Discovering Home

Wade McMillen might be a minister, but he’s also a man. An unmarried and very attractive one. Is it as a man that he responds to the lovely young woman who shows up in Promise, pregnant and alone? Or as Read more

Midnight Sons Volume 3

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 charter service called Midnight Sons, are heading a Read more

Texas Skies

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

Heart of Texas Volume 1

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

Orchard Valley Brides

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

Married in Texas

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

North to Alaska

Cathy Thompson’s long nails beat an impatient tempo against the formica counter top as she waited.

“Yes, I’ll hold,” she said and breathed heavily into the telephone receiver. Her deep gray eyes clashed with Linda Ericson’s, who sat at the desk, a large newspaper spread over the top.

“Any luck?” Linda whispered.

A voice at the other end of the line interrupted Cathy’s response and she straightened, her fingers tightening around the phone. “This is Cathy Thompson again.” The inflection of her voice conveyed the irritation. “Would it be possible to speak to Grady Jones?”

“Grady’s in the air,” a gruff male voice informed her. “Be with you in a minute, Harry.” He spoke to someone who was obviously waiting in the office.

“When do you expect him back?” Cathy asked in her most businesslike voice.

A lengthy pause followed, and Cathy could hear the rustle of paper in the background. “Thursday afternoon. Will you hold the line a minute?”

Cathy’s sigh was full of exasperation. Cradling the telephone receiver against her shoulder with the side of her head, she pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. As she looked up she happened to catch a glimpse of the school play yard. The sights and sounds of the last recess of the day drifted in through the open window. Her gray eyes softened as she unconsciously sought Angela Jones. A frown creased her narrow forehead as she discovered the pigtailed first grader leaning against the play shed watching the other girls jump rope. Angela always seemed to be on the outside looking in.

“Do you want to leave a message?” The harried male voice came back on the phone.

“I’ve already left four,” Cathy snapped.

“Listen, all I do is take the message. If Grady doesn’t return your call it’s not my fault.” He hesitated. “Are you the gal from the school again?”

“Yes, I’m the gal from the school again.” She echoed his words doing her best to disguise her frustration.

“All I can tell you is that Grady is flying on assignment. I’ll tell him you phoned.”

The man wasn’t to blame if Grady Jones didn’t wish to speak to her, and Cathy’s reply was less agitated. “Please do that.” Gently she replaced the receiver in its cradle.

“Well?” Linda looked up expectantly.

“No luck. It’s the same as before. They’ll take a message, but he won’t be back until Thursday afternoon.”

“What are you going to do?” Linda asked, concern knitting her brow.

Cathy shrugged. “Maybe it’s time I personally introduced myself to the elusive Grady Jones. He’ll have a hard time not talking to me if I show up at the airfield.” Cathy had done her research well. The school information card had been sketchy. The father’s occupation listed him as a pilot, employed by Alaska Cargo Company. No business phone number had been given, and when Cathy looked it up in the yellow pages she found a large commercial ad. The fine print at the bottom of the advertisement stated that Grady Jones was the company owner. The information card had stated that Angela had no mother. Cathy had found the comment an interesting one. How could any child not have a mother? It could be that Angela’s parents were divorced. What Cathy couldn’t understand was how someone as unconcerned and uncaring as Grady Jones could have been awarded custody of the child. Cathy had tried on several occasions to contact him at home, but the only adult she had ever reached was a housekeeper, who promised to give him a message. Cathy had stopped counting the times she’d left messages for him.

“After all the trouble you’ve gone through, I’d say that’s about the only way you’re going to get his attention.”

“Believe me, I won’t have any problem getting his attention. His ears will burn for a week.”

“Cathy…” Linda warned, her large brown eyes worried. “Alienated, Angela’s father won’t help her.”

“I know, but I can’t help dislike the man.”

The bell rang indicating the end of recess. Emitting a soft groan Cathy turned around. “Back to the salt mine.” It had been another break wasted trying to contact a parent. Next time she’d pour herself a cup of coffee before making a phone call.

“Don’t go yet,” Linda called. “I want to read you this personal.”

“Linda,” Cathy said with a sigh but she knew better than to argue. Her friend would insist she listen anyway. “All right, but be quick about it.”

Rustling the paper, Linda sat upright and read. “Sincere gentleman seeking sincere lady for sincere relationship-”

“Only sincere women need apply,” Cathy interrupted. “Dull, Linda, dull. If you insist on playing matchmaker, the least you can do is find someone with a little personality.”

“Okay, here’s another.” She glanced up. “Man with large house, large cat, six kids. Cat not enough.”

“Six kids.” Cathy choked.

“That says a lot,” Linda defended. “At least he’s honest and forthright. He must like animals.”

“That would make Peterkins happy, but unfortunately I’m the one that has to be satisfied. Six kids are out.”

The shuffle of feet could be heard above the laughter as the children filed into the school building. The afternoon could no longer be delayed.

Two hours later, Cathy unlocked the door to her rental house on Lacey Street. She had rented a home so that Peterkins, her black cocker spaniel, would have a yard to roam. Steve had given her Peterkins, and he was probably the only good thing she had left of their relationship. In the beginning she had resented the fact Peterkins had been a gift from Steve. Every time she looked at her floppy-eared friend she was reminded of a soured relationship. But Peterkins wasn’t to be blamed, and there was far more than a dog to remind her of Steve. It was funny how many of her thoughts he continued to dominate. Yet it was totally, completely over. Steve was a married man. A knot twisted the sensitive muscles of her stomach. He’d been married for five months and six days. Not that she was counting. Bravely she had attended the wedding, had been a member of the wedding party. The maid of honor. Her sister wouldn’t hear of anything else.

Exhaling a quivering breath, Cathy turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. Immediately Peterkins was there, excitedly jumping up and down. When she crouched down to pet him, he fervently lapped her hand with his moist tongue.

“Let me relax a minute, and we’ll go for our walk,” Cathy told him. Peterkins knew her moods better than anyone, Cathy mused while she changed clothes and sorted through the mail. Peeling an orange, she sat at the small circular table in her kitchen and leaned against the back of the chair.

Memories of Steve again ruled her thoughts. They’d quarreled. It wasn’t any major disagreement; she couldn’t even recall what it was that had sparked the argument. But something was different this time. Cathy had decided she was tired of always being the one to give in, apologize, change. They had talked about getting married on several occasions. If their relationship was to be a lasting one, Cathy had decided, then Steve must learn to do his share of giving. It would be a good lesson for him to admit he was wrong for once.

She pulled each of the orange segments apart and set them on the napkin, fingering each one. Her appetite was gone, and she scooted the afternoon snack away.

The whole idea of teaching Steve a lesson had been immature and foolish. Cathy realized that now. She gave a short laugh. What a wonderful thing hindsight was.

When Steve began dating her sister, MaryAnne, Cathy had been amused. He wasn’t fooling her, she knew exactly what he was doing. She had taken great pride in meeting him at the door when he came to pick up MaryAnne for a date. With a gay smile she had proven she wasn’t in the least bit jealous. He could date whom he liked. Twice she had arranged dates at the same time MaryAnne and Steve would be going out so that they would all meet at the apartment she shared with her sister.

The only one who had shown any concern over such foolishness had been their mother.

“Mom.” Cathy had strived to brush off Paula Thompson’s concern. “MaryAnne and I cut the apron strings when we moved out and got an apartment of our own. From now on you’re only supposed to give advice when we ask. Remember?” Her words were a teasing reminder of what their mother had told them when they decided to move in together. Although her mother never mentioned a word again about MaryAnne and Steve, the question was in her eyes.

Six weeks had passed, and still Steve continued to play his game in an attempt to make her jealous. If she hadn’t been so stubborn she would have seen what was happening. Twice MaryAnne had come to her.

“You don’t mind do you?” The gray eyes so like her own had pleaded. “I’d stop seeing him in a minute if our relationship was hurting you in any way.”

Cathy had laughed lightly. “It’s over,” she said with a flippant air. “It was over a long time ago. There’s no need to concern yourself.”

Then one night MaryAnne had burst into the apartment and proudly displayed the beautiful diamond engagement ring. Cathy had been shocked. This was carrying things to an extreme. Steve had gone too far. She wasn’t going to allow him to use her little sister like this another minute.

The argument when she’d confronted Steve had been loud and bitter. They’d hurled accusations at one another faster and sharper than a machine gun.

All through the preparations for the wedding Cathy had expected Steve to put a halt to things. It was unbelievable that a minor disagreement three months before had been allowed to go this far.

Throughout the time they had prepared for the wedding, MaryAnne had been radiantly happy. A hundred times Cathy had to bite her tongue to keep from saying. “Listen, sis, I’m not completely sure Steve loves you. He loves me, I know he does.” Maybe she should have said it. The message was in her eyes, her mother read it the morning of the wedding. Steve saw it as she marched up the aisle preceding her sister. It was there when the minister pronounced Steve and MaryAnne man and wife.

The memory of those words seemed to echo assaulting her from all sides. Urgently, Cathy stood and pushed her chair to the table. She needed to get out, away from the memories, the hurt.

“Bring me the leash, Peterkins,” she said to her dog, who promptly stepped into the bedroom and pulled the rhinestone-studded strap off the chair. Cathy paused, fingering the red leather. The leash had been another gift from Steve. Would he continue to haunt her the rest of her life? Would it always be like this?

For two months after the wedding Cathy had walked around in a haze of pain and disillusionment. This couldn’t be happening to her. This wasn’t real. It became almost impossible to hide her emotions from her family. She had to get away, to the ends of the earth. Alaska. The opportunity to work as a basic skills instructor had come as a surprise. Her application had been submitted months before. She had never intended to accept the job even if it was offered to her. She had done it to tease Steve, telling him if he didn’t proclaim his undying love she’d abandon him for parts unknown. Willingly, Steve had obliged. When she hadn’t heard from the school district, Cathy was relieved. It had been a fluke, a joke. Now it was her salvation, a lifeline to sanity.

No one had understood her reasons for going-except her mother, and perhaps Steve. With a sense of urgency she had gone about building a new life for herself. Forming friendships, reaching out. It was only in the area of men that she withdrew, held back. Eventually that reserve would abate. A soft smile curved up the edges of her lips. Linda and those crazy personal ads she was always reading to her. If her friend had anything to do with it, Cathy would be married by Christmas.

She dressed carefully Thursday morning, the meeting with Grady Jones weighing her decision as she chose a dark blue gabardine business suit. The line of the suit accentuated the slender curves of her lithe form. Cathy was nearly five eleven in her heels and secretly hoped to meet the man at eye level. She did with most men. Not once had she regretted the fact she was tall. In most cases height was an advantage. Steve was tall. Her hands knotted at her side as her resolve tightened. It was ridiculous the way her mind would bring him to the forefront of her consciousness. It had to stop, and it had to stop immediately. She needed to start dating again, meet other men. She’d do it. The troubled thoughts that had continually plagued her were all the convincing she needed. She’d answer one of those crazy ads Linda was always telling her about.

“Be a good dog, Peterkins.” She ruffled his ears playfully. “You do like cats, don’t you? What about six kids?” The large brown eyes looked up at her quizzically, and Cathy laughed. “Never mind.”

Dawn was breaking as she parked her Honda in the school parking lot. Gracefully she slid across the upholstered seat and climbed out the passenger side. As soon as she was paid she was going to get that other door fixed. She paused to watch the sun’s golden orb break out across the pink horizon. There was a magical quality to an Alaskan sky that stirred something within her. The sky was bluer than blue, the air fresher, cleaner. Even the landscape that appeared dingy and barren held a fascination for Cathy. She hadn’t expected to like Alaska but found herself mesmerized with its openness, enthralled with its beauty.

“Whew-wee.” Linda whistled as she walked into the teachers’ lounge. “You look fit to kill.”

“I may have to,” Cathy replied flippantly as she poured herself a mug of coffee. “But that man’s going to listen to me if I have to hogtie him.”

“Hogtie him?” Linda repeated with a laugh. “Is that a little Kansas humor?”

Pulling out a chair, Cathy sat beside her friend. “It could be, but by the time I finish with Grady Jones he won’t be laughing.”

“With that look in your eye, I almost pity the poor man.”

Her long, tapered fingers cupped the coffee mug as she glanced at the paper Linda had placed beside her purse. “Without meaning to change the subject, but are there any new ads today?”

“New ads. You actually want to look at the personals? As I live and breathe…”

The rest of what she was going to say faded away as she took the paper and opened it on top of the table so they could both read through the columns. Several of the listings were almost identical with lengthy descriptions of their likes and wants. It was a small ad at the bottom of the page that captured Cathy’s attention. It read “Red Baron seeks lady to soar to heights unknown.” It gave a post office box number for the response.

“This one looks interesting.” Cathy pointed it out to Linda. Read more

The Manning Grooms

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

Weddings in Orchard Valley

“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

More Than Words: Stories of the Heart

Amanda knew. She knew even before Dr. Fleishman stepped into the room with her chart in his hand. Before he spoke the words that would forever change her life. She knew. The cancer was back.

She’d always realized that it might return, but she’d been cancer-free for almost eight years. An intellectual understanding of something wasn’t the same as an emotional acceptance. Perhaps she’d grown complacent, convinced that after all this time she was cured. As a childhood-cancer survivor, perhaps she’d come to believe she was invincible.

The silence that followed his announcement reminded her of the eerie lack of sound before a storm. Before the thunder and lightning and torrential rain.

“Amanda,” Dr. Fleishman said, breaking into her thoughts.

He wanted her attention, but she couldn’t give it to him. Instead, she continued to stare at the floor. She didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Not just then. It would take a few minutes for the news to settle, a few minutes before she could face him.

It was the same with her mother. Joan Jennings sat in the chair next to Amanda’s and it seemed as if all the life had drained out of her. Suddenly, after that long, awkward silence, Amanda’s mother started to weep.

“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Fleishman said softly.

Amanda nodded. Needing to hold on to something, she reached for her mother’s hand. “It’ll be all right, Mom,” she whispered. She didn’t know where that encouragement came from because she didn’t feel it. Her entire world was about to implode.

“I guess this means I won’t be cheerleading at the pep rally, doesn’t it?” She tried hard to make a joke of it. She failed miserably; she didn’t even sound like herself.

“Not this year,” Dr. Fleishman murmured in reply.

She honestly hadn’t expected an answer. He seemed so calm about it, but why shouldn’t he be? It wasn’t his life that was taking a nosedive. Anyway, the cheerleading thing was minor. More importantly, the Junior/Senior Prom was in May. By then her hair would’ve fallen out and Lance… She couldn’t do that to him, couldn’t embarrass him that way. The dress she loved, and had saved countless months for, would languish in her closet. Maybe she could be buried in it. Funny, the idea of dying didn’t immediately upset her. She noticed then that her mother and Dr. Fleishman were carrying on a conversation.

Amanda sat there, half listening while they exchanged questions and answers. When he saw that he finally had Amanda’s attention, Dr. Fleishman outlined a treatment schedule.

Amanda tried to take it all in but she couldn’t. By the

j time they left the office, her mother had stopped crying. She clutched a wet tissue in her hand, and Amanda was afraid she’d dissolve into heart-wrenching sobs once again. Maybe in public.

“I don’t want anyone to know,” Amanda insisted as they walked toward the parking complex.

“We’re going to do whatever it takes,” her mother said with a grim set to her mouth. “I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care how much the insurance company fights us— I’ll fight harder.”

Her mother hadn’t even heard her.

“You weren’t listening to me,” Amanda said. All her mother could think about was the money and how much

j these treatments were going to cost and struggling with the insurance company. Amanda wanted an iPod and her mother had claimed it wasn’t in the budget. But chemo, radiation, a bone-marrow transplant would cost a whole lot more.

“What did you say?” her mother asked. “When?”

“You said I wasn’t listening. Tell me what you said.”

“Annie,” she whispered. “I’ll tell Annie.” Annie was one of her best friends, and Amanda wouldn’t be able to keep this news from her. Besides, when she didn’t show up for the pep rally rehearsal, Annie would know something was wrong. So would Laurie, another of her good friends.

” I blame this on that party job,” her mother said angrily.

“What?” Amanda stared at her in shocked disbelief. She worked with Annie and her mother on their birthday party business. Almost every weekend, Bethanne organized a number of birthday parties for youngsters, and she paid both Annie and Amanda to help. At first Amanda had tagged along…just because. She soon discovered it was a lot of fun; she liked helping kids celebrate their birthdays in a creative way. Annie’s mother was really good at this. The money was a bonus, and Amanda had used it to save up for her prom dress.

” Those kids exposed you to all their germs,” her mother snapped. ” Those birthday parties are breeding grounds for—”

“I didn’t get cancer at a birthday party.”

Amanda could see it already. Her mother was going to smother her. In a misguided effort to protect her from harm, Joan would make everything worse. It’d been bad enough when Amanda was eight and nine. She couldn’t even imagine what her mother would be like now. Amanda figured she’d be lucky to step inside a movie theater again—the germs floating around in places like that. And if her mother had anything to say about it, she’d be banned from shopping, too. How ridiculous was that! Amanda sighed heavily. Even if she survived, she’d be doomed to her mother’s heavy-handed protection for the rest of her life.

And that remark about the birthday parties! It was as though her mother would feel better if she had someone or something to blame. Amanda didn’t understand why. It wouldn’t make the cancer magically disappear. And it didn’t benefit anyone, except maybe her mom. That kind of thinking would drive Amanda crazy.

Neither spoke on the ride home. The minute she got out of the car, Amanda went straight to her room and shut the door. Once inside the relative privacy of her bedroom, she placed headphones over her ears and immersed herself in music.

Someone—obviously her mother—knocked loudly on her door, but Amanda ignored it. She didn’t know if Joan came in to check on her, because she kept her eyes closed.

For whatever reason, the cancer was back and Amanda would be the one dealing with it. This wasn’t a trig problem she could pass off to Lance in study hall to solve for her. Her parents couldn’t help her, either. She was alone, and that was the most frightening thing of all.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang. Even with the music turned up full blast, Amanda could hear it. She ignored that, too. When her mother came into her room, Amanda reluctantly removed the headphones. “What?” she demanded.

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “That was Annie.”

“I don’t want to talk right now.” She was seventeen and she was dying and if she didn’t want to answer the phone she shouldn’t have to.

“I called your father.”

Amanda closed her eyes again. She didn’t want to hear it. “Mom, please, give me a few minutes by myself. Just a few minutes.” She didn’t know why her mother was doing this. A little time alone shouldn’t be that much to ask.

“I can’t,” her mother sobbed. Joan sank onto the edge of the bed, covered her face with both hands and began to cry.

Amanda bit her lower lip and knelt on the carpet at her mother’s feet. After a moment she laid her head in her mother’s lap. It occurred to her then that this diagnosis wasn’t only about her. Her cancer affected everyone in her life.

Slowly Amanda’s arms went around her mother’s waist and she straightened. Her mother clung to her, burying her face in Amanda’s shoulder, still sobbing.

Surprisingly, Amanda shed no tears. The emotion was there, just beneath the surface, pounding, throbbing, pulsing. What shocked Amanda, what threw her completely off guard, was her mother’s reaction. This was the second time she’d faced cancer, the second time for her and her parents. You’d think her mom would know how to cope. Or maybe it was the exact opposite; maybe knowing what to expect made it worse.

“I’m going to be fine,” Amanda cooed softly.

“I know.”

Amanda had been too young the first time to remember how her mother and father had dealt with everything. Certain memories were strong: the pain, throwing up, losing her hair—and her mother at her side. Other memories had faded. The one constant had been her mother’s devotion. She’d desperately needed it then and Amanda knew she’d need it now.

“I’m…sorry,” her mother whispered. “I didn’t mean to do this. You need me—but I’m so frightened. I can’t bear to see you go through this again.”

Amanda gently kissed the top of her mother’s head. “It’s all right, Mom. It’s all right.”

“I should be the strong one.”

“You are.” In the months to come, Amanda would need to lean on her mother’s strength. Her mother would be her advocate, her nurse, her coach and her friend. Read more

The Last Two Bachelors

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 charter service called Midnight Sons, are heading a Read more

Men in Uniform

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

Orchard Valley

“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

Heart of Texas Volume 3

Nell Bishop, widowed mother of two children, is turning Twin Canyons into a dude ranch. One of her first guests is Travis Grant, a celebrity of sorts, a wannabe cowboy, an “Easterner” known for his books about the West. Nell’s Read more

Family Men

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

Born in a Small Town

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.

Evenings by the Fire

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

Midnight Sons Volume 1

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