giving woman. What she’d said about being shy was true, even though he’d denied it. Yet she had spunk and she had spirit. Enough to stand up to him, which was no easy thing.

Pushing against the edge of his desk, Rich rolled back his chair and stood up. He headed down the hallway with determination.

“Bill,” he said, striding purposefully into his friend’s office. “Got a minute?”

“What’s up?”

Rich had never played the role of matchmaker before, and he wasn’t sure where to start. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh.” Bill didn’t look too enthusiastic.

“A friend of mine.”

“Widowed or divorced?”

“Single.”

Bill’s brows arched toward his receding hairline. “You mean a leftover girl.”

Rich wasn’t comfortable thinking of Jamie as leftover, but this wasn’t the time to argue. “We went to high school together.”

“High school? Exactly how old is she?”

“Thirty-one.” Her birthday wasn’t until April. Their birthdays were both in April, and Jamie loved to point out that she was a whole week older. Read more

Then You Came Along

HIS SUMMER BRIDE That sparkly New Year’s Eve in Vegas, dignified Judge James Wilkens impulsively rescued a most seductive damsel in distress. And one unforgettable night with Summer Lawton had him vowing to meet her at the same time, the Read more

The Marriage Risk

Hard Luck, Alaska- a town that needs women! Location: 50 miles north of the Arctic Circle. Population: 150–mostly men–but growing! Because the O’Halloran brothers, who run a bush-plane service called Midnight Sons, are heading a campaign to bring women to Read more

Marriage Wanted

GROOM: Divorce attorney Nash Davenport had seen enough bad endings to know that marriage was a mistake. When he had asked Savannah Charles to marry him, it was out of mutual necessity–not love. BRIDE: Weddings were Savannah’s business and she Read more

Someday Soon & Sooner or Later

Her first mistake was agreeing to attend this Christmas party. Her second was downing a glass of champagne and then, for courage, another.

Her third error in judgment was remembering Michael.

The only reason Linette Collins had agreed to come was that it was easier to give in to Nancy and Rob than argue.

It was well past time for her to socialize again, they claimed. Long past time for her to grieve. Only no one had told her how she was supposed to grow another heart. No one had told her all the time she’d been granted to mourn her husband was two short years.

Her heart had been rubbed raw in the time it had taken leukemia to claim her young husband’s life. Since Michael’s death the days had blended together, one twenty-four-hour period dragging into the next until the weeks and months had blurred together in a thick fog of disenchantment.

Linette had gotten on with her life, the way everyone said she should. She went to work every day. She ate. Slept. She managed to do all that was required of her and nothing more, simply because she hadn’t the energy. Or the inclination.

Then, out of the blue, when she was least expecting it, she’d found peace. A shaky sort of acceptance that teetered, then, gradually, with time, righted itself.

This serenity happened as if by magic. She woke one morning and realized the pain she’d constantly carried with her didn’t seem quite as heavy. The doubts, the fears, the never-ending litany of questions, faded. Unsure of how it had happened, Linette had graciously accepted this small slice of peace, this unexpected reprieve, and clung to it tenaciously

Each day the feeling had grown stronger, and for the first time in months she felt whole. Almost whole, she amended.

But when she’d stepped into this Christmas party she hadn’t been prepared for the festivities to hit her quite this way. The fun, the singing, the laughter, reminded her forcefully that it had been almost two years to the day since Michael’s death.

“I’m so pleased you came,” Nancy said as she squeezed past Linette. Her sister-in-law smelled of cinnamon and bayberry and looked incredibly lovely in her sleeveless winter green velvet gown. Linette’s own white wool dress didn’t fit as well as it should. She’d done what she could to disguise how loose it was with a narrow gold belt.

“I’m pleased I came, too,” Linette bed, but it was only a small white one and unfortunately necessary. She sipped champagne and forced herself to smile.

“Did you sample the hors d’oeuvres?” Nancy asked. “You must! I spent hours and hours assembling those little devils. Try the teriyaki chicken bits first. They’re wonderful.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips and kissed them noisily.

“I’ll give them a taste,” Linette promised.

Without warning, Nancy’s arms shot out and hugged Linette long and hard. When she drew back, Linette noticed tears shimmering in her sister-in-law’s eyes. Nancy’s lower lip quivered as she struggled to hold in the emotion. “I miss him so much,” she said, choking out the words. “I still think about him. It doesn’t seem like it’s been two years.

“I know.” Instead it felt as if several lifetimes had passed.

Linette squeezed Nancy’s hand. It often happened like this, her comforting others. How ironic.

“Oh, damn. I didn’t mean for that to happen,- Nancy murmured, pressing her index fingers beneath each eye while she blinked furiously in an effort to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

“It’s only natural you should miss Michael,” Linette offered, briefly wrapping her arm around Nancy’s waist.

“It just hit me all at once that he was gone. I’m sorry, Linette, the last thing you need is for me to remind you of Michael, especially tonight. This is a party, we’re supposed to be having fun.” Nancy reached for the champagne bottle and Linette’s glass. She sipped from her own glass, then laughed lightly. “He’d want us to celebrate.”

That was true. Michael had always been generous and loving.

“Oh, my,” Nancy said a tad breathlessly, turning around abruptly. Her startled eyes flew to Linette’s. “Tell me, how do I look?” she asked, nervously brushing her hands down her skirt.

Linette blinked, surprised by Nancy’s lack of confidence. “Great.”

“You’re sure?,

“I’m positive. Why?’

“Rob’s boss and his wife just arrived.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” Linette assured her.

“My makeup’s okay?” She dabbed at her cheeks.

“A beauty queen would envy you that face.

Nancy laughed. “Rob’s up for promotion, you know.”

Linette didn’t, but the news wasn’t a surprise. She’d often admired her brother-in-law for his intelligence and ambition.

With a toothpaste-ad smile on her lips, Nancy left, and Linette glanced at her watch once more. Ten more minutes, she decided, and then she’d make an excuse and leave. Silently she’d slip back to life without Michael.

The minute Cain arrived at the Christmas party, he’d noticed her. Like him, she was alone. Uncomfortable. Eager to escape. She was a lovely thing. Petite and fragile. He found himself studying her almost against his will. It wasn’t that she was strikingly beautiful. ‘Winsome” came to mind, although it was an old-fashioned word and not often used these days. But then, she seemed to be a quaint kind of woman.

It was almost as if she’d stepped out of another time and place. Perhaps it was the sense of being lost that he felt. A sense of being alone and slightly afraid, uncomfortably aware of being out of place.

Not afraid, he decided. The more he studied her, the more he realized this woman had walked through a deep, dark valley. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he’d come to trust his intuition. She sipped from the champagne glass and briefly gnawed on the corner of her lip. Watching her made Cain wonder if she’d made her way completely across that valley. Maybe he should find out. No. He decided to leave well enough alone. Read more

Marriage of Inconvenience

“I’m so stupid,” Jamie Warren wailed, tossing the crumpled tissue over her shoulder. Rich Manning, who was sitting across the kitchen table from her, held out a fresh one. “I trusted Tony, and he’s nothing more than a…jerk.”

She yanked the tissue from Rich’s hand and ingloriously blew her nose. That tissue took the same path as the previous one. “I feel like the biggest fool who ever lived.”

“It’s Tony who’s the fool.”

“Oh, right. Then why am I the one sitting here crying my eyes out?” Jamie really didn’t expect him to answer. Calling Rich at an ungodly hour, sobbing out her tale of woe, wasn’t the most considerate thing she’d ever done, but she had to talk to someone and he was the first person who’d come to mind.

He was the kind of friend she felt comfortable calling in the middle of the night. The kind of friend who’d immediately drive over if she needed sympathy or consolation. They’d been close ever since they’d worked together on their yearbook in high school. Although they didn’t see each other often, Jamie had always felt their relationship was special.

“At least crying’s better than getting drunk, which is what I did when I found out Pamela was cheating on me,” Rich admitted with a wry twist of his mouth. He got up and poured them each another cup of coffee.

“You haven’t seen her since, have you?”

“Sure, I have. I wouldn’t want her to think I was jealous.”

Despite everything, Jamie laughed. “You’re still dating her? Even after you learned she was seeing another guy behind your back?”

Rich shrugged carelessly, as though the entire situation was of little consequence, something Jamie knew not to be the case. Although he’d been devastated, he’d worn a nonchalant facade. He might’ve fooled everyone else, but not Jamie. His flippant attitude couldn’t camouflage the pain.

“I took her to a movie a couple of times,” Rich continued. “I played it cool. But as far as I’m concerned, it was over the minute I heard about that other guy.”

“It’s over with me and Tony, too,” Jamie murmured. Just saying the words produced a painful tightening in her chest. She was truly in love with Tony and had been for nearly a year. They’d often talked about getting married and raising a family together. Jamie wanted children so badly. The weekend before, they’d gone shopping for engagement rings. Her mother, who was crazy about him, had been thrilled. Since Jamie was over thirty her mom tended to worry about her marriage prospects, but even she said that waiting for a man like Tony Sanchez had been time well spent. Sharing the bad news with her widowed mother had been almost as upsetting as learning about the betrayal itself.

“You’re sure the other woman’s baby is his?” Rich asked, reaching for her hand. “She could be stirring up trouble.”

“He didn’t bother to deny it.” In the beginning, Jamie had hoped the woman was lying. She’d searched Tony’s face, praying it was all some malicious joke. His beautiful dark eyes had turned defensive, but gradually the regret, the doubt, had shown, and he’d slid his gaze away from hers. It had been a mistake, he’d told her, a momentary slip in judgment. A one-night fling that meant nothing. He felt terrible about it and promised nothing like this would ever happen again.

Tony was cheating on her before they were even married, and Jamie didn’t need a crystal ball to know that pattern would almost certainly continue.

“This isn’t the first time,” she admitted, biting her lower lip to control the trembling. “Margie, in New Accounts, mentioned seeing Tony with a blonde a month or so ago. He’d told me he was out of town and I…I was sure it was just a case of mistaken identity. I should’ve known then.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Rich said, bending to brush a wisp of dark brown hair from her temple. “There were plenty of signs that Pamela was playing me for a fool, too, but I was so taken with her—”

“Bust line. Which was always your primary interest.”

“That’s probably why I never dated you,” he countered, grinning.

Jamie smiled. The joke was an old one between them. When they’d first been assigned to work together on the yearbook, Rich had been a popular football player and she’d been a nondescript bookworm. They’d clashed constantly. One day, after a particularly nasty confrontation, she’d shouted that if she had a bigger bust, he might actually listen to her. Rich had gone speechless, then he’d started to laugh. The laughter had broken the ice between them and they’d been friends ever since. The best of friends.

“I hear there’s help in the form of surgery,” he teased, leveling his gaze at her chest.

“Oh, honestly.” Her breasts weren’t that small, but it was comfortable and easy to fall into their old banter. Focusing on something other than what a mistake Tony had turned out to be provided her with a good—if momentary—distraction. She’d wasted an entire year of her life on him. An entire year!

Rich reached for his coffee, then leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if anyone’s faithful anymore.”

“I’m the last person you should be asking that,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She didn’t blame Rich for having doubts. Relationships all around her seemed to be failing. Friends, whose marriages had appeared strong and secure, were divorcing. At work affairs were rampant. Casual sex. Jamie was sick of it all.

“When Mark Brooks cheated on my sister Taylor, she took that teaching position in another state,” Rich went on to say. “You know, I never much liked Mark. From the first I felt there was something off about him. I wish I’d spoken to Taylor about it.”

“I felt so bad for her.”

“The whole family was worried. Then she moved to the backwoods of Montana and a few months later, she married Russ Palmer. Everyone was sure she’d made a terrible mistake, marrying a cowpoke on the rebound, but I’ve never seen her happier. And now Christy’s married to Cody Franklin.”

“Christy’s married to whom?”

“The Custer County sheriff. She’s living in Montana, too.”

“But I thought she was engaged to James Wilkens! Good grief, I was at her engagement party just a few months ago.”

“It’s a long story, but James is out of the picture.”

“Christy dumped James?” It was hard to believe. Jamie had assumed they were perfect for each other. They’d acted like the ideal couple at the engagement party, sipping champagne and discussing wedding dates with their families.

Rich chuckled. “If you’re surprised by that, wait until you hear this. While Christy was still engaged to James, she was married to Cody.”

Jamie was shocked. She didn’t know Rich’s youngest sister well, but she would never have imagined Christy doing anything so underhanded. “I am surprised.”

“There were mitigating circumstances and it’s not as bad as it sounds, but Christy is yet another example of how fickle women can be.”

“Women?” Jamie protested. “Men are notoriously untrustworthy—they always have been.”

It looked as though Rich wanted to argue. He straightened and opened his mouth, then shook his head. Sighing, he drank the last of his coffee. “I’ve begun to think commitment means nothing these days.”

“I hate to be so cynical, but I agree.”

Standing, Rich carried his mug to the kitchen sink. “Are you going to be able to sleep now?”

Jamie nodded, although she wasn’t convinced. However, she’d taken enough of Rich’s time for one night and didn’t want to keep him any longer.

“Liar,” he whispered softly.

Jamie smiled and got up, too. He slipped his arms around her and she laid her cheek against his shoulder. It felt good to be held. Rich’s comfort was that of a loving friend, someone who truly cared about her without the complications of romance or male-female dynamics.

“You’re going to get through this.”

“I know,” she whispered. But she hadn’t been confident of that until she’d talked to Rich. How fortunate she was to have him as her friend. “We both will,” she added.

A sigh rumbled through Rich’s chest. “Don’t you wish life could be as simple now as it was in high school?”

That remark gave Jamie pause. “No,” she finally said, then laughed. “I was so shy back then.”

“Shy?” Rich argued, releasing her enough to cast her a challenging look. “You were a lot of things, Jamie Warren, but shy wasn’t one of them.”

“Maybe not with you.”

“I wish you had been, then you might’ve done things my way without so much arguing.”

“You’re still upset that I didn’t use your picture on the sports page, aren’t you? We’ve been out of high school for thirteen years and you haven’t forgiven me for using that shot of Josh McGinnes instead.”

Rich chuckled. “I could be upset, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She led him to the door of her condo. “Seriously, though, I really am grateful you came.”

“Call if you need me?”

She nodded. The worst of it was over. She would pick up the pieces of her life and start again, a little less trusting and a whole lot more wary.

Two months later, Rich was sitting in his office at Boeing when the image of Jamie Warren’s tear-streaked face drifted into his mind. It was as if their conversation had taken place just the night before—even though he’d talked to her two or three times over the holidays, and she’d sounded good. Cheerful, in fact. Certainly in better spirits than he’d been himself.

She hadn’t made any attempt to fool him. Tony had hurt her badly. From what she’d said, he’d made several attempts to resume their engagement, but she’d rejected the idea in no uncertain terms. It was plain to Rich that Tony Sanchez didn’t really know Jamie Warren. The woman was stubborn enough to impress a mule. Once she made up her mind, that was it. Oh, she appeared docile and easygoing, but Rich had collided with that stubborn streak of hers a time or two and come away battered and bruised.

It bothered Rich that Jamie had never married. She’d always loved children, and he’d fully expected her to have a passel of kids by now.

Most men, he realized, passed Jamie over without a second glance. That bothered him even more.

The problem, not that he’d call it a problem, was that she didn’t possess the looks of a beauty queen. She wasn’t plain, nor was she unappealing. She was just— he hated to admit it—ordinary. Generally, there was one thing or other that stood out in a woman. A flawless face. Cascades of shining hair, blond or gold or black… Jamie’s wasn’t blond and it wasn’t brunette but somewhere in between. And it wasn’t long, but it wasn’t short either. Some women had eyes that could pierce a man’s soul. Jamie had brown eyes. Regular brown eyes. Not dark or seductive or anything else, just brown eyes. Nice, but average.

She was about five-five, and a little on the thin side. Giving the matter some consideration, Rich noted that there didn’t seem to be any distinguishing curves on her. Not her hips, and certainly not her breasts. He could be mistaken of course, since he hadn’t really looked at her that way.… To be honest, he’d never looked at her in any way other than as a friend.

She didn’t have a body that would stop traffic. The thing was, a woman could have an ordinary face, but if she had curves, men fell all over themselves. Rich hated to admit something so derogatory about his fellow man, but he felt it was true.

What few took the time to see was Jamie’s warm heart and generous spirit. He’d never known a more giving woman. What she’d said about being shy was true, even though he’d denied it. Yet she had spunk and she had spirit. Enough to stand up to him, which was no easy thing.

Pushing against the edge of his desk, Rich rolled back his chair and stood up. He headed down the hallway with determination.

“Bill,” he said, striding purposefully into his friend’s office. “Got a minute?”

“What’s up?”

Rich had never played the role of matchmaker before, and he wasn’t sure where to start. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh.” Bill didn’t look too enthusiastic.

“A friend of mine.”

“Widowed or divorced?”

“Single.”

Bill’s brows arched toward his receding hairline. “You mean a leftover girl.”

Rich wasn’t comfortable thinking of Jamie as leftover, but this wasn’t the time to argue. “We went to high school together.”

“High school? Exactly how old is she?”

“Thirty-one.” Her birthday wasn’t until April. Their birthdays were both in April, and Jamie loved to point out that she was a whole week older. Read more

Lonesome Cowboy

Grady had warned her repeatedly. He’d told Savannah that the ghost town was dangerous, that it was a disturbing place. He’d told her over and over not to look for it. And all these years Savannah had stayed away. But the more her brother cautioned her, the more convinced she’d become that she had to find it. If for no other reason than the roses. Roses were Savannah’s passion—especially old roses, planted before 1867 and now found mostly in cemeteries and abandoned homesteads.

It was because of the roses that she ignored Grady’s advice and began to seek out the long-lost town.

After a six-week search, roaming about the rugged Texas hill country, first in the truck, then on horseback and finally on foot with no map and little information, she’d located it. Bitter End. What a strange name, but no stranger than the town itself.

No matter how furious Grady was when he discovered what she’d done, it’d been worth the risk. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d defied her older brother. Nor would it be the last. Grady seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders; he rarely smiled anymore. He was as loud and demanding as Savannah was quiet and intense. But her stubbornness was easily a match for his.

Glancing at the truck’s speedometer, she pressed her foot to the floor, although it generally wasn’t in her nature to rush. However, her chances of escaping Grady’s anger were greater if she got back to the house before he returned from his duties around the ranch. Not that she feared his anger; she simply preferred to avoid it.

Her brother was so often angry these days, with beef prices dropping and all the other problems associated with running a large cattle ranch. It didn’t help that, thanks to Richard, they continued to struggle with debt and financial hardship.

Savannah forced her thoughts away from the unhappy events of six years earlier. It was wrenching enough to have lost both parents in one devastating accident, but Savannah feared that their brother’s betrayal, which had followed so soon afterward, would forever taint their lives with bitterness.

“Oh, Richard,” she whispered as the truck sped down the winding country road. The pain he’d wrought in her life and Grady’s was the kind that even love would never completely heal.

Grady had changed in the years since their parents’ tragic deaths—and Richard’s betrayal. Finances and other concerns had harassed and tormented him until she barely knew him any longer. Through sheer stubbornness and backbreaking work he’d managed to accomplish the impossible. He’s saved the Yellow Rose Ranch, but at a terrible price. Grady had sacrificed himself and his youth to hold on to the land that had been settled by their great-great-grandfather shortly after the Civil War. Or, as her Southern grandmother called it, the War of the Northern Aggression.

Savannah had wanted to help with their finances; after all, she had a college education. It would be a small thing to return to school and take the necessary courses to obtain her teaching certificate. The Promise school board had repeatedly advertised for substitute teachers, and a full-time position was bound to become available within a few years. Grady, however, wouldn’t hear of it. He needed her on the Yellow Rose, and Savannah accepted that. She handled the majority of the paperwork, cooked, cleaned the house and did the gardening. She’d indulged her love for roses, started keeping goats and occasionally hand-raised orphaned or abandoned calves. For six years she’d picked up the slack and made a decent life for herself. But compared to Grady, she didn’t feel she was doing nearly enough.

Her desire to contribute to the family income had prompted her to establish a mail-order business for her roses, and while Grady had politely listened to her plans, he hadn’t encouraged them. Her small venture was just now starting to show a profit, of which Savannah was extremely proud. In the past few months she’d been spending her evenings working on a catalog.

What Grady needed, in Savannah’s opinion, was to marry and start a family. At thirty-five he was well past the age most men settled into family life. He probably would’ve done so long before now if he hadn’t been required to dedicate every waking minute to the ranch. She wondered whether it was too late, whether he’d ever get married. Savannah herself had long since given up any hope of marriage and children. Her maternal urges would have to be satisfied by her animals, she told herself wryly. She’d turned thirty-one her last birthday and hadn’t dated in the past four or five years. She rarely thought about having a relationship anymore. Men didn’t understand her quiet ways or appreciate her strength or gentleness of spirit. It no longer mattered. She was content with her life. She’d learned to take pleasure in small things—the beauty of flowers, the affection of animals, the comfort of a well-ordered house.

Indian paintbrush, bluebonnets and pink evening primroses, all in bloom, lined the twisting road. Savannah loved spring. The scent of the air brought with it the promise of warm weather and new life. Grady and Wiley, the hired hand who’d been with them so many years he was more family than foreman, had assisted in delivering fourteen calves this week and were looking for that many more in the next couple of days.

Savannah glanced at her watch and hoped Grady had been delayed this afternoon. Otherwise he was going to have a conniption, especially when he realized where she’d gone.

Sighing, she turned the familiar bend in the road and caught sight of an abandoned truck parked close to the ditch. Savannah didn’t recognize the vehicle; that in itself was unusual. People who didn’t know the area hardly ever wandered this far off the beaten path.

The truck had seen better days. The color had faded badly and a large dent in the side revealed a section where rust had eaten a hole the size of a small plate. With the truck parked as it was, fifteen miles outside of town, far from anywhere, Savannah couldn’t help wondering if something was wrong. She might have stopped to investigate if she hadn’t been in a hurry.

The decision was taken from her a few miles down the road when she saw a cowboy walking, carrying a saddle. Even from this distance she could see how weary he was; he seemed to be favoring one side, limping discernibly.

At the sound of her approach, he straightened, shifted the weight of his saddle and stuck out his thumb.

Never in all her life had Savannah stopped for a hitchhiker, but this man, miles from anywhere and walking in the opposite direction from town, must have been spent.

Savannah pulled over and eased to a stop. She opened the door and climbed out. “Is that your truck parked back there?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered politely. He was tall and wiry, about her age, she guessed. His Stetson rested low on his brow, shading his face from the afternoon sun. When he touched his fingers to the brim in greeting, she noticed that his eyes were pale blue. “I’d be much obliged for a ride.”

Although she’d stopped, Savannah hesitated, unsure what to do. “I wasn’t headed toward town.”

“As far as you’d take me would be appreciated. Your truck’s the first vehicle to come along in more ‘n two hours.” He gave her a tired smile. “I’d hoped to find a ranch and use the phone there, but I haven’t seen one yet.”

Apparently he didn’t realize he was walking away from Promise. “I live ten or so miles down the road.” Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, she pointed toward the Yellow Rose. Riding with her would only take him farther from where he needed to go. She was about to explain as much, then realized he was tired, hurting and probably hadn’t eaten a decent meal in hours, if not days. Grady wouldn’t be pleased, but… She shrugged off the prospect of her brother’s wrath.

“If you like, you can stay the night in the bunkhouse and I’ll drive you to town in the morning.”

She could tell that her offer surprised him; his eyes widened briefly. “That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am.”

The fact that he called her ma’am made her feel dowdy and old-fashioned. She supposed that was exactly what she was, though. No one had to tell her she looked older than her age. She usually wore full-length dresses rather than the more fashionable shirt and jeans; her mother had encouraged this, saying that dresses complimented her tall willowy figure. She’d grown accustomed to working in them, donning an apron for household chores. Her thick straight blond hair fell down her back, almost to her waist. Grady had teasingly called her a flower child of the sixties, and in some ways, she did resemble a hippie. “I’m Savannah Weston.”

“Laredo Smith.” Again he touched the brim of his hat.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, and smiled shyly. “Laredo’s an unusual name.”

He grinned as if the comment was familiar. “So I’ve heard.” He hitched the saddle higher and added, “My given name’s Matthew, but when I was a kid and we moved away from Texas, I wanted to take part of it with me. From that day on I only answered to Laredo. After all these years, I don’t know who Matthew is, but Laredo…well, it’s a comfortable fit and suits me just fine.”

Savannah couldn’t have said why, but she had the impression that these details weren’t something he shared often. She told herself it was silly to feel honored—but she did, anyway.

She must have smiled because he responded with a grin of his own. It amazed her how a simple smile could transform his drained features. A hint of something warm and kind showed in his sun-weathered face, mesmerizing her for a moment. A little shocked by her own response, Savannah decided she was being fanciful and looked away. Laredo Smith was a stranger and she’d do well to take care.

“If you’d like, you can put your saddle in the truck bed,” she offered, and walked to the back to lower the tailgate.

The leather creaked as he lifted it from his shoulder and wearily set it down. He hesitated when he saw the roses and reached out a callused hand toward the fragile buds. Gently he fingered a delicate pink petal.

“They are antique roses, aren’t they?” He closed his eyes and breathed in the distinctive perfumed scent of the flowers.

His knowledge surprised her. Few people knew about old roses or had heard the term. In her research Savannah had learned that many of the roses found in Texas were of unknown lineage, recovered from hidden corners and byways in an ongoing search-and-rescue mission—like the one she’d been on that very day. Savannah was well aware that some would describe her as a “rose rustler”; it wasn’t how she thought of herself. Her overwhelming motivation was her love of the flowers.

“You know about old roses?” she asked.

“My grandmother had a rose garden and she grew roses passed down by her own grandmother. It must be at least twenty years since I saw one. Where’d you ever find these?”

Her pause was long enough for him to notice. “In an old graveyard,” she said. “Near, um, an abandoned town.” While it was the truth, it wasn’t the entire truth, but Savannah didn’t dare add any details about the ghost town. Only a few people in Promise had even heard of Bitter End. And although Grady had repeatedly warned her against seeking it out, he’d never told her exactly what was so threatening about the long-deserted town.

Only now did Savannah understand her brother’s concerns. The dangers weren’t found in the crumbling buildings or the abandoned wells; no, they weren’t so easily explained. She couldn’t help shuddering as she remembered the sensation of…darkness that had come over her when she’d first set foot on the still, silent grounds. Even that didn’t adequately describe the emotions she’d experienced. It wasn’t a feeling of evil so much as a pressing sadness, a pain and grief so raw that a hundred years hadn’t dimmed its intensity.

Knowing little of the town’s history, Savannah had felt defenseless and almost afraid. Years earlier, Grady and two of his friends had heard their parents discussing Bitter End, but when Savannah questioned her mother, she’d refused to talk about it. From Grady, Savannah had learned that the town was said to have been settled by Promise’s founding fathers. Why they’d moved, what had happened to prompt the relocation, was an unsolved mystery. For all she knew, it was something as mundane as water rights. Although that would hardly account for what she’d felt…

Despite Grady’s warnings, Savannah had found Bitter End and dug up the old roses in the graveyard, but she hadn’t ventured beyond the fenced area beside the church. She left as quickly as she could. By the time she made it back to the truck, she was pale and trembling.

She’d driven away without looking back. She hadn’t investigated any of the other buildings, and she was annoyed now for letting the opportunity pass. She might have found more old roses had she taken the time to search.

“They’re beautiful,” Laredo said. The light pink bud, perfectly formed, lay like a jewel in the palm of his hand.

“They truly are exquisite, aren’t they?” The sheer joy and excitement she’d felt on discovering the roses quickened her voice. “I just couldn’t be happier! It’s so much more than I hoped to find!”

His gaze held hers and he nodded, seeming to share her enthusiasm.

Warming to her subject, Savannah added, “It’s incredible to think they’ve survived all these years without anyone to care for them.”

Laredo gently withdrew his hand from the rosebud.

“Would you be more comfortable if I rode in the back, ma’am?” he asked.

“Savannah,” she insisted.

The smile returned again, briefly. “Savannah,” he echoed.

“You’re welcome to ride in front with me.”

He climbed slowly into the cab and she could see that the action pained him considerably.

“I don’t suppose you know anyone who’s looking for a good wrangler?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” she said with sincere regret.

He nodded and winced, pressing his hand against his ribs.

“You’ve been hurt,” she said.

“A cracked rib or two,” he answered, obviously embarrassed by her concern. “My own damn fault,” he muttered.

“A horse?”

“Not exactly.” His voice was rueful, a bit ironic. “I got shoved against a fence by a bull. You’d think that after all these years working ranches, I’d know better than to let myself get cornered by a bull.”

“My daddy cracked a rib once and he said it left him feeling like he’d been gnawed by a coyote, then dumped over a cliff.”

Laredo chuckled. “Your daddy sounds like he’s got quite a sense of humor.”

“He did,” Savannah agreed softly, starting the engine.

She knew the tires hitting the ruts in the road would hurt him, so she drove slowly and carefully.

Laredo glanced over his shoulder—to check on his saddle, Savannah suspected. She was surprised when he mentioned the roses a second time. “I never thought to smell roses like those again.”

“I’m so glad I found them!” she burst out. “These are the best ones yet.” Their scent was sweet and strong and pure, far more aromatic than modern hybrids. These roses from Bitter End were probably White Lady Banks—a rare and precious find.

Savannah talked excitedly about her roses; the cowboy encouraged her, asking interested and knowledgeable questions.

What surprised Savannah was how comfortable she felt with Laredo Smith. They could have talked for hours. Generally when it came to conversation with a man, especially a stranger, Savannah was shy and reticent. The ease with which she talked to Laredo was unprecedented.

It wasn’t just roses they talked about, either. Soon Savannah found herself telling him about her gardens at the ranch and the love her mother, Barbara, had for flowers. One topic led swiftly to another. She described Promise and assured him it was a friendly town. He asked about having his truck repaired and she mentioned a couple of reliable garages.

“Oh, my,” she said, and held her palm to her mouth.

“Is something wrong?”

“I got to chatting away and almost missed the turnoff for the ranch.” Such a thing had never happened before. Then, hardly knowing what she was doing, she glanced over at him and said, “The fact is, Laredo, the Yellow Rose could use an extra hand. If you need a job, we’d be happy to offer you one.” Read more

Brides for Brothers

It had been one of those days. Abbey Sutherland made herself a cup of tea, then sat in the large overstuffed chair and propped her feet on the ottoman. She closed her eyes, soaking in the silence.

The morning had started badly when Scott overslept, which meant he and Susan had missed the school bus. Seven-year-old Susan had insisted on wearing her pink sweater, which was still in the dirty-clothes hamper, and she’d whined all the way to school. Abbey had driven them, catching every red light en-route.

By the time she arrived at the library, she was ten minutes late. Mrs. Duffy gave her a look that could have curdled milk.

But those minor irritations faded after lunch. Abbey received notice that the library’s budget for the next fiscal year had been reduced and two positions would be cut—the positions held by the most recently hired employees. In other words, Abbey was going to lose her job in less than three months.

She finally got home at six o’clock, tired, short-tempered and depressed. That was when Mr. Erickson, the manager of the apartment complex, hand-delivered a note informing her the rents were being raised.

It was the kind of day even hot fudge couldn’t salvage.

Sensing her mood, the kids had acted up all evening. Abbey was exhausted, and she didn’t think reruns of Matlock were going to help.

Sipping her tea, she wondered what had happened to throw her life off course. She had a savings account, but there wasn’t enough in it to pay more than a month’s worth of bills. She refused to go to her parents for money. Not again. It had been too humiliating the first time, although they’d been eager to help. Not once had her mother or father said “I told you so,” when she filed for divorce, although they’d issued plenty of warnings when she’d announced her intention to marry Dick Sutherland. They’d been right. Five years and two children later, Abbey had returned to Seattle emotionally battered, broken-hearted and just plain broke.

Her parents had helped her back on her feet despite their limited income and lent her money to finish her education. Abbey had painstakingly repaid every penny, but it had taken her almost three years.

The newspaper, still rolled up, lay at her feet, and she picked it up. She might as well start reading through the want ads now, although she wasn’t likely to find another job as an assistant librarian. With cuts in local government spending, positions in libraries were becoming rare these days. But if she was willing to relocate…

“Mom.” Scott stood beside her chair.

“Yes?” She climbed out of her depression long enough to manage a smile for her nine-year-old son.

“Jason’s dog had her puppies.”

Abbey felt her chest tighten. Scott had been asking for a dog all year. “Honey, we’ve already been over this a hundred times. The apartment complex doesn’t allow pets.”

“I didn’t say I wanted one,” he said defensively. “All I said was that Jason’s dog had puppies. I know I can’t have a dog as long as we live here, but I was thinking that maybe with the rent increase we might move.”

“And if we do move,” Abbey said, “you want me to look for a place where we can have a dog.”

Her son grinned broadly. “Jason’s puppies are really, really cute, Mom. And they’re valuable, too! But you know what kind are my favorite?”

She did, but she played along. “Tell me.”

“Huskies.”

“Because the University of Washington mascot is a husky.”

“Yeah. They have cool eyes, don’t they? And I really like the way their tails loop up. I know they’re too big for me to have as a pet, but I still like them best.”

Abbey held out her arm to her son. He didn’t cuddle with her much anymore. That was kid stuff to a boy who was almost ten. But tonight he seemed willing to forget that.

He clambered into the chair next to her, rested his head against her shoulder and sighed. “I’m sorry I overslept this morning,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“That’s all right.” There was a pause. “I promise to get out of bed when you call from now on, okay?”

“Okay.” Abbey closed her eyes, breathing in the clean shampoo scent of his hair.

They sat together for a few more minutes, saying nothing.

“You’d better get back to bed,” Abbey said, although she was reluctant to see him go.

Scott climbed out of the chair. “Are we going to move?” he asked, looking at her with wide eyes.

“I guess we are,” she said and smiled.

“‘Night, Mom.” Scott smiled, too, then walked down the hall to his bedroom.

Abbey’s heart felt a little lighter as she picked up the paper and peeled off the rubber band. She didn’t bother to look at the front page, but turned directly to the classifieds.

The square box with the large block printing attracted her attention immediately. “LONELY MEN IN HARD LUCK, ALASKA, OFFER JOBS, HOMES AND LAND.” Below in smaller print was a list of the positions open.

Abbey’s heart stopped when she saw “librarian.”

Hard Luck, Alaska. Jobs. A home with land. Twenty acres. Good grief, that was more than her grandfather had owned when he grew raspberries in Puyallup a generation earlier.

Dragging out an atlas, Abbey flipped through the pages until she found Alaska. Her finger ran down the list of town names until she came across Hard Luck. Population 150.

She swallowed. A small town generally meant a sense of community. That excited her. As a girl, she’d spent summers on her grandparents’ farm and loved it. She wanted to give her children the same opportunity. She was sure the three of them could adjust to life in a small town. In Alaska.

Using the atlas’s directions to locate the town, Abbey drew her finger across one side of the page and down the other.

Her excitement died. Hard Luck was above the Arctic Circle. Oh, dear. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea, after all.

The following morning, Abbey reviewed her options.

She set out a box of cold cereal, along with a carton of milk. A still-sleepy Scott and Susan pulled out chairs and sat at the table.

“Kids,” she said, drawing a deep breath, “what would you say if I suggested we move to Alaska?”

“Alaska?” Scott perked up right away. “That’s where they have huskies!”

“Yes, I know.”

“It’s cold there, isn’t it?” Susan asked.

“Very cold. Colder than it’s ever been in Seattle.”

“Colder than Texas?”

“Lots colder,” Scott said in a superior older-brother tone. “It’s so cold you don’t even need refrigerators, isn’t that right, Mom?”

“Uh, I think they probably still use them.”

“But they wouldn’t need to if they didn’t have electricity. Right?”

“Right.”

“Could I have a dog there?”

Abbey weighed her answer carefully. “We’d have to find that out after we arrived.”

“Would Grandma and Grandpa come and visit?” Susan asked.

“I’m sure they would, and if they didn’t, we could visit them.”

Scott poured cereal into his bowl until it threatened to spill over.

“I read an ad in the paper last night. Hard Luck, Alaska, needs a librarian, and it looks like I’m going to need a new job soon.”

Scott and Susan didn’t comment.

“I didn’t think it would be fair to call and ask for an interview without discussing it with both of you first.”

“You should go for it,” Scott advised, but Abbey could see visions of huskies in her son’s bright blue eyes.

“It’ll mean a big change for all of us.”

“Is there snow all the time?” Susan wanted to know.

“I don’t think so, but I’ll ask.” Abbey hesitated, wondering exactly how much she should tell her children. “The ad said the job comes with a cabin and twenty acres of land.”

The spoon was poised in front of Scotty’s mouth. “To keep?”

Abbey nodded. “But we’d need to live there for a year. I imagine there won’t be many applicants, but then I don’t know. There doesn’t seem to be an abundance of jobs for assistant librarians, either.”

“I could live anywhere for a year. Go for it, Mom!”

“Susan?” Abbey suspected the decision would be more difficult for her daughter.

“Will there be girls my age?”

“Probably, but I can’t guarantee that. The town only has 150 people, and it would be very different from the life we have here in Seattle.”

“Come on, Susan,” Scott urged. “We could have our very own house.”

Susan’s small shoulders heaved in a great sigh. “Do you want to move, Mommy?”

Abbey stroked her daughter’s hair. Call her greedy. Call her materialistic. Call her a sucker, but she couldn’t stop thinking about those twenty acres and that cabin. No mortgage. Land. Security. And a job she loved. All in Hard Luck, Alaska.

She inhaled deeply, then nodded.

“Then I guess it would be all right.”

Scott let out a holler and leapt from his chair. He grabbed Abbey’s hands and they danced around the room.

“I haven’t got the job yet,” Abbey cried, breathless.

“But you’ll get it,” Scott said confidently.

Abbey hoped her son was right.

Abbey took several calming breaths before walking up to the hotel desk and giving her name.

“Mr. O’Halloran’s taking interviews in the Snoqualmie Room on the second floor,” the clerk told her.

Abbey’s fingers tightened around her résumé as she headed for the escalator. Her heart pounded heavily, feeling like a lead weight in her chest.

Her decision to apply for this position had understandably received mixed reactions. Both Scott and Susan were excited about the prospect of a new life in Hard Luck, but Abbey’s parents were hesitant.

Marie Murray would miss spoiling her grandchildren. Abbey’s father, Wayne, was convinced she didn’t know what she’d be getting into moving to the frozen north. But he seemed to forget that she made her living in a library. Soon after placing the initial call, Abbey had checked out a number of excellent books about life in Alaska. Her research had told her everything she wanted to know—and more.

Nevertheless, she’d already decided to accept the job if it was offered. No matter how cold the winters were, living in Hard Luck would be better than having to accept money from her parents.

Abbey found the Snoqualmie Room easily enough and glanced inside. A lean, rawboned man in his early thirties sat at a table reading intently. The hotel staff must have thought applicants would arrive thirsty, because they’d supplied a pitcher of ice water and at least two dozen glasses.

“Hello,” she said with a polite smile. “I’m Abbey Sutherland.”

“Abbey.” The man stood abruptly as if she’d caught him unawares. “I’m Christian O’Halloran. We spoke on the phone.” He motioned to the seat on the other side of the table. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She sat and handed him her résumé.

He barely looked at it before setting it aside. “Thank you. I’ll read this later.”

Abbey nervously folded her hands in her lap and waited.

“You’re applying for the position of librarian, right?”

“Yes. I’m working toward my degree in library science.”

“In other words, you’re not a full librarian.”

“That’s correct. In Washington state, a librarian is required to have a master’s degree in library science. For the last two years I’ve worked as an assistant librarian for King County.” She paused. Christian O’Halloran was difficult to read. “I answer reference questions, do quick information retrieval and customer service, and of course I have computer skills.” She hesitated, wondering if she should continue.

“That sounds perfect. Hard Luck doesn’t exactly have a library at the moment. We do have a building of sorts……

“Books?”

“Oh, yes, hundreds of those. At least a thousand. They were a gift to the town, and we need someone who’s capable of handling every aspect of organizing a library.”

“I’d be fully capable of that.” She listed a number of responsibilities she’d handled in her job with the King County library system. Somehow, though, Abbey couldn’t shake the feeling that Christian O’Halloran wasn’t really interested in hearing about her qualifications.

He mentioned the pay, and although it wasn’t as much as she was earning with King County, she wouldn’t need to worry about rent.

A short silence followed, almost as if he wasn’t sure what else to ask.

“Could you tell me a little about the library building?” she ventured.

He nodded. “Actually it was a home at one time—my grandfather’s original homestead, in fact—but I don’t think you’d have much of a problem turning it into a library, would you?”

“Probably not.”

Already, Abbey’s mind was at work, dividing up the house. One of the bedrooms could be used for fiction, another for non-fiction. The dining room would be perfect for a reading room, or it could be set up as an area for children. Read more

Texas Two-Step

Ellie Frasier needs her friends. She’s still mourning her father, still learning to run the business he left her — Frasier’s Feed Store, in Promise. She knows she can count on the people here for comfort and support, laughter and Read more

Dr. Texas

Welcome back to Promise, Texas, a ranching community deep in the Hill Country. It’s a good place to live and raise a family—and a good place to visit. Yes, there’s a secret or two hidden beneath Promise’s everyday exterior, but Read more

Norah

This cowboy was too young to die!

Norah Bloomfield stared down at the unconscious face of the man in Orchard Valley Hospital’s emergency room. He was suffering from shock, internal injuries and a compound fracture of the right fibula. Yet he was probably the luckiest man she’d ever known. He’d survived.

The team of doctors worked vigorously over him, doing everything possible to keep him alive. Although she was busy performing her own role in this drama, Norah was curious. It wasn’t every day a man literally fell out of the sky into their backyard. Whoever he was, he’d been involved in a plane accident. From what she heard when they’d rushed him in, he’d made a gallant effort to land the single-engine Cessna in a wheatfield, but the plane’s wingtip had caught the ground, catapulting it into a series of cartwheels. That he’d managed to crawl out of the wreckage was a miracle all its own.

She tightened the blood-pressure cuff around his arm and called out the latest reading. Dr. Adamson, the surgeon in attendance, briskly instructed her to administer a shot.

Their patient was young, in his early thirties. And handsome in a rugged sort of way. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, stubborn as a mule from the looks of him. His clothes, at least what was left of them, told her he was probably a cowboy. She suspected he rode in the rodeo circuit—successfully, too, if he was flying his own plane.

She glanced down at his left hand. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and that eased her mind somewhat. Norah hated the thought of a young wife pacing the floor, anxiously waiting his arrival home. Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t married. A lot of men didn’t wear wedding rings, particularly if they worked with their hands. Too dangerous.

His leg was badly broken, and once he was stabilized, he’d be sent into surgery. She didn’t have a lot of experience with compound fractures, but her guess was that he’d need to be in traction for the next few weeks. A break as complex as this would take months, possibly years, to heal properly.

Norah wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, but had been called in unexpectedly. She should’ve been home, had planned to be home, preparing for her oldest sister Valerie’s wedding. Half of Orchard Valley would be in attendance—it was widely considered the event of the year. And five weeks after that, her second sister, Steffie, would be marrying Charles Tomaselli, in a much less formal ceremony.

There was definitely something in the air this summer, Norah mused, with both her sisters planning to get married.

Love was what floated in the air, but it had apparently evaded Norah. There wasn’t a single man in Orchard Valley who stirred her heart. Not one.

She was thrilled for her sisters, but at the same time she couldn’t help feeling a bit envious. If any of the three could be described as “the marrying type,” it was Norah. She was by far the most domestic and traditional. Ever since she was a teenager, Norah had assumed she’d be the first of the three sisters to marry, although she was the youngest. Valerie had hardly dated even in college, and Steffie was so impulsive and unpredictable that she’d never stood still long enough to get serious about anyone. Or so it had seemed….

Now both her sisters were marrying. And this had all happened within two short months. Only weeks ago Norah would have been shocked had anyone told her Valerie would become a wife. Her oldest sister was the dedicated career woman, working her way up the corporate ladder with CHIPS, a Texas-based computer software corporation. At any rate, that was what Valerie had been doing—until she flew home when their father suffered a heart attack. Before Norah was aware of it, Valerie had fallen head over heels in love with Dr. Colby Winston.

Try as she might, she couldn’t picture her sister as a wife. Valerie, who was so much like their father, was a dynamic businesswoman. She’d accepted the sales job with CHIPS and in less than four years had moved into upper management. She was energetic, spirited and strong-willed. If her sister was going to fall in love, Norah didn’t understand how it could be with Dr. Winston. He was just as dedicated to his work, just as headstrong. To Norah’s way of thinking, they had little in common—except their love for each other. In fact, watching them together had taught Norah a few things about love and commitment. They were both determined to make their marriage work, both willing to make compromises, to change and to mediate their differences.

If Valerie was going to get married at all, Norah had always assumed she’d choose someone like Rowdy Cassidy, the owner of CHIPS. For months, Valerie’s phone calls and e-mails had been full of details about the maverick software developer. He’d taken Wall Street by storm with his innovative ideas, and his company had very soon become one of a very few to dominate the field. Valerie greatly admired him. But she’d given up her position with CHIPS without so much as a second’s regret. There were other jobs, she’d said, but only one Colby Winston. And if she had to choose, as Cassidy had forced her to do, then that choice was clear. But then Norah had never seen anyone more in love—unless it was Steffie.

Her second sister had arrived after a long, difficult trip, to be with their father and almost the same thing had happened. Suddenly, she and Charles Tomaselli, the Orchard Valley Clarion’s editor and now its publisher, had clashed. They’d been constantly at odds, but gradually that had changed. Not until much later did Norah learn that Charles was the reason Steffie had decided to study in Italy—both to escape him and because, thanks to him, she’d become fascinated with Italian art and culture. Steffie had been wildly in love with Charles, and Norah wasn’t sure what had gone wrong, but whatever it was had sent Steffie fleeing. She guessed there’d been some sort of disagreement between them—not that it mattered. What was important was that Steffie and Charles had patched things up and admitted their true feelings for each other.

In typical Steffie fashion, her sister was planning a thoroughly untraditional wedding. The exchange of vows was to take place in the apple orchard, between the rows of trees with their weight of reddening apples. The reception would be held on the groomed front lawn; there would be musicians playing chamber music in the background. The wedding cake was to be a huge chocolate concoction.

So, within a few weeks of each other, her two sisters would be married. Unlike Valerie, Norah hadn’t recently met a new and wonderful man. And unlike Steffie, she didn’t have a secret love, someone she’d felt passionate about for years. Unless she counted Clive Owen. Norah figured she’d seen every movie he starred in ten times over. But it wasn’t likely that a dashing actor was going to show up in Orchard Valley and fall passionately in love with her. A pity, really.

An hour later, Norah was washing up, preparing to head home. The cowboy, although listed in critical condition, had stabilized. He might not feel like it now, but he was lucky to be alive. The surgery on the right fibula would follow, but she wasn’t sure exactly when.

Eager to leave the hospital, Norah was on her way out the door when she heard someone mention the cowboy’s name.

She stopped abruptly, nearly tripping in her astonishment. “Who did you say he is?” she demanded, turning back to her friends.

“According to the identification he carried, his name is Rowdy Cassidy.”

“Rowdy!” Susan Parsons, another nurse, laughed. “It’s a perfect name for him, isn’t it? He looks rowdy. Personally, I don’t want to be around when he wakes up. I’m betting he’s going to have all the charm of an angry hornet.”

Rowdy Cassidy. Norah took a deep breath. The man was Valerie’s employer. Former employer, she amended. He must’ve been flying in for the wedding when the accident occurred.

Norah wasn’t sure what she could do with the information. Valerie, who was cool as a watermelon on ice when it came to business dealings, was a nervous wreck over this wedding.

Love had taken Valerie Bloomfield by surprise and she hadn’t recovered yet. Mentioning Rowdy’s accident to her sister now didn’t seem right; Valerie had enough on her mind without the additional worry. Yet it didn’t seem fair to keep the truth from her, either.

Who should she tell, then, Norah wondered as she walked to the staff parking lot. Surely someone should know….

It was late, past midnight, when she entered the house. Although there were several lights on, she didn’t see anyone around. The wedding was at noon, less than twelve hours away.

Secretly Norah had hoped her father might still be up, but she didn’t really expect it. He went to bed early these days and slept late, his body regaining its strength after the physical ordeal of a heart attack and the subsequent life-saving surgery.

“Hi,” Steffie said cheerfully. She hurried downstairs, cinching her robe at the waist as she walked. Her long dark hair was damp and fell arrow-straight to the middle of her back. “I wondered what time you’d be home.”

Norah stared up at her, frowning in concentration. She’d discuss this with Steffie, she decided, see what her sister had to say.

“What happened?” Steffie asked, her voice urgent.

“There was a single-engine-plane crash.” Norah hesitated. “Fortunately only one man was aboard.”

“Did he survive?”

Norah nodded and worried her lower lip. “Is Valerie asleep?”

Steffie sighed. “Who knows? I’d never have believed Valerie would be this nervous before her wedding. Good grief, she’s arranged multimillion-dollar business deals.”

“Come in the kitchen with me,” Norah said, looking quickly up the staircase. She didn’t want Valerie hearing this.

“What is it?” Steffie asked as she followed her into the other room. Valerie’s room was directly above, but there was little chance she’d overhear the conversation.

“The man who was involved in the plane accident…”

“Yes?” Steffie prodded in a whisper.

“Is Rowdy Cassidy.”

“What?” Steffie pulled out a stool at the counter and sank down on it. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Apparently he was flying in for the wedding.”

“More likely he intended to stop it,” Steffie said sharply.

“Stop it? What do you mean?”

Steffie’s expression was intense. “Well, you know that when Valerie talked to him about opening a branch on the West Coast, he was in favor of the idea, but he wanted someone else to head it up. He refused to give her the job and said she’d have to stay in Texas if she wanted to stay with CHIPS. In other words, unless she chooses Rowdy Cassidy and her career over Colby and marriage. In fact, he seems to think he can persuade her to do just that.”

“What a rotten way to act!”

Steffie agreed. “Valerie was furious. She’d hoped to continue working for CHIPS after she’s married. But Rowdy was so unreasonable, she didn’t have any alternative except to resign. When she announced she was marrying Colby, Rowdy didn’t seem to believe her—still doesn’t. Apparently he thinks it was some ploy to get him to declare his love.”

“I take it Mr. Cassidy doesn’t know Valerie very well.” Her sister was nothing if not direct, Norah mused with a small smile. Valerie would never stoop to orchestrating such a scene, or exploiting a man’s feelings for her.

When Valerie first flew home after their father’s heart attack, Norah had suspected her sister might’ve been attracted to her employer. In retrospect, she realized Valerie greatly admired and liked Rowdy, but wasn’t in love with him. Her reactions to Colby made that abundantly clear.

“But why do you think he wanted to stop the wedding?” Norah asked. If Rowdy did love her sister, he’d certainly waited until the last minute to do something about it.

“He phoned two days ago…. I took the call,” Steffie said, a guilty expression crossing her face. “I didn’t tell Valerie, but then—how could I?”

“Tell her what exactly?”

“That Rowdy asked her not to do anything…hasty until he’d had a chance to talk to her.”

“Hasty?” Norah repeated. “Like what?”

“Like go through with the wedding.”

“He had to be joking.”

“I don’t think so,” Steffie said grimly. “He was dead serious. He claimed he had something important to say to her and that she should put everything on hold until he got here.”

“And you didn’t tell Valerie?”

“No,” Steffie returned, her gaze avoiding Norah’s. “I guess I should have, but when I told Dad—”

“Dad knows?”

“He didn’t seem the least bit surprised, either.” Steffie folded her arms around her middle and slowly shook her head. “He just smiled and then he said the oddest thing.”

“When hasn’t he?” Norah muttered.

Steffie agreed with a smile.

“What was it this time?”

Steffie didn’t answer right away. She stared down at the counter for a moment. Finally she glanced up, giving a baffled shrug. “That Rowdy was arriving right on schedule.”

Norah found the statement equally puzzling. “Do you think Rowdy might have called earlier and spoken to Dad?”

Once again Steffie shrugged. “Who knows?”

“But Dad seemed to feel you shouldn’t say anything to Valerie about Rowdy’s call?” Norah pressed.

Steffie nodded. “Yeah. He says she’s got enough to worry about. I couldn’t agree more. As far as I’m concerned, Cassidy had his chance. He accepted her resignation, which worked out fine since it gave Valerie more time to get everything organized for the wedding. From what she said recently, I think she might start doing some consulting. You know, help companies upgrade their computer systems.”

“That’s a great idea,” Norah murmured.

“It isn’t the wedding arrangements that have unsettled Val.” Steffie spoke with the authority of one who knew. “It’s being in love.”

“Love,” Norah repeated wistfully.

“Valerie’s never been in love before, that’s what threw her. Not the wedding plans or all the organizing or even the job situation.”

“What surprises me the most,” Norah said, recalling the past few weeks, “is how she immediately becomes composed whenever Colby’s around.”

“He’s her emotional anchor,” Steffie said knowingly. “Like Charles is mine. And—”

“Should I say anything to Val about Rowdy Cassidy?” Norah broke in.

“Sure,” Steffie told her, “but my advice is to wait until after the ceremony.”

Norah concurred, frowning a little.

“How badly was he injured?” Steffie asked.

“He’s in critical condition and is scheduled for surgery on his leg. I think he’ll be in traction for some time. He suffered some internal injuries, too, but they don’t appear to be as serious as we first assumed.”

“So he’ll be pretty well out of it until after the wedding, anyway?”

“Oh, yes. He’s not expected to fully regain consciousness until sometime tomorrow afternoon—if then.”

“Then I suggest we let sleeping dogs lie,” Steffie said. “It’s not like a visit from Valerie would do him any good—at least, not now.” Read more

Navy Blues

Seducing her ex-husband wasn’t going to be easy, Carol Kyle decided, but she was determined. More than determined – resolute! Her mind was set, and no one knew better than Steve Kyle how stubborn she could be when she wanted something.
And Carol wanted a baby.

Naturally she had no intention of letting him in on her plans. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Their marriage had lasted five good years, and six bad months. To Carol’s way of thinking, which she admitted was a bit twisted at the moment, Steve owed her at least one pregnancy.

Turning thirty had convinced Carol that drastic measures were necessary. Her hormones were jumping up and down, screaming for a chance at motherhood. Her biological clock was ticking away, and Carol swore she could hear every beat of that blasted timepiece. Everywhere she turned, it seemed she was confronted with pregnant women, who served to remind her that her time was running out. If she picked up a magazine, there would be an article on some aspect of parenting. Even her favorite characters on television sitcoms were pregnant. When she found herself wandering through the infant section of her favorite department store, Carol realized drastic measures needed to be taken.

Making the initial contact with Steve hadn’t been easy, but she recognized that the first move had to come from her. Getting in touch with her ex-husband after more than a year of complete silence had required two weeks of nerve building. But she’d managed to swallow her considerable pride and do it. Having a woman answer his phone had thrown her for a loop, and Carol had visualized her plans swirling down the drain until she realized the woman was Steve’s sister, Lindy.

Her former sister-in-law had sounded pleased to hear from her, and then Lindy had said something that had sent Carol’s spirits soaring to the ceiling: Lindy had claimed that Steve missed her dreadfully. Lordy, she hoped that was true. If so, it probably meant he wasn’t dating yet. There could be complications if Steve was involved with another woman. On the other hand, there could also be problems if he wasn’t involved.

Carol only needed him for one tempestuous night, and then, if everything went according to schedule, Steve Kyle could fade out of her life once more. If she failed to get pregnant … well, she’d leap that hurdle when she came to it.

Carol had left a message for Steve a week earlier, and he hadn’t returned her call. She wasn’t overly concerned. She knew her ex-husband well; he would mull it over carefully before he’d get back to her. He would want her to stew a while first. She’d carefully figured the time element into her schedule of events.

Her dinner was boiling on the stove, and Carol turned down the burner after checking the sweet potatoes with a cooking fork. Glaring at the orange-colored root, she heaved a huge sigh and squelched her growing dislike for the vegetable. After she became pregnant, she swore she would never eat another sweet potato for as long as she lived. A recent news report stated that the starchy vegetable helped increase the level of estrogen in a woman’s body. Armed with that information, Carol had been eating sweet potatoes every day for the last two weeks. There had to be enough of the hormone floating around in her body by now to produce triplets.

Noting the potatoes were soft, she drained the water and dumped the steaming roots into her blender. A smile crowded the edges of her mouth. Eating sweet potatoes was a small price to pay for a beautiful baby … for Steve’s baby.

* * *

“Have you called Carol back yet?” Lindy Callaghan demanded of her brother as she walked into the small kitchen of the two-bedroom apartment she shared with her husband and Steve.

Steve Kyle ignored her until she pulled out the chair and plopped down across the table from him. “No,” he admitted flatly. He could see no reason to hurry. He already knew what Carol was going to tell him. He’d known it from the minute they’d walked out of the King County Courthouse, the divorce papers clenched in her hot little hands. She was remarrying. Well, more power to her, but he wasn’t going to sit back and blithely let her rub his nose in the fact.

“Steve,” Lindy insisted, her face tight with impatience. “It could be something important.”

“You told me it wasn’t.”

“Sure, that’s what Carol said, but … oh, I don’t know, I have the feeling that it really must be. It isn’t going to do any harm to call her back.”

Methodically Steve turned the page of the evening newspaper and carefully creased the edge before folding it in half and setting it aside. Lindy and Rush, her husband, couldn’t be expected to understand his reluctance to phone his ex-wife. He hadn’t told either of them the details that had led to his and Carol’s divorce. He preferred to keep all thoughts of the disastrous relationship out of his mind. There were plenty of things he could have forgiven, but not what Carol had done – not infidelity.

As a Lieutenant Commander aboard the submarine USS Atlantis, Steve was at sea for as long as six months out of a year. From the first Carol hadn’t seemed to mind sending him off on a three-to-four month cruise. She even used to joke about it, telling him all the projects she planned to complete when he was at sea, and how pleased she was that he would be out of her hair for a while. When he’d returned she’d always seemed happy that he was home, but not exuberant. If anything had gone wrong in his absence – a broken water pipe, car repairs, anything – she’d seen to it herself with barely more than a casual mention. Read more