

# Lone Star Love

## A collection of short stories.

An NTRWA publication.

Copyright

Lone Star Love Copyright 2018

North Texas Romance Writers of America

All rights reserved.

Individual stories are the express intellectual property of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Attributions

Proofreading provided by Gena Ellington and Jen FitzGerald.

Beta-reading/final proofreading provided by Jenn Caraballo.

Cover art created by Talina Perkins, Bookin' It Designs.

The Authors

Clover Autrey

Linda Bolton

Tammy Jo Burns

Amanda Byrd

Christine Crocker

Gena Ellington

Jen FitzGerald

Fenley Grant

Eva Jameson

Risa Leigh

Gina Lee Nelson

Carolyn Rae

Marsha R. West

The Stories

Alone Malone by Clover Autrey

The Anniversary by Linda Bolton

The Winning Bid by Tammy Jo Burns

The Promise by Amanda Byrd

Trust by Amanda Byrd

Hope by Amanda Byrd

Girl Trouble by Christine Crocker

The Love Curse by Christine Crocker

Lies About Coffee by Gena Ellington

Mystery Marine by Gena Ellington

A Bid For Love by Jen FitzGerald

Warrior by Fenley Grant

Conquering His Elephants by Eva Jameson

Breakfast at Sweetie's by Risa Leigh

Man of Steel by Gina Lee Nelson

A Hot Time in Dew Drop by Carolyn Rae

The Colonel and Her Major by Marsha R. West

# Alone Malone

## By Clover Autrey

Dedication

To all the ordinary women:

May you know how beautiful you really are.

Alone Malone

"Don't you ever take your nose out of a book long enough to watch TV? He was interviewed on Howdy Day Texas for heaven's sake." Annabelle looked up at her from the salon chair, one side of her head covered in large curlers.

Malone sighed. She'd run into the beauty shop to nab coffee since her little machine at the bookstore next door had given up the ghost. She hadn't come to get waylaid by gossip.

Clementine swiveled Annabelle's chair around so she had to look at Malone through the mirror. "There was Ty Harrington right there on live television, telling Miss Thelma Laredo—"

"Oh I really like her," Miss Wynona butted in from the next chair over. "You know she started out as a weathergirl on WBMC. Was a blonde back then. Wasn't until she went brunette that she got to do the serious news."

"You call Howdy Day Texas serious news?" Gertrude McCalihutty piped in from the other side of Miss Wynona.

Annabelle's face scrunched so tight her eyes disappeared behind her heavily mascaraed lashes. "As I was tellin ya'll, there sits Miss Thelma asking Ty all these questions about what's next after winning back-to-back awards in his soap opera and that made-for-TV drama he did."

"He was awful in that one." Wynona clutched her purse tighter in her thin hands. "Scared me near out of my bones."

"He was supposed to, Miss Wynona." Mabel rolled a strand of the elderly woman's silver-blued hair into a curler. "He was playing the bad guy."

Malone had seen Ty in that. He'd been really good at playing bad, except she saw through to the unadulterated joy in his eyes at acting such a tortured villain. She had grinned through the entire movie.

"That's no way for a properly bred young man to behave," Wynona said. "His momma must be horrified."

"You know his momma went to every screening, pleased as a sow passing gas." Gertrude glared over the top of her reading glasses. "What I can't get over is the way he let poor Drake take the blame for that insurance fraud so he could have Raven all to hisself. And we know that baby isn't his."

"They do know that's Ty's soap character?" Loulou, Malone's best friend and caffeine supplier, muttered dryly as she sauntered over from putting Harley Jackson beneath the sole-working hair dryer.

"Can we please get back to me?" Annabelle drawled.

"Listen to Miss High-and-Mighty," Wynona snapped.

Gertrude reached across the stations and used her magazine to slap Wynona's arm. "Shush, this is going to be entertaining."

Annabelle ignored them. "Well, Thelma Laredo asks Ty what new project is he excited to do and you know what he says?"

Malone watched her over the rim of her cup, trying not to seem interested.

"He says bold-as-brass, 'This last project got me to thinking. Something's been missing in my life, something important."

Everyone in the beauty parlor seemed to hold a collective breath.

Noting she had an attentive audience, Annabelle drew it out. "I was leaning forward on my settee watching it all." Annabelle clasped her hands together. "Ty looked straight into the camera, and I swear he was looking right at me. He says loud and clear, 'I'm going back home to the girl I never should have left behind.'"

Everyone in the shop seemed to swoon. Malone vaguely wondered if Clementine had any smelling salts.

Mabel fanned herself. "That is the most romantic thing I've ever heard."

Annabelle tapped her hands together lightly, careful of the still-drying nail polish. "I know."

Annabelle getting the total beauty works when she should be at the Iced Tea festival down the street posing for pictures as last year's Iced Tea Queen made sense now. Why shouldn't Annabelle believe Ty was coming back for her? Student body president and head cheerleader, homecoming king and queen, voted most likely to get hitched...only they didn't. Ty ran off to California and became a regular on the soap opera right after high school, never returning, not even once.

He even bought his momma a house and moved her to California.

"Why are we assuming he meant coming back to Dew Drop?" Malone asked.

Everyone turned and gaped at Malone, very unhappy gapings, giving off more heat than the humming hairdryer.

"I mean," Malone hedged at the unpopular question. "He was in New York, finishing off that drama. He could have meant going back home to California."

Annabelle uncrossed her legs beneath the salon cape. "Oh right, you tutored him. So you know all there is about him." She rolled her eyes. "Of course he meant Dew Drop. This is where Ty Harrington's roots are. What would you know about the romantic nature of first and forever loves, Alone Malone, who'd rather live life through a book than have any real interaction with real people? You've never even been on a date."

She'd been on dates. Malone bristled at the stupid label she'd been saddled with through high school. And she didn't intend to be alone forever, she just hadn't found... Whatever. She was about to give Annabelle a what-for when Trudy Marie, Annabelle's best friend, stormed into the beauty shop. "He's here, he's here, I can't believe it, he just showed up in the middle of the Iced Tea Festival."

Annabelle flew out of her chair, squealing shriller than John-Henry's latest batch of piglets. Trudy Marie joined in and they both began bouncing up and down.

"He can't see me like this," Annabelle screeched. Everyone else scurried to the front windows, noses pressed against the glass. Caught up in the excitement, Malone peered over Miss Wynona's head, trying to get her own glimpse of Ty Harrington.

There he was, taller than most everybody, with that dark wavy hair, and up-to-no-good smile that could charm the rattle off a snake. He was marching between the vendor tables that lined Town Square for the festival, collecting people as he strode along.

Cameras flashed from reporters who had somehow converged on the scene, and also from everyone else in Dew Drop, who owned a cell phone. People were patting him on the back and shaking his hand like the homegrown celebrity he was. Cups of tea were pushed into his hands, which he sipped and sampled with nods of approval before returning each cup to the blushing owners. He sure knew how to charm a crowd, Malone had to give him that.

As he walked, Ty eagerly chatted and flashed his Hollywood white smile. He held a bouquet of white daisies.

Behind Malone, Annabelle was in a tizzy. "Hurry, hurry. He can't see me like this. Get these curlers out."

Clementine was furiously stripping rollers from Annabelle's hair. Mabel was trying to comb some sense into the partially wet style, while Loulou had a blow dryer aimed at Annabelle's fingernails.

"He's heading straight for us," Miss Wynona informed.

"I'm not ready!" Annabelle screamed.

"Nope, he stopped," Gertrude said. "He's looking around at all the shops. Wait a minute, he's heading towards the five-and-dime. Nope, he's coming this way. He's coming up the steps to our sidewalk."

Malone rocked a step back. Seeing him from afar was one thing, but she had no desire to see Ty's reunion with Annabelle play out in front of her. Except she couldn't take her eyes off him. Seeing him through the window was like watching him on TV, with a layer of unreality about it.

He still had that boyishness about him, and his easy manner was evident. She'd always envied that comfortable way he had with people. Even with her, he'd been kind when she had been horrifically nervous to tutor him, but Ty had made her feel at ease by cracking a few jokes and teasing her when she finally let that first grin slip.

He took the first step up onto the sidewalk in front of all the shops and all the women lining the window spooled out of the door, rushing to get outside and be part of the spectacle. Malone got dragged along in the spillage and ended up on the sidewalk outside of the beauty parlor.

The entire town seemed to be out on the street. Ty Harrington was the center of it all, standing handsome and broad-shouldered. Little butterflies fluttered around in Malone's belly the same way they had every time she got near Ty when they set out to study. She would have thought she'd have outgrown the school girl crush a long time ago. He was, after all, way out of her league back then, even more so now.

His eyes skirted around the crowd. He must be looking for Annabelle who was getting ready like a mad woman to get beautiful for him even though she was already easily the most stunning woman in Dew Drop, Texas.

For a fraction of a second, Ty's gaze landed on Malone. She quickly looked away and stepped sideways to hide behind Gertrude. When she thought he wasn't looking anymore, she peeked over the older woman's shoulder and found that Ty had taken another step up to the sidewalk, and he was still staring in her direction.

The shop door swung open. Annabelle ran out of the beauty parlor, face flushed, glossy hair tamed into gentle curls, her makeup soft and demure.

"Hi," Annabelle said. Long lashes lowered in faux shyness.

"Hi Annabelle," Ty said. "It's nice to see you."

The entire assemblage quieted, watching the reunion of the high school sweethearts. Malone inched backwards. She really didn't need to see this, but then again she kind of did, even though it hurt a little bit. Guys like Ty Harrington never went for the ordinary girls. Cameras flashed as photographers zoned in on Annabelle clasping her hands in front of herself, tilting her head at just the right angle, the epitome of southern gentility

"We all saw you on Howdy Day," Annabelle said.

Ty scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. "Yeah, I kind of got caught up in the moment there."

Malone smiled.

"So what you meant was just for the television?" Annabelle blinked, urging him on.

Ty glanced around at the crowd. "I meant what I said." His gaze wandered again. "You look really nice, Annabelle. We'll have to get together, grab a coffee or something."

"Grab a coffee?" Annabelle spluttered.

Ty took the final step up to the sidewalk and strode forward. Miss Wynona and Gertrude McCalihutty parted like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea, leaving a bare space right in front of Malone.

Her heart slammed into her ribcage. She looked to either side of her.

Ty pressed the daisies towards her. "Hi Malone."

"Hi," she squeaked, a bit shocky as she tried to construct scenarios of what was going on.

Ty smiled a bit shyly. Okay, that was way out of character for him. Ty didn't have a shy molecule in his body.

"Malone, I would like very much to—"

Whatever he said got lost in the pulse roaring in Malone's ears. The still functioning part of her brain grabbed onto her default mechanisms. Fight or flight, baby. She darted back into the beauty parlor.

Footfalls clattered behind her on the linoleum floor. "Malone, wait, I want to talk to you."

She shoved out of the back exit and ran down the alley. She looked over her shoulder to see Ty Harrington bang out of the door right behind her. Which made her all the more determined to get away. Oh no, sirree, he was not going to come back and embarrass her like this. What in the world was he thinking?

Malone took a corner and ran down the next back alley behind downtown businesses. Crap oh crap oh crap, there was nowhere to go. She ran past the Dairy Queen, past the diner, past the lawyer's office. She had to get away from all those people gawking at her. This was not a game, this was not a publicity stunt, she did not need to be embarrassed like this. She skirted through the barriers that had been placed to block off the field behind the post office for festival parking.

She raced between cars across the weedy grasses and took a peek sideways. Ty was still on her tail.

"Malone, slow up. Come on." He still had the flowers. Petals floated behind him, little puffs of white.

Half the town followed, clapping and applauding. "You run, girl," she heard. "Go get her."

Malone reached the chain-link fence and dug her toes in the links, climbing as fast as she could. Her flowy skirt snagged on one of the top cross links, but she let it tear.

"You owe me a new skirt, Ty Harrington," she called. His laughter followed her as well as the chuckles of several others and she heard more than a few guys weighing in on the nice shape of her legs.

Her thighs were burning. But she knew where to go now, where no one would look, where no one would follow if she could just outpace them for a bit. The herd was already thinning. Most stopped at the fence. Malone crossed the next street and ran up the block where the business district gave way to residences. It was the shortcut she used to take home from school, going from backyard to backyard, climbing fences and opening gates between homes. None of the residents had minded any of the school children using their backyards for their routes because Dew Drop was that kind of town.

And there was that one special place that had been abandoned for as long as she'd been alive. The old Miller Homestead was one of the oldest buildings in town, long forgotten and overgrown and beautiful and romantic, a place for a young girl to daydream.

She hurried across the weed-choked yard, winded and running out of steam. Her side ached. It was too hot for this. She ran around the back of the house and up the wreck of wooden steps, grasping onto the old rail to pull herself up and into the old screen porch. She ducked down behind the lower wooden wall below the ripped and dirty screens and pulled her knees up to your chest as she heaved in long breaths. Let them try and find her here. She'd wait them out until the town moved on to whatever next silliness Ty Harrington led them to. She'd wait until the glory hound grew tired of trying to make a fool out of her and went back to have coffee with Annabelle.

"Hey." Ty poked his head around the door.

Malone about jumped out of her skin.

"Why'd you take off like that?"

Malone pressed a palm against her heart as though pressure would calm it. "What are you doing chasing me around like that?"

He slid down beside her, back against the rotting wood. "Why did you bolt?"

Frowning, Malone twisted to peek out of the screen.

"Relax, slugger. No one's out there."

"Really?" She slunk back against the wall. "You didn't wait for your paparazzi to catch up?"

"No. And I didn't invite them here. They just showed up."

"Sure." Malone took a deep breath. "Ty, what are you doing here?"

"Didn't you see my interview?"

"Hate to break it to you, but my world doesn't revolve around you."

She felt his humor, even without seeing the upward curl of his mouth in her peripheral vision.

"That complicates things. I guess I should have called first. I just thought..." He shook his head. "I didn't think, just acted."

"Sounds like you."

He huffed out a small laugh. "I deserve that. Malone, would you please look at me?"

Damn him for using that tone. Wanting this, whatever this was, over with, she turned her head toward him, and immediately realized what a mistake that was. His eyes were serious and hopeful, as green as she'd remembered. The boy she'd once known was still there beneath the stronger, firmer lines and angles of the man.

He held out the bouquet, a little wilted from his run. "These are for you. You used to like daisies."

Heart aching, she accepted them. "Ty, what are you doing?"

"I really wished you'd seen that interview."

"I got the rundown of it."

"Oh." He nodded. "Good then." He picked at a weed growing between the warped floorboards. "Then you know I came back for the girl I should never have left. For you, Malone. I was crazy about you, am crazy about you, I was just too afraid of what everyone would think and what was expected of me back in high school to do what I really wanted. Didn't you know?"

"You were dating Annabelle."

"No, I wasn't. We went to homecoming because it was expected. I spent way more time with you, here, talking. I shared things with you I never shared with anybody."

"I was your tutor."

"I liked you, Malone. How did you not know this?"

"For starters, you never said anything."

He plucked the weed out of the floor. "Yeah, not my smartest play. And then I left. I went out to follow my dream, and I love it, but lately... I want to settle down. I want to share my life with someone, and whenever I think about what that, who that... Whenever I've ever thought about it, you're there, front and center."

"You don't even know me to know if you like me."

He tossed the weed and turned to look her straight on. "I know that your nose crinkles when you're amused. I know you analyze every little thing before making a decision. I know you love action-packed movies and hate comedies. I know rainstorms remind you of playing miniature golf with your dad and that day it started pouring and everybody else left but you two. I know you're deathly afraid of lizards, yet think nothing about picking up a snake, and I know you doodle creatures when you're bored.

"I don't doodle."

His brows shot up. He reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet and pulled out a folded slip of paper. "Are you saying you didn't doodle this?" He unfolded it to reveal a little penciled sketch of an alien cat. Her handiwork was unmistakable.

Unexpected warmth swept through her entire body and down to her toes. She took the paper from his hands, her fingers grazing along his and the warmth burned sharper. "You kept this?"

"This isn't a game to me, Malone. It's not anything like that." He leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn't a hard or possessive kiss. It was soft and sweet and maybe a little bit hesitant. It was the kind of kiss she always wanted from him and she pressed into it, kissing him back, letting all suspicions and reasoning go.

He pulled back just a fraction. "Does this mean you're willing to take a chance with me?"

She rested her forehead on his chin. "Is this real, Ty?"

"It's real, Malone."

She looked up into his face, finding nothing but sincerity. He'd kept her alien cat in his wallet all this time. She nodded, afraid her voice was going to crack, which it did, but she said it anyway. "Let's take that chance."

The End

About Clover

"Clover Autrey's books are perfect for the time-constrained reader. They are a quick read jam-packed with action, adventure and emotion." ...from a reader in Utah.

Clover writes the kind of stories she loves to read, high fantasy and time travels with Scottish Highlanders or magical mermen and shapeshifters, with powerful elements of romance, where the hero and heroine must each make sacrifices to gain something even stronger. She is the author of the HIGHLAND SORCERY series and the ANOINTED series.

Inspired by her love of Louis L'Amour historical romantic heroes, Clover (yeah, that's her real name), packed up and moved to Texas where she found a real live Texan of her own. She's been there ever since where she and Pat (who else would a Clover marry but a Patrick?) listen to the coyotes howl at the trains each evening.

# The Anniversary

## By Linda Bolton

The Anniversary

"Sean, it's always a pleasure doing business with you. Same time next year?"

"Karl, ya have the best cows in the area, no matter what others say about ya." Sean laughed at his joke as Karl pocketed the check for the ten head of cows just purchased. "We'll pick them up tomorrow. The trailer's getting serviced on the other side of town."

"Where are you all staying tonight? You aren't driving all the way back to Windswept today, are you?"

"No, we'll find a hotel along the highway. It's our anniversary. Twelve years, baby!" Sean was all grins, bragging about his landmark day.

"Congrats! You don't hear that much anymore. You know, Dew Drop is having their Sweet Tea Festival. It's only about an hour from here. Pretty nice little bed and breakfast, if you're into that kind of thing."

"Did I hear bed and breakfast?" Maggie rounded the corner, catching the tail-end of the conversation. "I'd like to go to a bed and breakfast. Where?"

" _Thanks_ , Karl. I guess that's where we're going. See ya tomorrow." Karl looked down, hiding a grin, knowing Sean wasn't pleased at his suggestion. "Come on, woman, let's find this Dew Drop and get ya a bed and breakfast." He swatted her on the ass. He may not be looking forward to a frilly place to sleep, but Maggie was. That's what mattered.

"Ouch!" Maggie squealed as the thwat on her rear pushed her toward the truck.

The roomy cab of the GMC dually, zoomed down Interstate 20. Sean reached for Maggie's hand, glancing at her profile, still in awe that she'd stayed with him all these years. Twelve years. Who'd have guessed that Maggie would have been interested in this ol' country bumpkin, twenty years younger. And, twelve years later, still wanted to be with him. She was an amazing woman.

He really didn't like frou-frou bed and breakfast places. He was content with Motel 6. It was just someplace to sleep. But Maggie loved the mint on the pillow, fresh baked snickerdoodle cookies waiting downstairs, and the hominess of sitting in some stranger's living room. It was their anniversary and it was the least he could do. Dew Drop was having some festival. That might make it worth it. They didn't get out much with all the responsibilities of the ranch. He'd try not to complain much. It was only one night.

"Oh, Sean! There's a billboard. Dew Drop Sweet Tea Festival. Bed and Breakfast at Washington Circle and Jefferson St."

"I see it. We'll exit here. See if they have room." Sean smiled at Maggie. She was like a small child, bouncing in her seat and searching the area for clues to their location.

Following small road signs and a slew of traffic, Sean pulled up in front of a charming Victorian home.

"Oh, Sean, look how cute. I love the wrap-around porch. I hope they still have a room available." Maggie rushed ahead.

Sean stopped to look around. The house was old but had been kept up. The garden bloomed with brightly colored flowers—red and yellow firewheels, white rock daisies, purple fall asters, and yellow primrose. His masculinity dropped a notch, knowing the names of the flora. Thanks, Mom. The trees in the front yard were old, tall and strong, giving off enough shade to cool the porch area. For a frou-frou place to sleep, it was livable.

He loved Maggie. She fit with him perfectly from the beginning. No other gal he met, in high school, during junior rodeo or after he rode the pros, wanted to settle down in Windswept, near his parents, and raise cows. They'd all longed for city life with excitement, bars and lots of shopping. Maggie had lived in big cities and she loved the quiet life. She never complained that they had to drive four hours for livestock, three hours for tractor repairs or two hours just to go to his favorite steak restaurant.

***

Maggie stepped into a time capsule. It was the 70's, alive and well in Dew Drop. The foyer was small but led into the front living room where bright red and pink flowers flowing on a yellow background covered the walls. Heavy red velvet drapes covered the windows, keeping the cool air from escaping. The over-stuffed yellow sofa had three re-upholstered cushions in fabric similar to the other cushions, but just a tad different. It made Maggie think of her grandmother's home in Wichita Falls.

"Hello, dear, can I help you?" Ms. Bea, offered Maggie a hand, then lead her to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Oh, yes please. Do you have a room for tonight or are you full?" Maggie sat at the chrome plated table with red vinyl and chrome chairs. They looked like they came straight from the diner of Grease. Maggie could just see Sandy, Rizzo and the girls smacking their gum and talking about boys. She smiled to herself, remembering how many times she'd seen that movie with her daughter through the years.

"Of course. Does this tall, handsome man belong to you?" Ms. Bea handed Maggie her coffee after she looked over her shoulder as Sean walked into the kitchen. "You can take room four at the top of the stairs. Things are busy around here with the festival. You should go out to the square, there's all kinds of activities. There's fireworks tonight too. Key is in the lock." Ms. Bea turned suddenly and shooed a rather large orange cat out of the kitchen.

Maggie beamed at Sean. She loved cozy places and this place was cozy. "Let's go take a look at our room." She grabbed Sean's hand and dragged him past the couple heading out the front door and around the fluffy orange cat that had just been in the kitchen. Maggie took a second look at the Garfield look-alike. She swore she could smell lasagna.

"Oh, Sean, it's cozy." Maggie turned to Sean to see his less-than-impressed face. Floral bedspreads and ruffled pillows weren't his favorite. "At least we have a comfy bed." She tried to entice him into liking a bit of frou-frou as she threw herself onto the bed, burying her face into the pillows and enjoying the thought of not having to make the bed in the morning.

"Let's go see what's happenin' in town. I'm hungry," was the best result she could hope for.

Despite their obvious differences in taste of decor, Maggie knew they were made for each other. They complemented each other. Where he was total country, she was a bit city to balance; where he was plain Jane, simple, she had a flare that he tolerated and sometimes liked. They lived in the country with the cows, but Maggie worked in town and enjoyed an occasional happy hour with co-workers or a trendy new outfit. Their home that Sean built was simple and understated with country charm, but Maggie added reds in the kitchen and purple accents in the bathroom to dress it up. Sean even seemed to like it once in a while. He did seem to enjoy the lingerie she'd been bringing home and that was a step in the right direction.

The town square was bustling with vendors and folks buying everything from the famous sweet tea to funnel cakes with powdered sugar dusting into the air. Maggie thought she saw a boy with chocolate syrup on his. That sounded like a snack she needed.

"Grab a seat for us, hun. I'll get us some grub." Sean trudged off in one direction while Maggie went the other in search of a table for them.

It wasn't long before Sean returned, arms full of food and drink. Sweet tea, a turkey leg, two corndogs, tornado fries and a funnel cake with loads of chocolate syrup. The man could read her mind.

"Happy anniversary, Maggie. I love ya." Sean toasted their Styrofoam cups, as he passed her a hunk of turkey meat.

"Happy anniversary, Sean. I love you, too." Maggie was wistful, remembering how they met. Twelve years ago. How time had flown by.

Maggie had been in the midst of a messy divorce when she met Sean. She thought he'd be a good match for her daughter, both being twenty-five, but her daughter refused to date him. He was too country for her taste. Sean hadn't dated much, being so busy with riding rodeo since his early teens, he was disappointed Claire didn't want to go out with him. Maggie consoled him and, over the months, they became close. Maggie had never thought she'd be comfortable dating a man twenty years younger than her, but Sean had an old soul and never seemed that young.

Now, twelve years later, she would have never thought they would have lasted. Friends and family had had a hard time with their age difference, but they struggled to show everyone this relationship was right. He may not be overly romantic, but he was a good man. He rarely bought her flowers or made a big deal about their anniversary, but he held her hand and kissed her every day. He loved her, never seeming to regret their age difference, treating her with respect, never talking down to her or being abusive, and their sex life was amazing. She worked hard to stay in shape. Being twenty years older, she never wanted it to show. She knew she couldn't turn back the clock, but she worked hard to keep up with him as much as she could. She worked just as hard on the ranch as he did and worked in town as well. She loved her life.

They watched the children play and townsfolk enjoy their festival. As the sun went down, they headed back to the bed and breakfast. The couple sat in the rocking chairs on the porch and watched the fireworks in the distance. Ms. Bea made her way out to the porch to watch the show as well.

"You two like some iced tea? Same recipe Dew Drop is famous for." She had brought a tray with a pitcher and glasses out with her.

"Sure." They both accepted the glasses. Fireworks burst in foreground, scaring the big orange cat into the corner of the porch under a small table.

"I just love this festival. Everyone enjoys themselves so much. Are you two having fun?" Ms. Bea sat on the bench next to them, sipping on her own glass of tea.

"It's a nice festival." Maggie squeezed Sean's hand and smiled up at him.

"What brought you two to our little town? A chance to escape the city?"

"We were in Weatherford buying cattle. We'll pick them up tomorrow. Oh, and we're celebrating our twelfth anniversary together." Sean squeezed Maggie's hand again as she leaned her head to his shoulder.

"Oh, well, congratulations. I'm glad I gave you the room at the top of the stairs. It's the only one with a queen-size bed." Ms. Bea winked at Maggie and grinned. Maggie giggled and thought, _this old lady has it going on_.

"Speaking of, I think it's time to head upstairs." Sean stood and grinned to Maggie.

"Good night. See you in the morning." Ms. Bea continued to relax on the porch, watching the crowd of folks head in various directions after the firework display.

As the bedroom door closed, Sean wrapped his arms around Maggie drawing her close. She looked up at him through her lashes as his lips crushed hers. Even after twelve years, he could still make her toes curl. He was the only one. Maggie's ex-husband never put much effort into their physical relationship, or any other part of their relationship for that matter. From their very first kiss, she knew Sean was special. Her toes curled from day one.

"Too bad you don't have your chaps in the truck." Maggie grinned and raised an eyebrow to Sean as she patted him on his firm butt as he headed to the bed. Those chaps really accentuated his curves. She felt her heat rising just thinking about it.

"I don't need no chaps. Come here, woman." Sean reached for her, pulling her on top of him, kissing her soundly.

***

Sean had a fitful sleep, not being in his own bed. He liked his king-size pillow top. It allowed him to spread his limbs without pushing Maggie onto the floor. Last night, as he stretched, he felt something solid and realized Maggie was close to him. He woke up four times worrying he'd push her off. Maggie slept like the dead, so she had no clue and woke up refreshed and ready for her day.

"Morning, honey. What time are we heading back to Weatherford? I just need some coffee and I'm ready to go." Maggie stretched and headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower and to brush her teeth.

Sean grunted and grabbed his clothes. It was going to be a long day, especially if Maggie was going to be chipper. He squeezed into the tiny bathroom to brush his teeth while she dried off on the plush floral bathmat. They bumped butts, elbows and Sean stepped on Maggie's foot.

"Ouch. Isn't this place so adorable?" Maggie glowed as her wet hair stood straight up. Her hand instinctively pushed the short strands in place.

"If ya like to be cramped." Sean needed coffee and some space to erase some of his grumpiness.

"Oh, you're just used to our place. This is so cozy." Maggie pushed him out of the bathroom so she could finish getting ready.

"I'm going downstairs." Sean headed toward the kitchen and the aroma of coffee and bacon. Mmm, bacon. He loved bacon. Maybe he would be less grumpy after breakfast.

Maggie headed toward the smell of food about fifteen minutes after Sean, where she found him with mounds of bacon in front of him, four fried eggs and a stack of hot cakes.

" _Sean_. How much have you already eaten?" Maggie admonished him for falling off their healthy eating plan and stocking up on fats and carbs.

"I just started. I promise. Ms. Bea just put this down. Come help me. It's real good." He waved a strip of bacon at her, hoping to lure her in. "It's a vacation day. Come on, live a little."

She watched the bacon, looked at the hot cakes, and licked her lips. "Ok, hand me a plate. But back on plan for lunch."

Sean grinned. He loved when he got his way. More often than not, he gave into Maggie and her whims. But today, the bacon was heavenly.

"So, where are you two from? Coffee?" Ms. Bea brought the pot with her and a mug for Maggie.

"Windswept. On the other side of Wichita Falls. Have a ranch there." Sean shared between the bits of bacon he was savoring.

"Oh, isn't that the town where they found that expensive art piece? Something about it being unfinished, I think." Ms. Bea plopped down at the table with them, nibbling on a piece of bacon.

"Oh, yes. That was us. It was a sketch by Ethan Hawk, not the actor. We were his last project and he was unable to finish it. Who'd have thought it would be worth anything to anyone but us. It's beautiful. Even half-finished it's wonderful. He was so talented." The last sentence squeaked out as a tear rolled down Maggie's cheek as she remembered his smiling face. Sean patted her hand and gave her a napkin. She hated that she was so sentimental.

"That's so fascinating. You're regular celebrities. For Dew Drop. Hope you all have a safe trip back to Windswept. Come back anytime. You should bring your picture. I'd love to see it." Ms. Bea got up, took her pot of coffee and checked to see if anyone on the porch needed a refill.

"Ready to head out?" Sean wiped his chin and hands, scooted from the table, and put his plate in the sink.

"Yeah, I think so." Maggie drank the last of her coffee and handed her dish to Sean, who sat it on his.

As they headed back to Weatherford to pick up their cattle, Maggie thought about their meeting with Ethan. He was such a quirky little man, giggled a lot, but seemed very nice. She would have loved to have gotten to know him better. And the thought that their sketch, something they had wanted just for themselves, had become a world phenomenon, even unfinished.

"We're here." Sean announced, pulling into the parking lot and backing into his trailer.

"Oh, that was fast." Maggie hadn't realized she had been so deep in thought.

"Ya ok? Ya seem distracted. Everythin' ok?" Sean's brows knit together as he paused with one leg out the door.

"I'm fine. I was just thinking about Ethan." Maggie smiled and patted him on the thigh. "Let's go get our girls and get them home. I'm ready to sleep in my own bed."

Sean walked around the truck and opened Maggie's door to help her out. "Oh, I don't know how much sleep you'll get."

Maggie giggled like a school girl as Sean swatted her on the ass.

The End

About Linda

Linda has been writing professionally since 2011. Her first two contemporary romance books, published by Master Koda Select Publishing, are currently out of print, but she's working on updating them, as well as adding to the series. She's also dipping her toes in paranormal romance and women's fiction.

She spends her time between drinking coffee, a full-time job, no writing involved, working on her novels, and spending quality time with her family, including her two cats, Sammy and Sophia. They enjoy distracting her from her typing by laying on her keyboard for large amounts of attention. Any spare time left is for killing zombies with her granddaughter, Z, and their Nerf guns.

# The Winning Bid

## By Tammy Jo Burns

Dedication

This is for all the men and women

who have served our country,

and for those that awaited their return.

The Winning Bid

Brook Lyn Johnson stood on the stage listening to the auctioneer talk up the food in her picnic basket. _I have to do this. It's for the kids_ , she reminded herself. In fact, this picnic auction was the only part of the festival where the proceeds went to the school instead of the designated military charity. _Besides, you're the principal. You've faced down crying kindergarteners, hormonal teenagers, and hysterical teachers. You've got this._ She looked out over the group of townspeople and tourists, swatted at a fly, and tried to ignore the sweat trickling down her back. _Who thought having a festival in the middle of August in Texas was a good idea?_ she wondered.

"Who'll start the bidding at twenty-five dollars?" the auctioneer asked.

"Clint, bid on her," a woman prodded a man on the front row.

"Dang it, Sadie, I'm going to! She made my favorites! A hundred dollars!"

"I love you, Daddy!" Brook called to her father and blew him a kiss.

"Love you, too, Princess!" he called back, and the crowd chuckled.

Grateful that was over, she started to step off the stage when she heard, "One fifty!" from somewhere in the crowd. Her head whipped around so fast she was sure she'd have to be treated for whiplash.

"Two hundred!" her father yelled.

"Jed, don't you want a night out with the guys? Brookie could feed your boys and you could spend a nice, quiet night at the bar," Jason Everette goaded.

I swear as soon as I get off this stage I'm—

"That's not a bad idea, Jason. Three!"

"Sweetie, would you be willin' to clean my house and change my TV channels?" Old Man Ziegler asked.

"I suppose," Brook replied, "but don't you have a remote?"

"Lost it," he replied with a toothless grin. "Three fifty!"

After that, it was an all-out bidding war—the widower versus the old bachelor. Brook wasn't certain who she wanted to win. Surely dodging pinches from an eighty-year-old man was preferable to babysitting the five Davis boys that ranged in ages from six to twelve. The bidding had gone up in increments of ten and were now stalled at four hundred dollars with Jed winning. _How had this happened?_ Brook wondered.

The auctioneer was slamming down the gavel when Mr. Ziegler yelled, "One thousand dollars!"

"Old man, you must be desperate!" Jason laughed like a hyena. Too bad he didn't realize he was no longer in junior high. He evidently didn't understand that was why no woman stayed around him for any length of time.

Resigned to her fate of running from Mr. Ziegler the rest of the night, Brook pasted a big smile on her face, squatted down to retrieve her basket, and heard, "Five thousand dollars!" Brook's head snapped up, but she couldn't tell who had placed the last bid. She was swamped by déjà vu. It was the strangest thing.

"Five thousand going once. Twice. Sold to the man in the back! Brook, where'd you like to meet him?" the auctioneer asked.

"The school playground," she quickly answered. If something should happen, there were security cameras at strategic locations. They might be a small school, but they weren't naïve.

"Sir, after you pay, you can meet Miss Johnson at the school playground. If you need directions just ask someone. Oh, and you best behave or the principal might put you in detention." The auctioneer and townspeople roared at his joke while the tourists looked at each other in confusion, but chuckled anyway, not wanting to be left out. "Well, the rest of you bidders have a lot to live up to after that. Our next person up for bid is our local librarian..."

Brook tuned out the words as she left the stage and approached her four-door truck. She hit the remote start to cool it off.

"Brook!"

She turned and saw her dad jogging towards her. "Hey, Dad. Thanks for trying. I'll make it up to you."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that, but your mom's worried about you. Want me to come with you?"

"I'll be fine."

"Sure?"

"Positive."

"Got your phone?"

"Right here." She patted her right hip pocket.

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Now go and enjoy the rest of the auction. I'll call you when I get home."

"All right. Love you, Princess." He dropped a kiss on her brow.

"Love you, too, Dad." She walked the rest of the way to her chocolate brown truck. She unlocked it, opened the door, and climbed in. Brook plopped the basket onto the passenger seat, fastened her seatbelt, and drove the few blocks to the school, wondering who the anonymous bidder was. _Why would he want to bid on me?_ She wasn't ugly or anything like that, but she was a principal in a small town. When she wasn't at school, she was at school activities, and when she wasn't at school activities, she was home curled up with her cat and her e-reader, watching old movies. Who was interested in that?

***

Colt Brannigan stood beneath the shade of an old live oak and studied the woman sitting in one of the swings playing in the sand with her toes. Her tennis shoes and socks had been kicked off and tossed haphazardly in the grass. That was the Brook he knew and loved. Her dark brown curls were pulled back into a high ponytail. She wore a sleeveless button-down cotton shirt with matching shorts, ever the professional. He took a moment, watched her, and let the memories swamp him.

This was the playground where he and Canyon, her brother, had become friends. Some kids had made fun of Canyon's name and together the boys had taught them a lesson and become best friends. He and Brook were both named after where they were conceived, Grand Canyon, which was obvious to most people, and Brook Lyn, as in Brooklyn, New York. It still made Colt laugh a little.

She'd wanted to be part of their duo, but there just wasn't any place in it for a girl five years their junior. Brook had always been there though, at every sporting event and anything else the boys had been involved in. Then there had been the time she had caught Colt doing something a little more than just necking with one of the cheerleaders. She had been crushed, disappointed, and angry. That was when he realized she had a crush on him. He had been a senior looking forward to joining the Marines, seeing far off lands, and having a little fun until he left, and Brook had only been an eighth grader. She ran home and didn't speak to him for days, which was unusual for the chatterbox.

At the end of that week, he'd gone to meet Canyon at the park to practice hitting baseballs and had heard a scream come from the dugout. He raced over, not sure who he was going to find, but was pissed when he saw Jason Everette, a freshman, trying to do more with Brook than she wanted. He had been a good six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than the little jerk. Colt had threatened him with the police and his life and had given him a black eye for good measure. Then he had held Brook as she cried and claimed to hate boys. Shortly after that, he and Canyon had graduated and enlisted with the Marines. They enjoyed their life until the accident some dozen years later. It had been over a year since that IED changed his world forever, and there wasn't a day he didn't think about his best friend and the promise he'd made him.

"Are you just going to stand there all day hiding behind a tree, or are you going to come and eat what you paid for?"

Colt looked around to see where that authoritative tone had come from. He heard it again and saw Brook looking towards him, squinting against the sun.

"Yes, I'm talking to you and don't try anything funny. We have security cameras around here."

"Well, it's now or never," Colt murmured to himself as he shoved off from the tree. "Wish me luck, Canyon. Semper fi, oorah!" He had a gangly gait as he walked across the expanse of grass. "There's been some changes since I graduated. I like the dragon slide. Are we still burning the competition?"

"On the years we have good players."

He could tell she still didn't recognize him. He was thinner than last time she saw him almost three years ago. There were a lot more scars. _Don't forget the prosthetic._ As if to remind him, he had a sudden phantom itch where his right foot should have been. That was the worst part, having an itch you could never scratch. _No, the worst part's the nightmares, at least I can't remember the explosion. That's a blessing_ , he thought morosely. As he drew closer, he saw her squinting. He smiled as he remembered she was forever breaking her sunglasses.

"How'd you break 'em this time?"

"Pardon?" she asked, tilting her head in that cute way she had.

"Your sunglasses. How'd you break 'em? One summer you ran over them with your car. Another pair fell off your face and into the path of the lawnmower. Then there were the ones that ended up at the bottom of the lake when we skipped school on Senior Skip Day to go fishing and took you with us. We stopped and got you a pair of identical ones on the way home so your parents wouldn't know you weren't at school, but they knew. They always knew," he chuckled.

"Colt?"

"It's me, Baby Cakes," he said with a lopsided smile that pulled grotesquely at the scars on his face. Baby Cakes was his nickname for her. It had started out with affection when she was young, and as she grew older it had morphed into a source of irritation.

"It's really you?"

"In the flesh. Well, most of me, anyway," he said wryly, indicating the lower half of his right leg.

He watched her stand up and walk towards him. She still had legs that wouldn't quit and even more womanly curves than the last time he'd seen her. Her grayish blue eyes sparkled in the sun. He couldn't even remember when he stopped thinking of her as Canyon's little sister. _Yes, you do, it was—_

"Or should I say Gunnery Sergeant Brannigan?"

"I'm retired."

"What in hell do you think you're doing here?" she asked, her voice vibrating with anger.

He looked at her in shock thinking surely he'd misheard, but no, that look on her face and the sparks in her eyes told him very clearly that she was angry.

"I'm representing the _Wounded Warrior Project_ ," he said. "Mom called and told me what this year's festival was supporting, and well, I decided it might be a good time to come home. So I asked—"

"And that little stunt back there?" she asked, pointing towards the town square. " _They_ ," she said, referring to the townspeople, "are going to have a hay day with this. _Oh, isn't it sweet how Colt came back to take care of Canyon's little sister?_ " she said mockingly.

"That isn't at all what I meant to happen," he denied. "I was trying to save you from Jason Everette's little joke."

"By bidding _five thousand dollars_?! Do you realize the whole town is back there talking about me now? I'm the principal of this school. I have a reputation to maintain and having a strange man come in and do something like that makes me look like a—"

Unable to take anymore, Colt closed the gap between them, gripped her upper arms, and leaned down to kiss her, cutting off her words. At first, she was stiff under his lips, and then he felt her relax and lean against him. He tasted the salt of her tears. He felt her fight free of his loose grip, and then he felt a stinging slap. When he saw the shock on her face, he knew she was just as surprised as he was at what she'd done. He watched her spin and dash towards her truck. He tried to run after her, but instead almost fell flat on his face.

"Damn prosthetic," he muttered. "Well, that didn't go at all like I'd planned," he said to the slight breeze. He almost thought he heard Canyon asking him if he'd really expected her to react any differently.

***

Brook drove on the old backroads for what seemed like forever. Sometimes she was crying so hard the view in front of her was a total blur. When the shock of seeing Colt had worn off, she was crushed with a plethora of memories. The men in uniforms showing up at the door that Sunday after church. As soon as the door had opened, she and her parents knew what had happened. Her brother's adventure had come to a sad, and tragic, end. Her family had found out that nothing happens quickly in the military, so when she found out that Colt had been flown to a hospital in Germany with life-threatening injuries, she'd dug out her passport and booked a flight.

She knew her parents would be all right. They had each other. The military had arranged for Colt's parents to get to Germany, but she had slept in airport after airport awaiting standby. When she arrived at the hospital, she had been ecstatic to hear he was awake and talking, even if he was in extreme pain. His parents told her he'd need multiple surgeries, but the doctors were hopeful he'd make it. She'd asked the physician if it'd be all right if she saw him. He had encouraged her to but had said he needed to see if that was all right with his patient. _Of course it will be, it's me after all. He'll want to see me. Canyon's gone, but Colt and I have each other._ But they didn't. Because when the physician returned it was with an odd look on his face and he had firmly, but gently, told her his patient did not ever want to see her. He tried to explain it was the nature of the injury, that given time he would change his mind, but she quit listening as her heart crumbled within her chest.

In a state of shock, she had stumbled down the hall with his parents trying to get her to stay. _He'll change his mind, he's just been through so much_ , his sweet mother had said. But Brook kept walking. She had flown halfway around the world to be with him, had left her students and teachers behind, and he had pushed her away. She had let herself cry all the way home, and then she had firmly refused to let herself cry for him again—until today. When she finally stopped the truck, she found herself at an overlook of the Brazos River that she, Canyon, and Colt had frequented. She put the truck in park, killed the engine, then beat her palms against the steering wheel and screamed her frustration, hurt, and anger.

Digging in the console, she retrieved a pair of flip-flops buried inside. She always kept a pair in here because they felt good after a long day at work. Brook slipped on the flip-flops and slid out of the truck. She retrieved a blanket from the toolbox, lowered the tailgate, and climbed into the back. She spread out the blanket, curled on her side, and watched the river cut a winding path through the land.

***

Something startled her awake. She slowly opened her swollen eyes to see concerned emerald eyes rimmed with coal-black lashes looking back at her. They were so familiar. She had dreamed of them for years, and then she had hated—

"Your parents were worried about you, but I let them know you were okay," he said in his familiar but strange voice.

"Tha..." She paused and cleared her voice, husky from crying. "Thanks. How'd you know how to find me?"

"I may have been gone for over a decade, but I remember our special spot. Remember how we used to sit up here and make up stories about going up and down the Brazos?"

"Yes."

"Canyon and I always threatened to try to go from Possum Kingdom Lake to the tip of Texas in a canoe."

"And I always threatened to tell our parents and y'all would relent."

"Yep."

Silence reigned for several minutes and they just lay there, on their sides, studying one another.

Finally, Colt spoke, "I didn't mean to upset you, to make you cry."

"I know. I didn't mean to slap you."

"I know. You shocked me."

"I shocked myself."

"You must hate me."

"I thought I did for a time, but I didn't. Not even when you pushed me away. I just vowed to go on with my life. You have gray in your hair," she observed.

"I'm surprised it isn't completely white after all I've been through."

"You didn't have to go through it alone, and don't say you had your parents, because that's not what I mean, and you know it."

Silence.

"I flew halfway across the world to be with you. I left my job to be by your side. I left my parents grieving for my brother to be with _you_. And what did you do? You turned me away. Don't you realize a woman only does that because she loves the man she's going to?"

"Yes," he said softly, tears clogging his throat.

"Then why? Why did you push me away?"

"I wasn't a whole man. Dammit, I lost a leg, and I don't even sound or look the same."

"And you thought I'd care?"

" _I cared!_ " he yelled, sitting up. "I cared," he repeated softly. "I couldn't let you see me weak. I couldn't let you watch me die."

"That wasn't your choice."

"I did what I thought was right at the time. I was wrong."

"What?" she asked, sitting up as well.

"I was wrong," he said again. "I made Canyon a promise a long time ago."

"Which was?"

"If I made it out of there alive, I'd tell you how I felt about you."

"And how is that?"

"Let me show you." He reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He retrieved a paper that had been folded into fourths. Only it wasn't a paper it was a picture of her at her Junior Prom, her date torn out of the picture. "When I saw this, I realized the woman you were turning into. I was so jealous. I spent days questioning your brother. It was like that with every function you attended. With every letter you wrote and e-mail you sent about your current boyfriend, I kept thinking, _that should be me_."

"You were right," she said bluntly, tired of hiding her feelings. "I waited for you to see me. I waited for you to see that you loved me. Then I'd warn myself not to hold my breath and go on with life."

"I still have all your letters. I even printed your e-mails so I could read them over and over. I don't know when I fell in love with you exactly, I just know that I did. I'm a shadow of my former self. I have nightmares, and I don't know what I'm going to do with my life, but I was hoping you'd help me figure it out."

"In what way? I'm not a guidance counselor."

"Marriage. I love you, Brook, with all of my heart. It took me years to figure it out, and then I was afraid to ask you to wait for me. I'd seen what it'd done to other couples, to those they left behind."

"You can't believe I didn't think about you every single day, regardless."

"This last year or so without hearing from you has been Hell on earth. I love you. Please help me become a whole man again."

"We're going to make each other whole, and I thought you'd never ask." She scooted closer to him and cupped his scarred cheek. "I love you."

"Thank God you waited for me," he said huskily, wrapping her up in his arms.

"Despite the dates, there was never anyone else, only you."

"One more thing," he said, pulling back.

"What?"

"If we're lucky enough to have children, we're not naming them after the places they were conceived."

"Agreed," she said, smiling. "I prayed every night you'd come to your senses. It looks like God does answer prayers," she said with a sigh of happiness.

This time when he kissed her, he tasted their mingled tears of joy. Suddenly there was a loud pop and the night sky lit up.

"I knew when we finally got together we'd set off fireworks." He grinned against her lips before kissing her once more, loving the feel of her arms wrapped around him. He had finally made it home.

The Beginning

About Tammy Jo

I grew up in the Panhandle of Texas, but have always been fascinated with the land of my forefathers – England, Scotland, and Ireland. I also classify myself as a true romantic, and find I frequently dream of greater than life heroes that leave me thinking – that is what love should be like. So I work on creating love stories with strong women and stronger men, and let the battle of wills ensue. I am currently busy writing my fourth book in my little cottage in the woods of North Texas with my cat, Ajax, to keep me company.

I truly hope you enjoyed this story!

Warm wishes & happy reading,

Tammy Jo

# The Promise

## By Amanda Byrd

Dedication

To the fabulous members of North Texas Romance Writers of America. Thank you for the opportunity to be part of the wonderful world of Dew Drop.

The Promise

The moment she spied Cace at the counter, the toe of Sunny Flannigan's sneakers caught on a mat. Thank Sweet Baby Jesus she recovered without face-planting into table five, where twenty pies waited for delivery to tonight's Picnic Supper Auction.

_Shoot_. Cace made strike three. First strike? Saying she'd help Mina during this busy weekend when what she really needed to do is finish packing so she could get to her new job at the VA Hospital in Temple. Second strike? The only person Mina could find to fill Clara's spot during the Iced Tea Festival weekend would be creepy Wayne Beedy. If his eyes made it past her boobs, it'd be a freakin' miracle. A slimy shiver slithered down her spine.

To steady her nerves, Sunny retreated to the beverage station and filled a cup of sweet tea for Cace. It'd be what he wanted and one less contact she'd have with him.

He'd always dreamed of escaping this one-horse town, as he'd called it. He did it. And shattered her heart into enough pieces there wasn't enough super glue to put them back together.

Why had he come back? Did it matter? She pushed the lever back on the tea dispenser and took a deep breath.

_He left you, remember?_ _He's just another customer._ Sunny straightened her shoulders.

She approached from the safety of the other side of the lunch counter. A slow, sexy grin spread across his face.

_Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus._ Her heart pounded. She clutched the suddenly slippery plastic cup in her hand.

Cace Navarro was all she remembered and more. More muscle. More dimple.

More man.

She placed the cup carefully on the counter in front of Cace and fled like her cowardly confidence.

A hand snagged Sunny's arm. Her feet and heart stopped.

"Why are you running from him?" Mina hissed. Sunny's older sister hauled her through the service door. Eyes so like her own narrowed, and her sister's sneakered foot tapped an impatient rhythm.

"I wasn't—"

"Bull-ony" Mina glared up at Sunny. "You've got to stand up to him. You can't let him do this to you again."

"Mina, I'm not—"

"Did you forget what he did to you four years ago? How you holed up and cried for days—no, weeks—when he left you with not even a note saying he'd joined the Marines? How—"

"Enough!" Sunny held up a hand when Mina's mouth opened again to speak. "What's past is past. It's mine to deal with." Sunny laid her hands on her sister's shoulders. "I'm not going to fall for him again. Promise. It's just the shock of seeing him for the first time." She dipped to rest her forehead against her shorter sister's. "I'll be okay."

Mina stepped back and held up her hand, a single finger extended. "Pinky swear?" She glowered up at Sunny.

Sunny hooked her littlest finger around Mina's. "Pinky swear," she said solemnly.

"Go get 'em, Tiger."

"Yes, ma'am." Sunny snapped a salute at her older, bossy-as-hell sister and walked back to wait on the man who she'd once thought would share her ever after.

***

Cace Navarro closed his fingers around the large plastic glass slick with condensation. Thick, sweet tea slid down his throat, soothing on this blazing August West-Texas afternoon. In an hour he'd need it in IV form when he started his double shift working traffic control for the Dew Drop Iced Tea Festival.

"What'll you have, Deputy?"

His eyes shifted from the menu, which he didn't need, to the woman across Sweetie's Tea Cup diner's counter who he did need. Tall, slim, and composed, Sunny Flannigan's pencil hovered over her ticket book.

"You can't call me Cace?"

"I'll be back when you're ready to order." She pivoted.

"Sunny." Did he have to sound so desperate? "I'll have the special."

She halted, but didn't turn back to him. Sunshine—always Sunny to him—scratched on the pad, tore the sheet off and stuck it under the clip in the service window across from him. All without asking what vegetables he wanted with his chicken-fried steak. Because she knew. And right now, all she'd give him was his favorite side dishes, rather than her time or her understanding.

Or her forgiveness.

Cace's hungry eyes tracked her denim-clad form. The jeans skimmed her body, clinging in all the right places below the oversized Tea Cup t-shirt knotted on the side. The girl he'd left behind with nothing but a note, hadn't changed.

He shook his head. Wrong. Four years, the four years of his hitch in the Marines, turned her from a pretty young lady to a knockout woman, one who attracted every male eye in the cafe. And Sunny's smile, always there on her generous lips when her hazel eyes lit on him, no longer existed.

"Reel in your tongue, Deputy." The low, sharp snark stiffened his spine.

He swiveled on the lunch counter's stool to find Mina, Sunny's older sister and owner of the cafe, standing before him, hands on her hips, satisfied smile on her face.

"Hello, Mina." His lips formed a crescent without any basis in welcome.

"Still won't talk to you, eh?" She rocked back on her heels. "She's donating your daily flowers to the senior home. Save your money. She's over you."

"Mina, butt out. This is between me and Sunny." At least he'd managed to keep his voice down, no matter how he wanted to shout at the nosy, obnoxious woman, whose ball-busting ways earned her the sarcastic nickname 'Sweetie' in high school.

She laughed. "You shouldn't have left, cowboy. I'll enjoy watching you landing in the dirt each time you try."

"Haven't you learned yet karma's only a bitch if you are?" Cace punctuated his insult with a swivel back to face the counter. Despite the bulky ballistic vest, a hole burned into his back. Moments later, her footsteps stomped off.

He should mark this on his calendar. The day Cace Navarro rendered Mina Flannigan Shaffer speechless. His lips curled and Cace lifted his glass to his lips.

A flash in the service window snagged his attention. Wayne Beedy stood in the cased opening instead of Clara, the usual cook. Beedy slid a plate onto the ledge under the warming light then tapped the bell. "Order up." His eyes lingered on Cace before he turned back to his tasks.

Cace's vision narrowed on the thin, pasty man in the dingy Dew Drop Fighting Dragons t-shirt. When had Beedy started to cook for Sweetie's? Cace last saw him three months ago after booking the frequent flier into the county jail for shoplifting at Turner's Feed Store. From the look Beedy shot him today, he still held a grudge.

A swinging curly ponytail blocked his vision. Sunny pulled the plate from the ledge and plunked it with a clatter in front of him. Cream gravy spattered. Green bean juice sloshed over the edge.

He leaned back and both liquids missed his uniform shirt by a fraction. Several fat drops plopped into his lap where his napkin mercifully still laid. His gaze flashed back to the woman across from him. The Sunny he knew wouldn't have deliberately done that. She must really hate him. Disappointment fisted around his heart and squeezed hard.

"Cace, I'm—"

He swiped her hand away from his plate. "It's fine, Sunshine." He'd never called her by her full name and it fell, flat and foreign, from his lips. Cace snatched up his fork and stabbed a fat green bean. For the first time, he understood he'd lost her. No amount of letters and flowers would get her back.

***

Sunny could lie to Mina, but not to herself. She'd never gotten over Cace. _Tomorrow I'll be gone._

When she pulled his order from the service window, she spied creepy Wayne bent over at the waist, shutting a cabinet door under the sink. _The cleaning supplies?_ He should be attending to untended tickets, not cleaning.

The plate in her hand started to vibrate. Wind rushed in her ears. _Grandma, please not now._ She swung to Cace. Put the plate in front of him, but with the moisture on the bottom, it slid from her fingers and dropped to the Formica counter, nearly spraying him with cream gravy.

Crap. "Cace, I'm—"

His hand sliced through the air, brushing her back from the counter. "It's fine, Sunshine." The tone grew stony. He picked up the fork and speared a green bean from the small bowl on the platter.

Time slowed to a bare crawl. _Wayne._ Grandma's musical voice said in her ear. _The beans. Cace can't eat the beans._

Time returned to its normal pace.

"No!" Sunny slapped the fork out of Cace's hand then yanked the plate off the counter.

He jumped up from his stool. "What the hell, Sunny?"

"I—I—" Her gaze darted around to the twenty patrons staring at her, mouths agape. The plate fell from her fingers to crash on the floor, covering her to the knees in thick white gravy, mashed potatoes and green bean juice.

_Sweet Baby Jesus._ Sunny bolted through the service doors to get away from Cace. She ran into something hard and would've fallen except for two thin, brutal hands holding her by her upper arms.

"Why'd you do that?" Wayne's hot breath fanned her face.

"Let me go!" She squirmed, but the weaselly man's grip held.

Wayne repeated his question, this time with a snarl and hard shake.

Her panic faded, replaced with cold anger. "You put something in Cace's beans."

His thin face twisted. "Bitch, you'll wish you hadn't said anything." He pulled her toward the back door.

_Uh uh._ Sunny dug her heels in. She whipped her arms forward then out and around as she shouted, "Help!" just like Chief Ruiz taught in self-defense class. The move worked against Wayne's thumbs and broke his grip. Her knee came up and connected. Hard.

Wayne fell to the floor, doubled over, coughing.

Cace and Mina busted through the swinging door. Both skidded to a halt at the scene before them.

"Sunny?" He crossed to Wayne as the stringy man scrabbled toward the back door. Cace grabbed Wayne's arms and handcuffed them behind his back.

She cleared her throat. "He put something bad in your beans."

"You can't prove it," Wayne croaked from his position on the floor.

Sunny's fury roared back full force. "I sure can!" She pointed at the cabinet Wayne closed earlier. "I saw him putting something back in the cleaning supply cabinet. There's no reason for him to be in there. He just started this morning."

"I didn't touch a fucking thing."

"Mina's O-C-D. She puts everything back the same way. I bet whatever he used, it's out of order." She hurried over to the sink, bent over to grasp the handle.

"Don't."

Cace's bark stilled her hand before it made contact.

"It may have his fingerprints." He stood before her, put his hands on her upper arms. Where Wayne's had been brutal, Cace's were gentle, thumbs caressing her sensitive skin. "You sure?"

Sunny wanted to say 'Grandma doesn't lie,' but he wouldn't believe her since Maureen Flannigan had been dead for two years now. Besides, his touch rendered her speechless. She nodded instead.

His jaw firmed and Cace stepped away to stand over Wayne. He barked into the microphone clipped at his shoulder.

"No!" Mina screeched. She looked around to see if anyone else had followed them into the kitchen. "I mean, what will people think, me hiring someone who poisoned a customer?" Her tone lowered to a fervent whisper.

"You care more for your reputation than Wayne trying to poison Cace?" Sunny didn't try to regulate her tone.

"Shhh!"

"I am not going to shush! That man," she jabbed a finger in Wayne's direction, "tried to kill someone in your restaurant. I'm making that report."

"You're just doing this because it's Cace Navarro." Mina's freckles stood out against her pale skin. "This is my life. I built this from nothing and you're willing to throw it away for a man who threw _you_ away."

"I did _not_ throw her away." Cace stepped the few feet to Sunny. "I explained—and apologized—in the letters I wrote you."

"What letters?" She shook her head to clear her jumbled thoughts. "I never got any letters."

"I wrote you at least fifty."

Sunny's brain cartwheeled. She swung away from Cace to get her bearings. He wouldn't lie to her. If he sent the letters...She spun to her older sister, who stood on the balls of her feet, jaw mulish. Mina couldn't lie to save her life and she knew better than to try.

"Where are they?" Sunny's heart flamed with fury. She'd never considered violence to any of her sisters, even bossy, know-it-all Mina.

Until now.

***

Cace walked up the concrete walkway to the Flannigan house, a rambling Victorian on the north side of town. He finished giving his statement against Beedy and had an hour until the Sheriff expected him back to working festival traffic.

Lacey, Sunny's younger sister, flew through the old wooden screen door and bounded down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of him. Her face glowed under the brim of her new straw hat. "I'm headed to the auction. She's in her room." Lacey chucked him on the shoulder. "Go get her, Marine." She danced around him in her shiny turquoise boots and raced to her pickup, roaring off in a spray of gravel. He smiled after the mini-tornado called Lacey Flannigan. Her confidence bolstered his spirits.

He pulled off his own cowboy hat as he approached the porch and ran his hand over his short hair. Longer than the military high-and-tight. Maybe he'd let it grow out a little more since Sunny liked to run her fingers through it. Cace sucked in a breath. He hadn't won her back yet.

Cace stopped in Sunny's bedroom doorway. He'd been quiet coming up the worn wooden stairs, not sure what reception he'd receive.

While the house hadn't changed a bit since he'd last seen it four years ago, the room sure had. Two suitcases sat on the bed, half packed. Multiple moving boxes littered the floor, some closed with tape, others waiting for more of Sunny's possessions. His heart raced. _She's leaving._ Had today caused this?

Sunny sat in profile on the floor with her back bolstered against the bed, envelopes scattered around her. Light from the setting sun streamed through the windows and turned her skin to molten gold. He eyed the bed, remembering the stolen hours they spent in each other's arms, tangled in sheets, wrapped in their teenage love. If he'd only known what his panic, egged on by his best friend's teasing, would cause him.

"If you hadn't left, she wouldn't be leavin'."

Cace's head whipped around at the woman's voice whispered in his ear, but there was no one there. The warbly tone sounded like Maureen Flannigan, the girls' grandmother, and the one who raised them. But she died two years ago. He shook his head. Must've been his conscience talking to him. Sad thing, it hit the mark dead on.

Sunny's head turned to him, eyes glowing more green than hazel. "I never got them."

"I know." Anger burned in his gut. How dare Mina decide for Sunny what was best?

"Or the first note." She straightened, lifted from the floor until she faced him. "Mina took that, too."

Shit, then she thought—

"I thought you just left. No explanation. No reason other than you probably freaked out when Trace Kimbrough started teasing you about us getting married." Her hands clasped each other in front of her.

He longed to pull her close, press against her soft body while he explained why he'd been such an immature asshole. Cace didn't deserve the comfort. He needed to tell her face-to-face what he couldn't before. "I didn't put it in the letter, but since you mention it, yes, that was part of the reason. But I—"

She threw her hands up and turned toward the setting sun. "I knew you wanted to see the world, see what Dew Drop couldn't give you. What _I_ couldn't."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "It was never about you, Sunny. It was always me. _My_ need to be bigger than Dew Drop. _My_ insecurity. _Never_ you." He crossed the short space between them and his hands hovered over her tanned shoulders, not touching, fingers tingling to close that infinitesimal distance to the honey skin exposed by the white tank top.

He pulled back. Not his.

Could she be again?

He looked back at the envelopes on the floor, some still unopened. Couldn't she see in all of them how wrong he'd been? His fingers settled on her shoulders. When she didn't resist, he turned her gently to face him.

Her lids veiled her eyes.

"I was an idiot, Sunny. I don't know how far you got, but you had to see that even in the early letters. I told you I loved you and made a mistake. The biggest of my life. Can you still love me?" Cace used his index finger's knuckle to raise her gaze to him.

Each tear stabbed his heart as it slid down her cheek. Desperation tore at him. "Give me a chance. Please?"

Her lower lip trembled. "It's too late."

***

Sunny tore herself from the strong arms she dreamed of every night. She had to get out of her room, the place they'd first shared their adolescent hopes, dreams...bodies. She brushed past him, raced down the stairs and threw open the screen door. _Breathe!_ She sucked air deep into her lungs, forcing her chest to rise and fall despite the fact her heart didn't want to work right.

The clump of Cace's boots seconds later indicated he'd joined her.

She couldn't face him. If she did, she'd fall for him all over again. To know they'd been apart all these years because of her sister... Sunny kept her eyes on her ancient Subaru. "I'm leaving for Temple Sunday night after Mina closes Sweetie's. I got a job at the VA hospital as a physical therapist."

She'd never imagined leaving Dew Drop. Until Cace left. Each summer home from Angelo State had been torture. She couldn't stay without him. Now he'd returned. And now she couldn't stay with him.

"You didn't answer my question."

He didn't need to repeat it. The question haunted her every waking moment. As did the answer. "After four years, do you really think we're the same people? You've gone your way, Cace, I'm going mine." She dashed away the tears blurring her vision, then grabbed the porch's railing as if it were a branch saving her from quicksand. Fissures formed in the wall around her heart and she couldn't keep up the repairs.

"I know we're not the same people. We've had four years to grow and explore. That's not the point. 'Sorry' isn't enough word to describe how I feel about leaving you. As soon as I did, I knew I'd left my heart in Dew Drop." Cace's footsteps stopped behind her. His hands, large, warm, skimmed her shoulders. "With you. Tell me you kept it. Please, Sunny."

She struggled to form the word. Gulped deep breaths, then blurted it out. "No!" She bucked off his touch and bolted to the front door. Once it shut, Sunny locked it behind her. The wood cooled her forehead as she slowed her racing breaths.

For several moments the only sound was her ragged gasps around the sobs. Finally, the _thunk_ of his heels crossed the wooden porch's floor.

_He loves you, Sunshine._ Granny's sweet tone floated on the air.

Sunny wiped her cheeks. "What if he does it again?"

What would you be throwing away if he doesn't?

Her heart _whumped_ hard in her chest. _Sweet Baby Jesus._ She couldn't chance it.

Could she?

Because her heart had always been his. From five years old when he stopped Trace from pulling her crazy, screwy hair. To eighth grade when he stumbled through a request for their first date. They went together like...like...chicken fried steak and cream gravy.

Sunny ripped at the doorknob before she remembered she'd locked it, then threw the panel open and raced down the walkway to where Cace stood at his pickup's door. She leapt into his arms. Wrapped her legs around his hips and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He smelled of warm leather mixed with spice. Just like she remembered.

"Don't ever do that again," she mumbled through her tears.

Cace hauled in a huge breath and crushed her to him. "I'll never hurt you again. Promise."

The End

# Trust

## By Amanda Byrd

Dedication

To my critique group.

I love you all for giving me feedback I can trust!

Trust

_What in the hell do I do now?_ Mina Flannigan Shaffer's mind raced as she stared at the front door of her diner, Sweetie's Tea Cup Cafe, and the sign that hung on the door.

Closed.

Her teeth ground. It _should_ be open right now. It _should_ be packed with the usual customers and Iced Tea Festival visitors during this lunch hour. Financially, it _should_ be the best weekend of the year.

"Mina! Yoo hoo! Mina!"

_Gah, Melissa Turner._ Mina's stomach bottomed out and she spun in the other direction. All the town busy-body could possibly want to talk about is why Mina had to close Sweetie's. Clara had been so good to her when she opened the diner, Mina couldn't say no when she wanted a couple of sick days to care for her father.

Mina hadn't anticipated it would be so hard to find a cook during the festival. She scraped the bottom of the barrel for Wayne Beedy. Against her better judgment she hired him, criminal history and all. She hadn't anticipated Beedy would try to poison a Palo Pinto County Sheriff on his very first day. Or that the county health inspector would close her down for it.

_Geezus._ She never should've hidden those letters from Sunshine. But she thought it would help her sister get over Cace faster. And now Sunshine would probably hate her forever.

Mina lost herself in the throng of festival goers in the square. Tried to keep her spazzing gray matter from wondering how she'd make the rent on the diner. And the taxes on the old Victorian Grandma left to her. And what she'd tell Jake this time when he asked where daddy was. And...

She landed hard on the concrete. "Ow!"

"Shit, Mina. I'm sorry."

_Of course I'd literally run into him._ Because karma hated her right now. No. She deserved it. All of it.

She accepted the strong hand her husband offered and pulled herself upright with his assistance. When he let go, her palm still tingled. She rubbed it on her butt while she tried to convince herself it was just to brush off her jeans. A deep breath helped her tamp down the hard squeeze in the vicinity of her heart. "Garrett."

"I heard about Beedy. Is there anything I can do?" His sky-blue eyes gazed down to hers.

"Of course you heard about it. Hasn't everyone?" Though she tried for casual, the failure's bitterness burning in her belly bled into the words.

"Would it be so hard to ask for help? Just once?" He planted his hands on his lean hips.

Her teeth ground. "I'm so glad you asked. You can short-order cook, right?" Her tone dripped sickeningly-sweet.

Garrett's handsome face shuttered.

"But I'd need the health department to let me open up again. You could talk to John Housley and ask him to give me the occupancy license." She _tsked_. "Wait, when I went out with you and not him, he's had it out for the both of us. I guess you can't help that way, either." She shook her head and gazed back up at him in saccharine wonder. "So tell me exactly how you can help, Garrett."

A muscle worked in his jaw.

Mina smirked. Because she was right.

His eyes narrowed. "Someday, someone is going to put you over their knee like your Grandma should've." His lids dropped and nostrils flared, as if he were imagining doing that very thing.

And a vision of her, bottom bared to him as she lay across his lap, filled her mind's eye. She looked over her shoulder, focused on his hand, large and hard, as it swooped down and landed.

She jumped. The smack in her fantasy jolted her back to reality. To the people around her. The music from the stage at the other side of the square. The man she never really stopped loving in front of her. Desire's heat rose, swamped her. She rubbed her backside where it burned. Then stopped.

"I don't know that I've ever seen you speechless, sweetheart." The corners of his eyes crinkled with his wide smile.

Her mouth turned as arid as the Monahans Sand Dunes. She couldn't meet her husband's eyes. Not when she'd broken out in a sweat imagining him spanking her.

She fled without a word, heart pounding, body flushed. Three blocks later, she ran into the house and slammed the door, rattling the antique glass in its transom. Sweat dripped between her breasts as she sagged back against the cool wood. Her knees no longer held her and she slid to the floor as she tried to control her rapid breathing.

She buried her face in her hands—she'd never felt this out of control before. If she couldn't open, she might lose the cafe. The Festival always made her year profitable and she'd leveraged the house to cover until then, so if the business failed...

Hated tears gathered and she swept them away. No. She wouldn't fail. Couldn't fail. She'd staked everything on Sweetie's and she'd figure it out. She'd survive, if just for Jake.

What she might not survive? The loss of her husband. She'd gone off the rails in the last few months without his strong, quiet presence. And with no hope of him in her life again, time stretched before her.

Barren and without love.

She couldn't stop the tears this time.

***

How did Mina get him so riled? And where had that come from? Spanking her for crissakes? Garrett dragged a breath into his lungs. His palm itched to caress the creamy skin. To do _that_? The jeans at his fly grew uncomfortably tight.

Whoa.

Garrett tracked his wife by the top of her bright red mane as she bolted through the crowd. He'd scared her? Scared his spitfire with a harmless comment about spanking? Despite her petite size, Mina Flannigan Shaffer ran from nothing and no one. Even rattlers stayed out of her path. That's what he loved about her. The challenge kept him on his toes.

Dammit. Garrett took two steps and stopped. Going after her hadn't worked lately. They'd end up in World War Thirty-five. Time for another tack.

He crossed the square and entered the cool confines of the family's hardware store. Garrett found his target behind the register.

"Garrett. What brings you in on your day off?" Robert Shaffer grinned and leaned his forearms on the wood and glass of the hundred-year old display counter.

"I need your help. Are you and Andy Williamson still golfing once a week?"

"Sure. Now that you've taken over the store, I get to golf three times a week. Best thing I ever did was give you the keys."

"Thanks." Praise from one's parent never got old. But asking for help from one's parent as an adult never got comfortable. "About that favor."

Dad straightened and tugged on the brim of his Shaffer Hardware ball cap. "The last time was to ask if you could bunk above the garage. I bet this is about Mina, too. And that diner."

_Word travels fast in a small town._ Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. "John Housley shut down Sweetie's because of Beedy. Everyone knows it wasn't Mina's fault, but John did it anyway."

"And as County Commissioner, Andy could convince the Health Inspector to allow Sweetie's to reopen?" Robert's brow rose.

"Yeah. That was the idea."

Dad stared at him for several moments.

Garrett didn't need to read his father's mind. Being separated from their son didn't endear Mina to Robert and Irene, though his parents kept largely silent about it.

"She's having a hard time right now and needs this to work. And even if we don't work out, Jake needs a mom who has stable income. She leveraged the Victorian to buy the restaurant. Jake loves that house."

Robert blew a low whistle. "You sure know how to throw a guilt trip."

"Learned at the knee of the master." Garrett couldn't help a laugh and his father joined him. As the head of the Dew Drop First Baptist Church's Auxiliary, Irene Shaffer's ability to wheedle, cajole, and guilt trip people into donating money, merchandise, time or food was legendary.

"Okay. I'll call Andy." He reached for his cellphone. "John shouldn't still be holding a grudge anyway. Ain't healthy."

"Thanks, Dad."

Robert leaned back on the counter and pinned him with a level gaze. "Just remember, Sport, I'm doing this for you and Jake."

"Mina's a good woman. Since her Grandma died, she's been trying to do too much and it's taking a toll on her. We'll work it out."

"I sure hope so." Robert pushed a button on his phone. "Hey, Andy. How are you? Yep, tee time for Monday is at eight."

Garrett slipped out the back door. Now he needed to find a cook. And he knew just the person to help. Truck in gear, he navigated the traffic-controlled roads and slipped out to the east of town.

This plan would only work if Mina accepted his help. His teeth clenched. He wouldn't give his controlling little lady a chance to refuse.

Something tickled his brain. When he mentioned spanking earlier, Mina's chest had grown rosy, like when they made love. Like the night on the porch months ago. His Psych 101 book said people with a high need for control often craved having none. He'd always suspected Mina might need him to take a more dominant role in their lovemaking. That using his hands to bind hers wasn't enough. But his wife bolted when he'd taken an unexpected turn into role-playing.

Back then, he'd thought she couldn't handle it when used his belt to bind her wrists. They'd ended in a fight over nothing and she'd literally pushed him out of the front door. Now? Maybe she'd just spooked herself.

The vision of Mina squirming in his lap, while his hand met her backside—

His breath lodged in his lungs and he swerved back into his lane. He banished the vision as he turned into his parent's drive.

It wouldn't do to sport wood when he asked Mom for a favor.

***

Mina wandered the house alone, still in sleep shorts and a tank top. Jake had gone with her youngest sister, Lacey, to eight o'clock service then Sunday school. Sunshine hadn't returned home last night to even allow Mina to beg an apology.

Nothing to do anyway. No diner to open for the after-church rush or Festival goers. Mina's hands grasped a rag and furniture polish, but her effort could only be considered half-assed.

She waved the rag over a side table then grimaced. Make that quarter-assed.

All because of that dream last night. Dancing around the parlor with her sisters and Jake until they were breathless, Garrett looking on with a sexy smile. Collapsing in a heap of laughter. She hadn't felt that free in so long and woke up yearning for her responsibilities to be lifted, if only for one day.

Maybe someone to shoulder them.

Garrett's broad shoulders flashed through her mind. His strong arms. And hands... Mina's lady bits got all tingly again and she forced her thoughts back to the safety of his shoulders. _Like that's going to happen anyway. I chased him away like I did Sunshine._

Her sister was right. She didn't need to control everything—she should've focused on Garrett, on her family. She'd created a monster and couldn't sustain it any longer. Now she only had herself to blame for her sister's hatred and her marriage's failure.

She tossed the dusting supplies under the sink, forcing herself not to put it carefully back in its spot, label facing out.

Mina took advantage of the early hour with its cooler temperatures and retreated to her refuge, the back porch. From its swing, she savored her coffee and refused to acknowledge the lawn needed mowing.

Peace settled over her with the drone of the cicadas. It evoked the memory of sitting on this very swing with Grandma, reading, talking, being. Or that late night, when she and Garrett...when she couldn't...

Mina swerved away from unproductive territory. Too late and all her fault.

Awareness prickled through her. She raised her eyes from her coffee and found her husband standing behind the kitchen's screen door, coffee mug in hand. As if she'd conjured him. All six foot, two inches of solid man, lean hips and long, muscled legs in worn Wranglers, broad shoulders clad in a plaid snap shirt whose cuffs had already been rolled a couple of times.

Her heart bumped.

Garrett stared at her, lids lowered like he remembered the night on the porch, too.

A little role-playing and a lot of submission. Being that vulnerable scared—and excited—the hell out of her. No control. It'd unnerved her and she'd never allowed it again. Yet the yearnings he'd stirred to life remained.

Mina shivered despite the morning's warmth.

Garrett pushed through the door and sat next to her without invitation, stretched out those long legs and crossed his boots at the ankles. Laid his arm on the back of the swing, not touching the nape of her neck, but a hair's breadth away.

The silence lengthened between them with only the squeak of the chain as they swayed. The casual observer would've seen a couple enjoying a quiet cup of coffee on a Sunday morning. Yet Garrett was...different. The undercurrent between them set her body on fire.

She struggled to keep her breathing even. His arm moved and Mina's heart started galloping, but he only crooked it to look at his watch.

His blue eyes twinkled with amusement when they met hers. Garrett knew exactly how he affected her, damn him.

She opened her mouth to ask just what he thought he was doing.

"Looks like you better get to Sweetie's." He beat her to the verbal punch. "You're going to be late."

It might've been ice cold water for all of the desire-crushing effect the words had. Fury exploded and she leapt off the swing to grip the railing. "You know I can't open."

"Huh. I bet if you checked your voicemail, you'd see the health inspector gave you back your license."

She whirled to face him. "What?" Her brain couldn't force out the words 'how' or 'why.'

"You better get going."

"But where am I going to find a cook?"

"She'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"How?" Mina stared into her husband's handsome face. "Why?"

His slow, sexy grin made her knees wobble.

Garrett stood and crossed to her, settled his strong hands on her shoulders. His thumbs rhythmically brushed the exposed skin at her collarbones, raising goosebumps across her body with the intensity in his eyes. "Everybody needs some help, now and again. Especially those who think they have to do everything by themselves." He leaned down.

Mina's eyes fluttered shut and her breath caught. She couldn't have uttered a word if her life depended on it.

But Garrett's lips didn't meet hers. "Even those who are most in control need to trust someone else once in a while. They might find they like it." A shudder wracked her body at the murmured words, hot in her ear. He followed his bare whisper with a nip on her earlobe and a simultaneous swift, hard swat on her butt.

She bit back a yelp against the sting. Mina's breathing resumed, this time at hyperwarp. Heat flooded her body.

Garrett straightened, face stern. "Wear a skirt today. I'll be waiting for you here after you close. _Don't_ be late. Or there'll be more of that." He turned abruptly, strode down the porch's stair then disappeared around the house.

A trembling began in her hands. _Oh, God help me._ She hoped so.

***

From his position in the darkened parlor, Garrett tracked his wife as she ascended the porch stairs in the twilight.

The full, swishy skirt under her tank top gave him hope. The lacy layers stopped above her knees, leaving tantalizing inches of creamy skin between the hem and the tops of her cowboy boots. His heart started to race and he took several deep breaths.

Control.

Keys rattled in the front door's lock and Garrett steeled himself against his desire. A _thump_ , then a metallic rattle when she picked up the keys told him Mina's nerves stretched as tight as his.

The mere thought evaporated his doubts. He hadn't been wrong this morning.

She wanted this, too.

The door opened as if Mina expected a werewolf to jump out at her. She stepped into the foyer and closed the door. Reached for the switch on the wall.

"No lights."

Mina whirled around to the growl of his voice, whites of her eyes bright in the darkening light. She opened her mouth to speak.

"You'll talk when I say so. Lock the door, Mina."

For a moment she hesitated, and he thought he'd lost her. Then she shot the bolt home.

Garrett's heart started beating again. "Come here."

She took a deep breath, one that raised the modest mounds of her breasts above her narrow waist. Then she moved forward, step by careful step, until she stood before him, eyes trained on the second button of his shirt.

He stepped around until he stood behind her. Close enough to feel the heat pouring off of her. Catch her struggle to contain her breathing. But not to touch the creamy skin like his fingers desired.

Yet.

Garrett dipped his mouth to the shell of Mina's ear. "I see you were a good girl. I like the skirt."

Mina started when his hand landed midway down the back of her thigh but didn't retreat. He slid his palm up, bringing the lacy material up in a slow sweep. With supreme effort, Garrett stopped before he reached her bottom and let the material drop back into place. "How was your day?"

"Um..." Mina swallowed, the sound audible in the silent house. "Ah...good. Tha-thank you for finding the cook. She was great." She started to pivot toward him.

"I didn't say you could turn." His palm connected with her backside.

Mina yelped but didn't run. Turned right back around, in fact.

Satisfaction curled in his chest and Garrett sent a silent thanks to the internet for ideas on how to tread in this new territory. He bent back to her ear. "All you have to say is one word, my love. 'Red' means I've crossed your line and I will stop. Nod if you understand."

***

A warm hand flattened out on her belly. Nice. Mina snuggled back into the crook of her husband's body and sighed.

Her eyes flew open. Garrett. In their bed. And she'd... He'd...

"Easy, girl." His breath tickled her ear and his hand hauled her back against him. "Nothing is wrong between two consenting adults."

Her cheeks burned, not unlike the warmth still in her buttocks. Yet his words echoed around her brain. It'd be a lie to say what they'd just done hadn't scared the bejeezus out of her. It'd be another lie to say what she'd allowed Garrett to do—what she'd allowed herself to do—hadn't broken a barrier. She'd always held something back from him. This. This need to lose control. To trust someone enough not only with this secret, but allow them to control her every move. Her every pleasure.

She turned in his arms. It would be a cop-out to not say this face-to-face. "Garrett, I—"

His bright blue eyes, hooded with their thick fringe of lashes, studied her and the words jumbled in her throat.

He smiled, teeth flashing in the dim light.

"It's okay, Sugar." His finger traced down her cheek, stopping with his knuckle under her chin. He closed the short distance and kissed her so gently, so reverently, her heart scrunched.

Mina kissed him back, hoping he could feel all of her love, all of her regrets, all of her apologies. She reluctantly ended the kiss, though it would've been easier to continue on. He deserved the words. Ones she rarely granted him. She needed to do better. She _would_ do better. Starting now.

"I love you."

"I know. You don't—"

She put a finger on his lips. "I do. I held this back from you. For years I felt I couldn't trust anyone, even myself, with this secret. I've never been so wrong." She shifted her hand to cup Garrett's cheek. Fear clogged her throat and she swallowed hard. "I need you. Beside me. In here and out there. Please come back to me."

His slow smile was all the answer she needed.

The End

# Hope

## By Amanda Byrd

Dedication

To my husband, who, on the very day I met him, made me realize that holding out hope for my perfect mate was the best decision I've ever made.

Hope

Lacey Mae Flannigan squeezed her nephew's little hand and smiled down into his brown eyes. "Stay close, Jake. There's a lot of people here and I don't want to lose you, okay?"

Stained teeth flashed between two lips darkened purple by the blue cotton candy in his hand. "Yes, ma'am." He took another bite from the flossy, sugary goodness. Drops of the sweet treat already decorated his shirt.

_Lordy, Mina will have a whole herd of long-horns for letting him get that messy._ Lacey smiled and swung his hand as they walked to the square and the concert capping the Sweet Tea Festival. Well, her sister needed to loosen up a bit. Or a whole lot. And if her instincts were right, Mina's husband, Garrett, would be taking care of just that while their son and Lacey enjoyed the country group opening for the main band.

Lacey's luck held. She found a scant patch of grass and spread out her blanket. Heat from the setting August sun radiated from the ground, through the fabric and into her bones. Though many people ran from air conditioned home to air conditioned car to air conditioned work or store, Lacey loved the Texas heat, even if it meant a little sweat beaded between her breasts or on the back of her neck under her ponytail.

"Can I go sit with Kasey?" Jake pointed to a group of kids roughly his age with their parents about ten yards away. Kasey's mom, Laura Martinez, flagged her hand over her head then gave Lacey a questioning thumbs-up.

At almost seven, should she let him go alone, even that short distance? Lacey opened her senses, the ones Grandma had told her she needed to hone. No sense of danger lurked around Jake's aura. Her eyes narrowed on her nephew and she put her hands on her hips. "Only if you promise to mind your manners. No yelling. No running. You either stay there or you come right back here. Promise?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Pinky swear?"

He looped his pinky around hers and the two linked fists bounced down then back up.

Jake giggled and Lacey tracked the blond head as he wove his way through the blankets and chairs to his destination. He turned and waved.

She smiled and waved in return. The little guy was a hoot. Lacey planted her hands behind her and leaned back. Her eyes skimmed the crowd then screeched to a halt and reversed. They rested on man standing with several people in a conversational group at the side of the stage. Not a Dew Drop native. She knew everyone in their tiny town.

Flame red hair and tall, certainly taller, than Garret at six foot two. He stared directly at her across the twenty-five yards.

Shivers coursed through her body.

His aura. In a sea of multi-colored twenty-watt bulbs, the man's glowed a neon-bright light blue. It pulled at something deep inside her.

Lacey's heart pounded low and heavy. The certainty she would meet this stranger settled into her being. _You can't force fate into revealing what she has in store for you or anyone else_ , Grandma once told her. She shivered and shifted her gaze to the stage where the musicians struck the opening notes. Made her eyes stay there. Made her ears listen to the Country Swing Kings, a band from Abilene gaining regional traction.

In the middle of the second song, the fine hair on the back of her neck rose. She looked over the scant distance to Jake.

Or where Jake and his friend _should've_ been.

Her heart lurched.

Then accelerated five times the normal rate as her head swiveled. The little blond head was nowhere to be found.

Lacey jumped up and raced to Laura. "Where's Jake?"

The woman smiled and hooked a thumb to her right. "With Kase—ohmigod! Ben," she grabbed her husband's shoulder, "where's Kasey?"

Lights started pulsing. Lacey's body began to vibrate. Sounds slowed. Hooves flashed hard and deadly in her mind's eye. Bright blue light.

The man with the aura. He held the answer.

***

Electricity jolted down Walker Evans' spine the minute his eyes lit on the woman across the square. Long, black hair pulled into a ponytail against the heat. Bright pink tank top over a short, fringy skirt. She held the hand of a young boy eating cotton candy. Either she'd had him young, or she had more years than he thought. Regardless of her age, she seemed to glow amongst the rest of the festival-goers here for the concert.

His cousin, Morgan, shoved his shoulder. "Dude. You're not even listening to me."

"Who _is_ that woman?" Walker's eyes didn't stray from the black-haired beauty.

"Crazy Lacey Flannigan." Morgan smirked and laughed. "Dude, forget her. Pretty, but more trouble than she's worth."

The comment held such derision, Walker turned to his cousin. "What's the deal with her?"

"Comes from a nut-job family. Their grandmother swore she could tell the future. Talked to spirits. Crazy as loons. She's the looniest of them all." Morgan clapped his cousin on the shoulder. "Hey, you came into town to see the Kings. They're starting now."

"Sure." He turned his back to the woman. No need to get to know a crazy lady, right? No matter how much he wanted to walk over there and see exactly what color of eyes he could get lost in.

Walker made it halfway through the second song before he gave in to the impulse. His gaze swung over his shoulder and snagged on the little blond boy she'd been with earlier.

That little boy and another kid headed toward a stand selling cotton candy.

His danger senses, essential as a fireman, kicked on. Surely Lacey Flannigan or the other boy's parents wouldn't have let them wander off alone. Walker scanned the crowd for Lacey. No dice. He didn't see a man with a badge he could signal, either.

"Hey, where are you—"

"I'll be right back." Walker left Morgan behind and threaded his way around lawn chairs and blankets to head off the boys. Slippery boys as luck would have it. He reached the cotton candy stand and they were nowhere in sight. Even at his height, he had to crane his neck to see over the crowd. Wait—there. Gilt glint and brown turned the corner.

Walker dodged and wove his way, slipped around the building. A group of young cowboys astride quarter horses clattered toward him, hooting, hollering. Drunk? Probably.

The boys stood on the sidewalk mouths agape at the huge animals. Then the brown-haired boy squealed and swirled his hands in a mock lariat throw.

The unexpected sound and movement spooked one of the horses. It reared. Hooves flew as the cowboy sawed on the reigns.

The boys froze.

Walker was too far away to save them. His breath hung in his chest.

A flash of bright pink blurred before him and the boys jerked backwards. Just in time. The horse's hooves landed where they'd been a split-second before.

Walker raced forward. "Y'all get out of here before I call the cops."

The cowboys turned their horses around without an argument, much to Walker's surprise.

He turned to the boys who were squirming on the concrete. No. An arm banded each child. They squirmed on top of someone.

The bright pink of Lacey Flannigan's tank top. How had she done that?

He knelt down next to the restless kids. His gaze flashed to her face. Her eyes were shut. Crap. If she's hit her head and was unconscious, how did she keep her arms around the two atop her?

Her lips moved, as if she mumbled to herself. Then her lids flew open and Lacey's eyes locked with his. Green. Their luminous depths called to him. Breath whooshed from Walker's lungs and his heart stuttered to a halt.

Time slowed.

Sounds blurred.

And Lacey's lush pink lips curled. "Hello."

***

The throbbing in Lacey's butt where she'd hit the concrete faded as she beheld the wonder of him up close.

He had the most incredible turquoise eyes. The same color of his aura.

Of course he would.

"Are you okay, Lacey?" He crouched down, resting one knee on the ground next to her. "My name's Walker. I'm an EMT and can help if you're injured."

Lacey's heart rumbled like an earthquake, robbing her of breath. Everything about him was perfect, his eyes, his hair, his sexy voice.

She swallowed around the sudden jitters crowding her throat. "I-I'm fine. How-how'd you know my name?" Squirming in her arms made her look down. Kasey and Jake.

"Let me go!" Kasey whined.

Lacey released her grip and the boys scrambled to their feet. Ben Martinez skidded to a halt. Laura wrapped her arms around Kasey, who proceeded to burst into blubbery tears.

Lacey sat up and couldn't hide the wince. Her tailbone had taken a beating when she'd landed hard on the sidewalk. A gasp managed to escape her lips as she stood.

Ben looked up, frown thunderous, from the bear-hug he'd wrapped both his child and wife in. "For crissakes, Lacey, why would you let them get so close to those horses?"

"What?" Anger swirled in her gut. "You were supposed to watch them."

"I saw them headed toward the cotton candy stand then veer off toward the horses. I don't know how she managed to get here before I did." A thunderous frown accompanied the hard edge to his voice. "If it wasn't for Lacey, these kids may have been trampled."

Ben shifted and looked down. "Yeah, well, then thanks, I guess." He shepherded his wife and son back toward the square.

"What a jerk." Walker said, shaking his head. "You could've saved his child's life and he acts like that?"

"Ben's usually a nice guy. I bet it just scared him." But it wasn't just that he'd been scared. _Crazy Lacey Flannigan strikes again._ Disaster always followed her. At least that's what people thought. Really, she followed Disaster and tried to thwart Catastrophe.

"He told Kasey's mom that you were crazy." Jake's little mouth turned down and eyes narrowed. "He's mean. I don't like him." He wrapped his arms around and pressed his face into her hip. "But I love you. Thank you for saving me."

Lacey's cheeks burned. It stuck in her craw to be called crazy in front of someone she didn't even know, let alone someone so handsome she wanted to get to know better. "It's okay, little man." She ruffled his short hair.

"No." Walker's emphatic tone brought her gaze up to his. "It's not okay." The corner of his eyes crinkled. "He should've been more grateful...even if you are crazy." His teeth flashed bright.

This time her cheeks heated due to his praise. "Thanks for sticking up for me." She stuck her hand out. "You have the advantage. You already know my name..."

"Walker Evans." His strong, warm hand clasped hers and a jolt of lightening traveled up her arm.

And straight to her heart.

His eyebrows shot up. Had he felt that, too?

Walker didn't let go. If anything, his grip tightened. Then he seemed to realize he'd held her hand for far too long and released it. "Did you want to go back to the concert, or I could take you and your son to get some ice-cream at Farrell's?"

Lacey moved her lips, but only a croak emerged.

"Aw, could we get the ice cream? Please?" Lacey's froggy sound intended to be, 'Ice cream would be nice,' must've instead sounded like 'no' because Jake put a lot of hope, pleading and wistfulness in his words.

She laughed. But not merely at Jake's antics. It started as a giggle. Jake? The blond-haired, blue-eyed kid her son? Oh no. Walker looked at her like she'd grown three heads. Nerves morphed the giggles into a full-blown nervous giggle fit. Embarrassment burned her cheeks. Lacey swiped at the corners of her eyes and dragged in a deep breath to suppress the paroxysms.

"No," Lacey said on a gasp.

***

Maybe Morgan was right. Lacey Flannigan laughed like a lunatic, doubled over at the waist. How could a simple offer to get ice cream be so funny?

Finally, she straightened, wiped the tears from her eyes. "No."

She turned him down? "Okay, well then, have a good evening." He turned back toward the square.

Lacey put a hand on his arm. "Wait! That's not what I meant." She giggled and put the back of her hand against her lips. The action seemed to get the laughter under control before it got out of hand again. "I meant, Jake isn't my son. He's my nephew." She looked down at her fancy turquoise-embroidered boots, then back up. "And we'd love to get some ice cream with you."

He couldn't ask the hundred questions crowding his brain as they worked through the sea of people to the nearly deserted ice cream shop. He followed the twitching skirt. The cowboy boots, long beads, swinging earrings and sparkling belt made her look like a western gypsy. Not quite. With the black hair and tipped green eyes, Lacey Flannigan looked like a western gypsy _elf_.

He stared at the woman seated across the table. Usually he would've wolfed down his mint chip drizzled with chocolate sauce, but he couldn't rip his eyes away.

Not when she lapped at the last of her butter pecan with caramel on the spoon as if she would orgasm. Her lids fluttered shut and she licked her lips with a low, sultry "umm." Her eyes opened and sparkled with the same intensity as her glitzy belt buckle. "If it wouldn't be so rude, I'd lick the cup." Lacey tipped the plastic container toward him. Empty. She stuck the spoon back in her mouth and sucked on it with a smile.

Lacey's actions and words seemed so innocent. She must know how they'd affect a man? Because right now, he wouldn't be able to stand without embarrassment. Walker shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth before he allowed his blood-deprived brain to say something stupid.

Morgan lied.

Lacey Flannigan wasn't crazy. She _drove_ men crazy. Because that may be where he was headed. Walker rubbed his hand on his thigh. It still tingled from the jolt he'd received when he'd shook her hand earlier.

"Thanks, Mr. Evans."

Jake's words emphasized the fact Walker still had half his ice cream left while the other two had already finished. "You're welcome." He piled his spoon high.

"You said you were an EMT." Lacey plopped her utensil into the empty cup. "Are you a fireman, too? Because Jake wants to be a fireman when he grows up."

Walker turned to the blonde boy next to him. "I am a fireman. Many departments make their firemen train to be both."

"What's a E-T, a E-T-M?"

Walker chuckled. "It's E-M-T, and it stands for Emergency Medical Technician. Most times I work on the firetruck, but sometimes I work on the ambulance to help sick people."

"Cool! I want to be just like you when I grow up, Mr. Evans."

His heart swelled with the young man's admiration.

"What department do you work for? Palo Pinto?" Lacey leaned her elbows on the small round table.

"They're a volunteer department. I work for Abilene. I'm here visiting my cousin Morgan for the festival and to hear the Country Swing Kings." The thought that Lacey would be almost two hours down the road unexpectedly stuck in his gut.

"I was excited they were coming to the festival this year. They play at The Arroyo in San Angelo."

"You live in San Angelo?" Damn. The west Texas town was about the same distance from Abilene as Dew Drop.

"No, I live in Ballinger, but commute to Angelo for college."

She couldn't be but a couple of years younger than he, right? "Angelo State?"

Lacey nodded affirmative.

"What are you studying?"

"Biology with a minor in animal science. I'll finish this December."

"Lacey's super smart. She's gonna be a vet," Jake piped in.

She shrugged off the child's compliment. "I work as a tech for a large animal vet in Ballinger. It's easier to commute for classes when I usually open the clinic in the morning."

Ballinger sat forty-five minutes southwest of Abilene. He could work with that.

Because he _would_ be seeing more of this woman.

***

"Hey, Walker, we're going to the Silver Spur for some beers. You want to come?"

Lacey didn't bother to turn. Walker said Morgan was his cousin. She should've connected it with Morgan Turner, Jerk Extraordinaire.

"Not right now, Morg. Maybe later."

The waves of careless cruelty washed over her shoulders.

"Hiya, Crazy Lacey."

She didn't turn. "Morgan." Lacey's spine stiffened.

Walker's eyes narrowed on her hands which had curled into fists. Then flew back to his cousin. "No need to be an asshole, Morg."

"Who, me? Just trying to save you some trouble, Walker. And the Flannigan women are trouble with a capital T."

" _Enough._ Morgan, being a dick won't make yours any bigger."

Walker snickered at Lacey's comment.

Angry waves crashed over her shoulder.

A footstep slapped on the tile and Walker shot up, tumbling the chair backward.

Conversations screeched to a halt around them.

"Don't touch her, Morg." Walker stepped forward toward his cousin, fists tight at his sides.

For a horrifying moment, she thought Walker and Morgan would come to blows. She lifted her gaze to Walker's face where a muscle worked in his cheek. A warm glow grew in Lacey. But she shouldn't let cousins fight over her. Family was too important.

She stood and pivoted to face down the man who'd tormented her since first grade.

Only to find him exiting the shop.

_Wow._ She turned to Walker. "Thanks?"

He picked up the overturned chair and sat down. "You okay?"

"Sure. He's just a jerk." Lacey winced. Would he accept her criticism of his cousin?

A faint smile ghosted across his features. "I can see that. Do you know why he doesn't like you?"

_Holy crapoly._ What could she make up? Because she couldn't possibly tell him the truth. That she sees things. Like when Morgan touched her arm in school that first day and she'd seen him steal Will Henley's lunch money? Two hours before it happened?

"Lacey can see things."

"Jake!" How could he have said that aloud?

Walker's eyes narrowed.

Dang it. Fine. She might as well tell him why he didn't want to get to know her better. "Sometimes I know things that happened in the past. Or are about to happen. People often don't like it."

"So you're psychic?"

"I wouldn't say _that_." Lacey wrinkled her nose. "I just know things sometimes." No need to tell him she saw people's auras. Or her grandmother talked to her from the grave. She stared over his shoulder, not wanting to see the derision in his face. "Like tonight. I got a feeling Jake was in trouble. I knew if I found you, I'd find him."

"And you did." Walker sat back and crossed his arms.

"So, uh, we really appreciate the ice cream, don't we, Jake?"

Jake nodded.

Lacey scooted her chair back and stood. "Time to go, little man. It was really nice meeting you." She stuck her hand out over the table toward Walker.

He didn't take it. "My mom's dad was a fireman from the 50s to the 70s."

She pulled her hand back, unsure of the conversation's direction.

"He worked this fire in Dallas. Eight story apartment building downtown. He got inside with his crew to the third floor then pulled his guys out. The captain was shouting at him to go back in. Then the fifth floor collapsed and caused a chain reaction all the way to the first floor. They all would've died. You know why he pulled his guys out?"

Words stuck in Lacey's throat. She shook her head no.

"He never told anyone else in the family this except me. Fireman to fireman. Gramps said he knew if they didn't leave, they'd all die. His dead mother whispered it to him." Walker stood and crossed the short distance to stand in front of her and then put his hands on her shoulders. "Gramps told me to listen to those voices. That most firemen and cops wouldn't admit they'd had these experiences, but it didn't make them any less real."

Goosebumps rose on Lacey's skin like the hope in her chest. She searched his eyes. Could he really believe her?

"So, can I get your telephone number?" His lips quirked. "Something's telling me I'll be seeing you again."

The End

About Amanda

Paranormal romance author Amanda Byrd spent her life in love with romance novels, dreaming of writing her own. It wasn't until a friend told her about the North Texas Chapter of Romance Writers of America that she realized her dreams were within reach. When not writing about her paranormal Ahn-khali world, she's spending time with her husband on the family's central Texas ranch with its small herd of longhorn pets, fixing fences and bumping around the place with their Australian shepherd and elderly, bossy corgi.

# Girl Trouble

## By Christine Crocker

Dedication

To my husband, David. Forty-five years ago, events conspired to bring us together.

Even though my two girlfriends had other plans for who you would marry, I knew the moment I set eyes on you, you were meant for me.

When we married we thought we knew what love was but four children and nine grand-children later we know what love is. We've been blessed and I thank the Lord daily for our life together.

Girl Trouble

Kaycee Benton nearly dropped the cake she was taking out of the oven as the whirlwind that was her nine-year-old son ran past her and up the stairs.

Setting the cake down on the counter, she threw down her oven mitts. Stalking over to the bottom of the stairs, she yelled up to her son.

"Anthony James Benton, get down here. Now."

"I can't." Her son's muffled voice came from the upstairs bathroom.

Immediately a vision of blood and gore flashed in her brain and worried mom took over. She rushed up the stairs only to find the bathroom door locked.

The sound of running water sent her imagination into overdrive. "A.J., open the door."

"In a minute."

She pounded the door with her fist. "Open this door. Now, mister."

The door opened and she held a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. "That's an interesting look."

Still scouring at his face with a soapy washcloth her son scowled. "It's not funny, Mom. Don't laugh."

"Who did this to you?"

"A girl."

Kaycee reached for the washcloth. "That's a relief. I'd hate for it to have been a boy. Give me that. You're only making it worse. Let's go into my bathroom, I've got something that will get that off your face. You'll never know they were there."

His voice filled with indignant vehemence. "I sure hope so. I don't want to be branded. Especially not by her."

Dabbing at his face with a makeup wipe she kept her voice light. "Does 'her' have a name?"

"Angela Mitchell. She's new and she's crazy. She said I'm going to be her boyfriend. And then she attacked me. Yuck!"

"Her boyfriend, huh?" She held his face by the chin and finished wiping the hot pink lipstick kisses off his face.

"I swear, Mom, I don't know where she got that idea. I don't even like girls." He shuddered.

She brushed her hand over his summer buzz cut and then dropped a kiss on his forehead. "She can't be that bad."

"But she is, Mom. School hasn't even started and I've already got troubles. She said now that she's branded me I'm hers and the other girls have to stay away from me."

He buried his face in his hands. "I'm ruined. We need to move. I can't go back to school. What if she ends up in the same class as me?"

Kaycee grinned. "Don't be so dramatic." She tossed the wipe into the waste basket.

"Mom!" he wailed. "You don't get it. Danny and Joe Don Sankey saw the whole thing. They're gonna blab all over town that I got bested by a girl." His shoulders slumped. "I tell you, I'm ruined."

"I'm sure that's an exaggeration."

"No, Mom. Danny and Joe Don were hootin' and hollerin' and laughin' and I know they're gonna tell everyone about it." He groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm ruined."

"I sincerely doubt that. Come on. I need to go to the grocery store for a few things. Would a stop at DQ soothe your wounded soul?"

"Can we have supper there? And dessert?" A.J. peered up at Kaycee.

Kaycee scrunched up her face as if in deep thought. "I might be able to swing that."

A.J. brightened. "Promise?"

With a solemn look she made an X across her chest. "Cross my heart."

***

The grocery store was unusually busy for a Tuesday night. Kaycee was just rounding the endcap on the baking aisle when she collided with another shopper's cart.

"Oh. I'm so sorry. . ." Her voice trailed off at the sight of the man at the end of the other cart. "Bryan Mitchell?"

He stared at her obviously perplexed. "Do I know you?"

"It's me, Bryan. Kaycee Benton—used to be Daniels." She studied his face for a hint of recognition. All she saw was what she could only describe as a flash of frustration in his warm brown eyes.

Grimacing, he raked his hand across his head. "No offense, but I wish I could remember you."

Kaycee flushed red. "Sorry to have bothered you. Don't worry about it. I guess I'm not a particularly memorable person if I'm that easy to forget." She turned her cart away just as A.J. ran up and grabbed her by the arm.

"Mom! Mom! We've got to go. She's here." He tugged on her arm.

"Whoa. Who's here?"

A.J.'s face paled. He pointed behind her. "It's her. That girl, Angela, who assaulted me."

She turned around. Standing next to Bryan with her arm entwined in his was an adorable red-headed cherub of girl. "I take it you're Angela?" She smiled at Bryan who looked confused.

"You know my daughter?"

Kaycee grinned. "Not exactly; but I believe my son does. They had a bit of a contretemps this morning."

"We didn't contreetom, Mom. She attacked me."

He turned to look at his daughter. "Angela. What's this about an attack? Were you fighting?"

"Oh no, Daddy. We didn't fight. I kissed him." She said with wide-eyed innocence.

"Oh yeah," A.J.'s outraged tones broke in. "With pink lipstick all over my face and in front of my friends."

Bryan glanced around to see a handful of people watching them with a mixture of curiosity and humor on their faces. "Whoa now. I don't think this is the place to have this out." He shrugged his shoulders and shot a silent plea for help toward Kaycee.

Kaycee squeezed A.J.'s shoulder to settle him down. "You're right. We're going to DQ for supper if you want to join us. We can get a booth in the back for privacy to hash this out."

Bryan nodded. "Sounds good to me. What do you think, Angela?"

"Sure, Dad. I'd like to get to know Anthony a little better." She batted her eyes at A.J. who grunted in disgust.

The two adults exchanged amused glances and then headed toward the checkout counters.

***

"So." Kaycee broke the silence as they waited for their order to come up. "What brought you back to Dew Drop? The festival?"

"No. It's more of an attempt to jog my memories." He rubbed his temple with an index finger.

Concern zipped through Kaycee and she laid a hand on his arm. "Memory loss? Were you in an accident?"

"Yeah, I reckon you could say that. An IED outside of Kabul." He bowed his head and gripped his hands. "It happened a year ago. Killed two of my unit outright and left me with a permanent limp and memory loss."

Shocked, Kaycee put her hand on his. "You don't remember anything?"

"I remember things from the past year or so but almost everything before that is gone. Zip. Nada." He pulled his hand out from under hers. "I've had a few sudden recollections. I'd hoped coming back to Dew Drop would jog my brain into remembering more about my life before the accident."

"Wow. Must be hard on your wife and daughter."

"According to paperwork, Angela's mother and I split several years ago." His voice lowered. "It appears she didn't want her own daughter. I was awarded sole custody."

"That's terrible. I mean, not that you got sole custody," she waved her hands in the air, "but that her mother didn't want her."

He shrugged. "Seems to be the way things are with a lot of people these days. Since I've shared my sordid story, what about you? Do you still have a husband around?"

She cast a bittersweet smile. "My husband died when A.J. was a baby. Acute leukemia. What we thought was a bad cold wasn't." She shrugged. "At least he got to see A.J. and hold him before he passed."

"Geez, I'm sorry." He looked stricken.

"Hey don't worry about it. It's been years. I'm doing fine." She smiled away the awkwardness. "Maybe I can help with jogging some of your memories," Kaycee said.

He leaned forward a gleam of hope in his eyes. "How do you propose to do that?"

"Believe it or not, I know a lot about you." She reached out her hand. "This may shock you, but I've know you since kindergarten. Plus, we were an item our entire senior year in high school."

"We were?" He released a puff of air and leaned back. "No wonder you were offended when I said I didn't know you. I'm sorry."

The sound of squabbling turned their attention to the two kids coming in from the outdoor playground.

"I told you to stay away from me. I'm not your boyfriend." A.J. ran up to the booth. "Mom, she keeps bugging me."

"A.J. be nice. Apologize to Angela right now." Kaycee fixed her son with a no nonsense look. "Look, you've made her cry."

Angela walked up to the table. Her lower lip trembled. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her rosy cheeks.

"A.J.?" Kaycee prompted.

Her son heaved an exaggerated sigh. "O-kay. I'm sorry." His sullen tones let everyone know he was anything but sorry. "Girls. Nothin' but trouble." He muttered under his breath.

"Angela." Bryan's stern voice cut in. "You can turn off the waterworks now." He turned to look at Kaycee. "Don't be fooled by the tears. She's a little drama queen and can turn the tears on and off in an instant. She had me going for quite a few months before I figured it out. Isn't that right, munchkin?"

"Oh, Daddy!" Angela leaned into her father's side. "You know I love you." She looked at A.J. and fluttered her lashes.

Kaycee stifled a laugh. The little minx was quite the actress. How long would it take to wear A.J. down?

Their food arrived and for a few minutes, there was silence as the food baskets were passed around.

"Mom, can I sit at that table and eat?" A.J. pointed to a table across the aisle.

"Sure. But why don't you and Angela sit over there. Make nice. No more squabbles." Kaycee caught Bryan's eye. He nodded agreement.

The kids moved their food and drinks over to the other table. A.J. scowled. Angela beamed with joy.

"Ai yi yi." Bryan waggled his head. "I've got to ask, isn't ten a little young to be boy crazy? I thought I'd have a few years to get ready for boyfriends and dates."

Kaycee laughed. "She does seem to be a bit on the precocious side."

"Tell me about it." He took a bite of his burger.

"Although I think there has to be more to this spontaneous urge to kiss my son and plaster his face with pink lipstick." Kaycee mused. "I wonder where she got the idea?"

"Beats me. She did attend a slumber party last night. I wonder if something went on there to trigger Angela's behavior." He glanced over at the kid's table. "Well, would you look at that. They seem to be getting along."

A.J. and Angela were having an animated discussion. Kaycee caught a stray word. "Ah, Minecraft. I believe your daughter has managed to break through my son's hostility. Practically all he and his friends ever talk about is Minecraft. Evidently your daughter is into it as well."

"She is. I don't get it, but I have to limit her time playing it. Although I'd rather she play that game then go around kissing boys." They finished eating and Kaycee gathered up the refuse and called A.J. over to dispose of it.

Bryan took the opportunity to call Angela over to sit with him and Kaycee.

She scampered over and crawled up into his lap. "What's up, Daddy?"

"Baby doll, I want you to tell me why you went after A.J. this morning. Why did you assault him with kisses?"

"I had to," she said.

"Why did you have to?" He gently prodded.

Angela sighed. "It was Truth or Dare, Daddy."

He looked confused. "What's that?"

"It's a game we played at Lori's slumber party last night."

"And this game made you kiss A.J.?" He glanced over at Kaycee who was trying hard not to laugh. _You're no help_ , he mouthed.

"I had to either answer a terribly embarrassing question or take a dare." She smiled up into her father's shocked face.

"And you chose the dare." He looked at Kaycee.

"Of course I did, Daddy." Blue eyes fluttered innocently.

Bryan looked at Kaycee. "I had no idea little girls were into things like this. I'm thinking I've got a lot to learn about little girls. All that on top of getting my memories back."

Kaycee patted his hand. "Don't worry, Dad. You'll survive this and everything else coming your way. Those teen years are just around the corner. This is just a taste of what's coming."

"Dang. I was afraid of that." He shuddered.

A.J. came up to the table. "Mom, can Angela come over and play Minecraft?"

Kaycee looked at her watch. "Not tonight, hon. It's getting late and I still have to frost that cake for the church bake sale. "Maybe tomorrow. If that's all right with you?" she asked Bryan.

"Sure, if A.J. doesn't mind." He looked at A.J. "You two didn't exactly get off to a good start."

A.J. shrugged his shoulders. "That's okay, Mr. Mitchell. Angela explained it was a dare. She's sorry she did it. She said she'd tell my friends it was just a dare and if they made a big deal about it, she'd give them pink lipstick kisses too."

"Whoa now." He shot his daughter a stern look. "Listen up and listen good. No more kisses. Ever."

"But Daddy. . ."

"No discussion. I said over." He stood and held out a hand to help Kaycee out of the booth. "As long as it's okay with you, I don't mind if Angela comes over to play Minecraft with your son."

"That's fine with me. It'll give you a chance to roam around and see if anything in town jogs your memory. Have you met anyone else who knew you? A lot of the old gang still lives here. We could have a get together at my house if you'd like." She squeezed his hand.

"Thanks. We're staying with Noah Lamar at his mother's home. Do you know Noah? He's about ten years younger than me. We were in the same unit. He knew I was from here as well as my circumstance and offered to put Angela and me up until we could find a place of our own."

"I know Noah. His mom and mine were best friends." She took a deposit slip out of her checkbook and tore off the bottom half with the banking details and crumbled it up. "Here's my address and phone number. I'm usually up and presentable by nine in the morning. If you come before I've had my morning coffee, I won't be responsible for my behavior."

He reached for the slip of paper, his fingers sliding over hers. "Thanks. I'm glad I met you. It makes me wonder why I didn't hook up with you after high school."

"That, my friend, is another story. Suffice to say, we were both too young and immature." She leaned forward to give him a peck on the cheek just as he turned his head. Her lips landed on his instead. "Whoops! Sorry about that." She felt the flush creep up her neck into her face.

He touched fingers to his lips. "I'm not." He grinned and took his daughter by the hand. "See you tomorrow."

***

That night, Kaycee tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She touched her lips. She hadn't expected the jolt of desire she'd felt when her lips met Bryan's.

She thought back to the last time she'd seen him. Right after graduation. They'd argued. She thought they'd both go to TCU but he'd squashed that plan when he announced he'd joined the Army. He was sick of school and wanted to see the world.

She'd gone on to graduate from TCU. He'd disappeared from her life. She met her husband, Chance, a year after graduating. He was a fellow teacher at the Dew Drop Middle School.

Only married two years, theirs was a quiet, comfortable kind of love. No big sparks or passion but she did love him. To be honest with herself, she knew he'd had the bigger love. Sometimes she felt guilty. But they'd had A.J., who was the best part of both of them. And she knew it was silly to feel guilty.

The next morning, she woke to A.J. shaking her shoulder. "Mom, get up. Angela's here with her dad."

Kaycee bolted upright. "Omigosh. I'll be right down."

She pulled on shorts and a pink tee-shirt that proclaimed 'no talkee before coffee' and then dragged a brush through her hair. _Teeth will have to wait._ She hurried to the kitchen and caught her breath at the sight of Bryan. The Army tee-shirt stretched across his chest revealed a muscular physique that could grace the cover of a romance book. A frisson of desire startled her.

He'd turned on the coffee maker and already had it brewing. "Hope you don't mind; I started the coffee." He gestured to a bag that advertised Sweetie's Tea Cup Café in filigree letters. "I brought some of Sweetie's famous cinnamon rolls. I thought you'd have coffee ready."

"I can't believe I overslept," she grumped.

"Probably the same reason I almost overslept." He grinned. "You never were a morning person."

"What? Wait. . .how did you know that?" She grabbed his arm. "You remembered something."

Bryan stood stock still. He looked shocked. "I did. I had a mind picture of you sitting in my old F150, looking grouchy as a bear because you had to be at band practice at seven in the morning."

Kaycee grabbed his arms. "Omigod, Bryan, do you remember anything else?" She studied his face.

He shook his head. "No, just that fragment."

"But it was something, Bryan. Don't you see, maybe all those memories aren't lost. We just have to find the key to unlock them." She felt like dancing around, not believing how invested she felt at the possibility of his recovery.

She flung her arms around him and kissed him full on the mouth. His arms closed around her and he kissed her back as if his life depended on it. Everything she'd ever felt about him in high school surged to new life. _What if?_

"Kaycee, I feel like you and me--this is right. I don't know if I'll ever get all my memories back, but I believe the feelings I had for you never died and they're somewhere waiting to burst out." He took a deep breath and looked her full in the face. "One thing I know without a doubt. You are important to me. I feel it in my gut. Are you willing to take a chance and help me find my way again?"

"Oh, Bryan. Yes. I'm here for you. Always."

"Dang," A.J. said. "Who'd a thought girl trouble would lead to my mom and your dad. Yuck!"

Angela tugged at his shirt. "I guess this means you can't be my boyfriend."

A.J. stepped away from her. "No offense, but I don't want to be anyone's boyfriend."

Angela's blue eyes lit up. "I've always wanted a brother."

A.J. buried his face in his hands and groaned.

The End

# The Love Curse

## By Christine Crocker

The Love Curse

It's seven o'clock in the morning and the air is fresh and crisp as the clear blue sky. I skip down the steps of the Queen Anne Victorian I inherited from my Granny Ann. Although it's unusually cool this morning, I know by ten o'clock the temperature will have already climbed into the eighties and by the end of the day it'll have easily reached the century mark. Typical Texas in August.

My fiancé, Nigel, has preceded me and, perfect gentleman that he is, he's holding the door of his Mercedes open for me. I still marvel that we're engaged.

Me, the little ol' country gal from Dew Drop, Texas with a hick accent to boot, paired up with ultra-proper Nigel Lawson from Cambridge, England with his plummy British accent ala Alan Rickman. Damn, but I could listen to him talk for hours. I guess you could say we're the personification of opposites attract. I say t'mater to his tuh-maah-toh. Ummm. I get delicious shivers just thinking about that man.

Besides each other, we have another passion in common. Antiques. I am the proud owner of "Granny Ann's Antiques and Collectibles" in the quaint little town of Dew Drop, Texas. Nigel is the proprietor of "Timeless Treasures" in Fort Worth. A year ago, we met at an estate sale in Mineral Wells. Actually, we got into a wrangle over a pair of Japanese Occupation porcelain figurines.

Our eagle eyes detected the eight-inch-tall Lord and Lady priced at two dollars each amidst all the junk. It was a steal. We reached for them at the same time, ending up with one figurine each. Neither of us would yield to the other, yet neither of us wanted to split up the pair. A coin toss settled the matter.

I not only came away with the figurines, I also got Nigel.

Today we're headed to an estate auction in Highland Park. Nigel mostly collects books. He heard there would be Hemingway and Faulkner first editions up for sale.

The auction is set to begin at one o'clock. Nigel wants to get there early enough to scope out the books and the competition. There's bound to be serious dealers attending.

We arrive at the mansion just off Beverly Drive. Several vehicles are already parked along the wide curving drive leading up to the house. It looks like an English manor.

We park behind a small box truck and I jump out of the car before Nigel can come around to open the door for me.

"Wow, will you look at that." I elbow Nigel in the ribs. "Pretty darn posh, eh?"

His expressive eyebrows arc and his exasperated smile makes me giggle. I hook my arm through his and we make our way up the stone walkway to the front door.

***

It's well past midnight and I listen for whatever jarred me out of my deep slumber. Except for the familiar soft hum of the central air unit, everything is still and quiet. I lie frozen. I listen. I hear nothing out of the ordinary.

I should be relieved. Shake off the notion of something waiting in the dark. But try as I might a sensation of dread creeps through my body. The feeling radiates from my innermost core and culminates in the prickling of cold flesh. I'm afraid to look into the darkness, but I force myself. I discern nothing. Still, I cannot, I dare not move.

I close my eyes in the childish belief that what I can't see can't harm me. A fragment of memory tickles my mind, but try as I might I cannot drag it to the surface. It lies, ephemeral as a moonbeam just beyond the edge of consciousness.

I count the seconds, willing myself to breathe in steady, even breaths and pray to God-, Jesus-, the angels. Even as the oppressive darkness surrounds me, I pray for protection and a release from the terror that binds me. How long I lay in paralyzed fear before I fell asleep I don't know.

When I wake, the morning is bright and fresh. Dust motes shine in the beam of sunlight that streams through a part in the gold silk brocade drapes that match the draperies and counterpane on my Louis Quinze bed. The terror that bound me in the night is gone as if it never existed. I shake off the memory and, just like Scrooge, I determine it must have been something I ate.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, sit up, and stretch. Looking around my bedroom, my glance sweeps over the Rococo armoire in the Louis Quinze Chinois style and moves on to the matching dressing table. Even in the muted morning light, the array of Devilbiss perfume atomizers sparkle in jeweled splendor upon its beautiful marble top.

A warm feeling of satisfaction steals over me as I congratulate myself once again for obtaining the entire lot of atomizers. They're in incredibly perfect condition which is highly unusual as the atomizer bulbs generally harden with age, rendering them useless. These are in mint condition. I must admit the satisfaction rises not only from acquiring the exquisite collection but also from managing to outbid Nigel.

I feel my lips curling as I picture him in his Bond Street suit and Italian leather shoes. I don't believe he even owns a pair of Levi's let alone a cotton T-shirt. This is Texas, for God's sake. No one in his right mind goes out in hundred degree plus heat dressed in tailored linen suits and silk shirts.

Just thinking about Mister Nigel Lawson puts a damper on my good mood. Besides, we don't need any snooty Brit making off with American treasures.

For a brief moment, I feel a flash of guilt for my snarky thoughts. Where had that come from? I must admit the first time I clapped eyes on him, I felt more than a little quiver of interest. Quiver, heck, I wanted to jump his bones and bear his children. I thought, I know, he'd felt the same flash of instant attraction.

We became quite the twosome, attending many of the same auctions and estate sales, engaging in amiable bidding wars when some object or other caught both our fancies. We indulged in late night dinners and impromptu picnic lunches. There was no doubt in my mind we had a beautiful future together. The past three weeks, however, I find myself wondering why him? Did I ever truly love him or is this a fizzling infatuation?

Lately, however, myriad little things are beginning to bug me. The way he sits, ramrod straight. The particular way he lays his napkin in his lap--even in the local diner where the place setting consists of a fork, a knife and a spoon wrapped in a paper napkin. The way he sniffs his wine before taking a sip. Aargh!

Three weeks ago, we attended an estate auction in Highland Park. The circumstances for the auction were tragic. The home belonged to an elderly couple known for their devotion to one another. In an inexplicable turn of events, the wife shot her husband as he slept and then turned the gun on herself. A clear-cut case of murder/suicide with no clue as to the why of it.

Family and friends said the woman had become quarrelsome in the weeks leading up to the tragedy. Some speculated she had an undiagnosed case of Alzheimer's. Sad.

At any rate, Nigel wandered off to the library to examine some Hemingway first editions. I didn't mind. Not my cup of tea. Instead of joining him, I browsed the tables of bric-à-brac looking for treasures. Tucked away behind an incredible display of Waterford crystal vases, I caught a brilliant flash of color.

The moment I spotted the atomizer, I had to have it. My fingers itched to pick it up and never let it go. Disquieted by the compulsive urge, I plunged my hands into my pockets. My precious. The words tumbled over and over in my mind. Good God! Where had that Gollum thought come from? I backed away from the table.

The auction was about to begin, so I went in search of Nigel only to discover him embracing a too tall, too thin, and probably too rich, society type. Rage coursed through my body. I wanted to tear her eyes out.

The louse. He didn't even have the grace to look abashed. Instead, he coolly introduced me to his 'dear friend,' Sophia. She took no time at all to establish a proprietary grip on his arm. He didn't object. They walked away leaving me feeling like nine kinds of fool.

This trip down memory lane isn't brightening my mood any, so I push all thoughts of Mister Nigel Lawson, British upstart, out of my mind. I hop out of bed and throw on a well-worn pair of jeans and a faded maroon A&M T-shirt. I spare only a few minutes to brush my teeth and drag a comb through my new pixie cut before I head out the door.

Not counting stopping for a Mocha Latte and streusel muffin from Sweetie's Tea Cup Cafe, it'll take me a good two and a half hours to get to the auction house in Rosebud. Dew Drop's annual Iced Tea Festival draws in people from all over the state, providing a big boost to our local businesses. Due to the influx of visitors, I want to plump up my inventory.

Grabbing my purse and car keys from the foyer table, I fling open the door just as the doorbell rings. O my god. There he is, Mister Nigel Lawson in all his sartorial splendor, standing on my front porch.

"Mister Lawson. What a surprise." That's the understatement of the year, I think, as I contrive a pleasant smile that feels more a wolf-like baring of teeth.

"I beg your pardon, Merilee." His voice has an uncharacteristic breathless quality as if he's been running.

"Ms. Porter to you. . ."

"Ms. Porter." A flash of annoyance crosses his face. His aristocratic nose twitches and his speech becomes even more clipped and patrician, but I detect a touch of concern. "I do hope you'll forgive the intrusion, but I must speak with you on a matter of utmost importance."

Hmm. I wonder what he wants. I take an exaggerated look at the yellow plastic rhinestone encrusted watch with its oversize face on my left wrist.

"I am so sorry, Mister Lawson. It is most unfortunate, but I really don't have time to visit right now. I have an appointment I must attend." Good lord, now I'm beginning to sound all hoity toity. No doubt about it, the man is bringing out the worst in me. _What is it about him that sets my teeth on edge?_

To my amazement, he loses his cool and rakes his fingers through his conservative haircut, totally ruining the look of Brooks Brothers perfection.

"Please. Hear me out. It's about the provenance of one of the perfume atomizers you acquired at the Hensley Estate auction." He shuffles, yes, actually shuffles his feet as he shoots me a look of what I can only interpret as desperation.

His actions are so uncharacteristic of the man I thought I knew, I forget my resolve to one-up him. I step back and with an elegant gesture, sweep wave him into my home.

"Since you insist," I grouse. "You can tell me your tale in the kitchen. I haven't had my morning coffee." I close the door after him and toss my bag and keys onto the foyer table. _So much for the Rosebud auction._

Ten minutes later, I'm staring at him as if he's lost his ever lovin' mind.

"Let me get this straight. You expect me to believe the atomizer I acquired is cursed?"

He leans forward with such an earnest expression, I almost believe his wild assertion. "I know my story seems far-fetched, but please hear me out."

I lounge back in my chair cradling my steaming mug of French roast in my hands. "Go ahead. Dish. I'm listening."

"Have you ever heard of Barton Sayre and his wife, Marika."

"Nope. Can't say I have." I shrug. "Is it important?"

He clasps his hands and leans forward. "Barton Sayre was a wealthy American financier who fell in love with a beautiful Russian ballerina. Marika Danilovska."

"Never heard of her either." I fidget in my chair as a feeling of animosity begins to rise the more I listen to his oh-so-plummy tones. How had I ever thought them or him irresistibly cool?

I don't want to listen to any more of this. I sit up straight and thump the table with my knuckles. "Tch. Get to the point would you."

He shoots me an aggrieved look.

"As I was saying," Nigel's clipped consonants quiver with indignation and impatience, "the first four years of the Sayre marriage were idyllic, but then came the Wall Street crash in 1929. Sayre, as did many others, lost everything. Marika became pregnant. Sayre was ecstatic. Despite the precarious state of their finances, Sayre presented Marika with an exquisite toiletry set he had specially commissioned on the occasion of the birth of their daughter. It consisted of amethyst crystal pieces decorated with gold filigree; a vase, two makeup pots, and the atomizer, which was shaped rather like a genie's bottle."

Arms crossed, I lean back in my chair. "Maybe that's the problem, there's an evil genie in it trying to get out."

"Merilee. . ."

"Ms. Porter to you."

"All right then, Mer. . . Ms. Porter, please listen, this is serious."

I roll my eyes. "I beg your pardon. Do continue your story."

"Thank you. Shortly after receiving the gift, Marika began to display a rather volatile temperament, accusing Sayre of infidelities and sundry other misdeeds."

I let out derisive snort. "Ever hear of post-partum depression? Not unusual, besides love often flies out the window when the big bucks are gone. So, again, what's your point?"

"My point is, theirs was no ordinary May/December romance. It was well documented they truly loved one another. Until she stabbed him to death one night as he slept, crept into the bed with his body and slashed her wrists."

"And this story proves what?" I heave an exasperated sigh and hold on to my rising temper. For this I've given up my trip to Rosebud?

"Hear me out. The toiletry set passed on to five more owners, _five_ , Merilee." He leans forward and reaches across the table to take my hand. I jerk away.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

He clenches his jaw. He stares at me before continuing to speak. "Five more couples, _Ms. Porter_ , all dead as a result of murder/suicides. Over the years, some of the pieces were broken until only the atomizer remained. The atomizer that Mrs. Hensley purchased four weeks before killing her own husband."

I set my mug down so hard that coffee sloshes onto the table. I jump up from my chair and reach for a handful of napkins to sop up the spill. "That is the most absurd story I've ever heard. You expect me to believe the atomizer is cursed?"

For a fleeting moment, I perceive a flash of fear on his face. "Merilee. Please." He reaches out to take my hands.

I step back. "I told you, don't touch me."

"Can't you see, it's happening to us. Three weeks ago you were my loving fiancé. And now you act as if you hate me." He tugged his tie loose. "Do you hate me, Merilee?"

I think back to the auction and remember Sophia. Simmering resentment boils up until it becomes a volcanic explosion of rage. I attack him. Beating at his chest with my fists.

"You don't love me." I scream at him. "You went off with your _dear friend Sophia_ , without so much as a by your leave. You left me standing alone. Everyone looked at me with pity and disgust. Tittering and laughing as they turned away."

Nigel grabs my shoulders and pulls me close. He wraps his arms around me and murmurs quiet words. My heart pounds in my chest and, for one shocked moment, I wonder if what he said could be true. I feel my mind is being sucked into a black abyss. My emotions are a super nova ready to burst in a million directions. In a moment of clarity, I clutch Nigel's shirt. "Help me."

He leads me into the living room and lays me down on the couch. For the first time in weeks, I feel comforted. He turns away and walks to the staircase.

I bolt up from the couch. "Where are you going?"

"I'm getting rid of that damned atomizer before it kills us."

Before I can stop him, he's at the top of the stairs and headed to my bedroom.

I have to stop him. I take the stairs two at a time. "No. Don't." I scream. "I'll hate you forever."

He lifts the atomizer above his head ready to smash it against the vanity's marble top. I launch myself at him and tackle him. He falls over the vanity knocking the other atomizers to the floor. I scramble over his body and attempt to wrench my precious atomizer from his hand.

The room darkens and a sickly-sweet perfume begins to permeate the air. A voice harangues me. _How dare he invade your home. He's an interloper. He doesn't really love you. You deserve better. Hate him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill. Kill. Kill._

Nigel manages to push me away and rises. In an instant, he smashes the atomizer against the marble. The beautiful artifact disintegrates into a thousand shards of jeweled crystal and golden filigree.

Nigel cradles me in his arms. His heart thumping steadily in my ear. We lie exhausted on the floor. We don't speak. There are no words. Gradually the scent of perfume dissipates. Sunlight streams through the window. A quiet peace steals through me. The voice is gone. It's just the two of us.

***

We sit at the kitchen table. Nigel's hand is cupped in mine as I pick shards of crystal from his palm with a pair of tweezers. Hot tears roll down my cheeks and drip onto his hand.

Nigel lifts my chin with his free hand. His compassionate eyes meet mine. "It's all right now, darling. Please don't cry."

"How can you ever forgive me? I was horrible. I said mean, evil things to you. I even wanted to kill you." A fresh spurt of tears fills my eyes.

He shook his head. "No. You didn't. It was the evil spirit residing in the atomizer."

I still had difficulty believing in an evil spirit but then again, how else could I explain my insane behavior. "You truly believe that?"

He wiped the tears from my cheek with his thumb. "You never let me tell you more about its provenance. It seems the artisan who created the atomizer for Barton Sayre was engaged to a young woman who toyed with his affections. One evening, he saw her in an intimate embrace with another man. He was so enraged at her unfaithfulness, he strangled her when she came to his place of employment. After killing her, he killed himself. One can only assume his crazed spirit entered the last piece of work he'd created, the atomizer."

I thought about it. "He must have hated the thought of the other couple's love and his malevolent spirit drove the most insecure partner to madness."

"Why do you say insecure?" Nigel asks.

"Because I've been insecure in my relationship with you." I glance down, afraid to look at him. "I'm not elegant and sophisticated like your 'dear friend' Sophia. You walked away from me with her. You introduced me as a colleague."

"Oh, my poor darling, you have nothing to be insecure about. I love everything about you. Your delightful Texas drawl. Your infectious laugh and sense of humor. Not to mention your, um, curvy physical attributes. Trust me, you have nothing to fear from Sophia. For your information, Sophia is too tall, too thin, and an insufferable society snob. I was trying to protect you from her."

I can't help a watery laugh. "Snap! That's exactly what I thought when I first saw her. I wanted to rip her eyes out." I shuddered. _Had the atomizer already begun working on me then?_ I finished plucking the last bit of glass out of Nigel's hand and once it was disinfected and bandaged, I sat back and asked, "What do we do now?"

Nigel smiled at me and in a ridiculously plummy Texas accent said, "Ma'am, I was a'thinkin' we could mosey down to the local waterin' hole to grab a bite to eat. Later we can go two steppin' and you can show me how to line dance again."

I look him up and down. "Hmm. Sure, but under one condition.

"Oh?" Up goes that eyebrow.

"You need to lose the coat and tie." I stand and reach out my hand. "Come on, sugar. We're going shopping."

The End

About Christine

Who can resist a Texan charmer? Not me. I married my husband of 46 years three weeks after meeting him. He makes me laugh, even when I want to be mad. He is my biggest cheerleader and encourager. Besides supporting my love of writing, he involved me with community theater and summer musicals; arranged an audition with the Fort Worth Opera where I sang for two seasons; challenged me to earn a blue belt in Aikido; encouraged me to accept a job as church music director and learn to play the harp at age 66. I have to be careful of what I admire because if David hears me say it, sooner or later I'll get it (hence the harp). Four children, nine grandchildren and two dogs later, we're more in love than ever and I see no end in sight for the great adventure that is our life.

# Lies About Coffee

## By Gena Ellington

Dedication

To the lady at the gym:

One day, I hope you fall off the treadmill reading my book too.

Uninjured of course.

Lies About Coffee

I

Allie Myers hustled to the front of the Brew House, her brown shoulder length hair falling in her face as she flipped the _Closed_ sign to _Open_. She was almost late opening her coffee shop. In her haste, she knocked down the sign for Dew Drop's yearly Iced Tea Pageant. She was trying to hang it straight in the window when a voice piped up from behind.

"You should enter," Mariah her good friend and top barista said from the counter.

"Never," she replied instantly. She was all for supporting the Wounded Warrior project, but she certainly wouldn't be putting herself onstage to make that happen. She'd donate with time and money, not the personal embarrassment of a pageant.

The morning hour rush progressed like a normal day, all the while her eye was on the clock. Allie knew almost everyone; had memorized the regulars' drink orders and could predict, practically to the minute, their expected arrival. One particular regular would be entering any minute. Dr. Tanner Henderickson, or Dr. H, his endearing nickname to most of Dew Drop. He was about her age, tall with blond hair and eyes which shifted between green and blue, depending on what he wore. Rarely seen in scrubs, instead he fancied a polo in the summer, button up in the winter, no tie. She paid special attention. She wished she was the only one, but Dr. H had many fans.

She circled the counter, headed to the espresso machine when her shoulder hit the framed picture of her brother Brandon. She caught it before it fell, securing it to the wall once more. He was in uniform, Rex, his service dog next to him. She wished he lived closer, especially since most of the proceeds from this weekend went back to the Wounded Warrior Project. Thanks to them, Brandon's life was practically normal.

Refocusing on her objective, she began prepping Doc H's usual, a Horchata Latte; horchata powder and vanilla with espresso and milk. It tasted like a melted cookie. How he drank one of these every morning and stayed fit and trim, she'd never know. In truth, she did know. She lived above the Brew House and would see him running around downtown in the early mornings; sans shirt in the summer. He may have been the reason for her almost tardy opening a few hours earlier.

The bell on the front door rang as someone entered pulling Allie from her thoughts. Her heart jumped. She took a deep breath as she poured the end of the steamed milk, dragging it across the surface of the foam, leaving a design in the doctor's order.

"Good morning, Brew House!" his booming voice rang as her baristas replied a warm welcome in return.

Trying not to appear anxious, she turned toward the door. "The usual?" she asked placing his to go cup on the counter, letting him skip the line.

"Thanks." He grabbed a lid, glancing into the cup. "Another heart? That's three in a row?"

He'd noticed. "A heart or leaves, my only talents," she whispered as he secured the lid.

"Doubtful," his reply, a glancing comment. "Are you going to the fireworks tonight?" Dr. H always made small talk.

"No. I'm taking the afternoon off. I'll work tonight, so the staff can go. Should be pretty quiet around here. You?"

He shook his head. "I consider fireworks a couples activity. I'm not interested in going solo." He placed a fiver on the counter sliding it over. When she reached for it, he moved his hand, covering hers for a nanosecond. "You could close early?" He offered with a shrug and a smile; then he was gone.

"I'd join him for fireworks," Mariah said. "Hell, I'd join him for anything."

"Mariah," Allie chided. "He's a customer."

"Everyone's a customer. Dr. H is an insanely smoking on fire kind of situation and a doctor. And he flirts with you every time you make his latte. You know how I know that? Because he only lets you make it. When you're busy, he lets people cut in front of him or browses the papers until you're available."

"He wasn't specifically inviting me to fireworks." She handed over the five.

"No, of course not, he only suggested you close early to go with him." Mariah put the money in the till; the change in the tip jar.

"He's got Annabelle," Allie reasoned, "who must be busy tonight."

"Funny," Mariah said matter-of-factly. "I've never actually seen him with her. Besides, I heard Ty Harrington is coming back to town," she said, referring to Dew Drop's famous actor that dated Annabelle back in high school.

Allie was pretty sure Dr. H and Annabelle were a thing. Ever since they'd been crowned Iced Tea King and Queen of Dew Drop last year, Annabelle dangled off his arm each time she saw him, outside the Brew House, that is. This was their special rendezvous. Allie mentally slapped herself. She wasn't the type for clandestine acquaintances.

II

When the first firework shot into the air, the remaining customers left the air conditioning for the show. Allie doubted any customers would return; after all, it was August. She'd been cleaning up as the night progressed; not much to do but mark time until closing. She decided a decaf cappuccino wouldn't keep her up.

She busied herself pouring the steamed milk intricately into the leaf design when the bell on the door rang, surprising her. "Hello," she called, her back to the surprise customer.

"No one would blame you if you closed early."

Recognizing the voice, her eyes shot to the door spying... "Dr. H!" she said mid-pour. She lost control on the milk turning the leaves into a purposeless blob of foam.

"How do you do that?" he asked, walking behind the counter towards her.

"What?" she asked, backing up slightly. He wasn't supposed to be back here. Her mind warred within her. Maybe, Mariah was right.

"The designs," he said softly, slowing his approach.

"You've got to control the pour, especially toward the end, which I just botched." She gave a soft laugh.

"What was it going to be?" He looked over her shoulder, his chest grazed her upper back, sending shocks and goosebumps in all directions.

"Leaves," she said, out of breath. She could smell him, he was so close. "I'm pretty good at hearts and leaves. I struggle with the tulip."

"I didn't realize there was an art to coffee." He moved, giving her a little space.

She turned to look at him, those eyes. Was he here for her? Or coffee? "There's an art to everything," she blurted, taking a sip of the decaf. "Can I get you something, Dr. H?"

He shook his head leaning against the counter. "You should call me Tanner."

_Tanner?_ Hope sprang inside her heart.

"You've got a little--" He motioned to her lip.

_Uh._ She wiped the foam from her lip, dying a little inside.

He chuckled. "You still live upstairs?" he asked with a nod.

"Yes." She gave him a strange look.

"Is there still roof access by the kitchen? I thought maybe we could--"

The bell on the front door rang, interrupting him. They both turned to look, seeing Mariah push inside with Lettie, her four-year-old daughter, in her arms. "I didn't know what to do, so I came here." Her voice troubled.

"What happened?" Allie asked, following Tanner around the counter.

"She fell," Mariah stammered. "The lights in the park went out just before the fireworks started and she tripped in the dark."

Allie watched as Tanner went instantly into doctor mode, gesturing for Mariah to put Lettie in the closest chair. He squatted down in front of her, inspecting the injury. The little girl winced as he removed her flip flop and pressed on her ankle.

"Is it broken?" Mariah asked, the concern thick in her voice.

"It doesn't look like it, but she needs an x-ray to be sure."

"I'll drive you to the emergency room," Allie offered.

"Nonsense," Tanner said, standing. "My office is around the corner. We can do it there." He scooped Lettie into his arms heading towards the door, waiting for Mariah to open it.

In a flash, Allie was alone. She moved back behind the counter, finding her decaf, but no longer thirsty. Her mind focused on Mariah and Lettie. Her thoughts wandered back to Dr. H. Or... Tanner. He was here, in her space. What had he been saying before Mariah came in? How did he know about the roof access from her apartment kitchen?

Quickly, she decided she'd close early so she could check on Mariah and Lettie, possibly get more answers in the process. She made her way to the door, when she noticed a bottle of wine on the table next to the chair where the ankle had been examined.

She picked it up as the bell above the door rang, grabbing her attention. Two couples came in, laughing and gushing about the fireworks. _So much for closing early._

She hid the wine behind the counter and took their order. Decaf iced coffee was the hit of the night as group after group found their way back to Brew House for air conditioning and cold blend.

III

She woke up early, fumbling for her phone, hoping for an update. Mariah had texted, the ankle wasn't broken, just badly sprained. Lettie would wear a boot for six weeks. It was mostly good news, but financially, Allie worried about Mariah.

After dressing, she sprang downstairs, joining the morning rush at the Brew House. Tanner would be in soon. She wanted to be ready. She organized some breakfast muffins with a small cup of fruit in a to go box along with two lattes.

Each time the bell rang, her eyes darted to the door. She was anxious. More than her curiosity about his impromptu visit, she wanted to help with Mariah's financial situation.

"Good Morning, Brew House!"

With the care package in hand, she headed towards him.

"Good Morning Allie," he said, approaching.

"Good Morning Doc--" He frowned at her. That was good... right? "Tanner."

His smile was his response.

"Let's talk for a minute?" she said, gesturing to a space away from the morning crowd.

"I wanted to speak with you too," he said, following.

"I spoke to Mariah." She held out the care package.

"Yeah?" He seemed confused as he took the box.

"Breakfast," she said answering his unvoiced question. "She told me you called in your receptionist to assist. Thank you for helping her last night."

"It wasn't what I had planned, but I'm happy to have helped."

"About that," Allie started, "I need a favor."

"A favor?"

"Mariah moved here with her daughter a year ago. A few months ago she had to move her mother here, too. I doubt she has extra money to pay for last night--"

"Allie," he interrupted.

She shook her head no, placing a hand on his arm, insisting that he let her speak. "Can you send me her bill? I don't want her getting overwhelmed. She works so hard. She's my best barista. I'm about to move her to manager, but it would be really great if you could let me help her with last night... You know... without her knowing I'm helping?"

"Allie." He shook his head.

"Please," she said with insistence. "Just say you did it pro bono."

He got a funny look on his face. He was considering it. "Under one condition," he said.

"Anything," she whispered, desperate.

"As the current reigning Iced Tea King," he rolled his eyes, "I have to emcee the pageant tomorrow night."

She stared at him, unable to anticipate his direction.

"It's also my responsibility to recruit female pageant participants and one just dropped out."

"Who?" she asked, curious.

"Mary Ellen Santos."

"Isn't she pregnant?" Allie replied. The mother of three girls wasn't just pregnant, she was due any day now with the first boy.

"Not anymore," he said with a chuckle. "Another girl. But I need a replacement. And it should be you."

"Me?" She took a step back as she felt someone join them.

"I think you'd be perfect," a voice chimed. Annabelle tucked her hand into Tanner's elbow and took one of the lattes. "This for me?"

Tanner nodded.

_No!_ Allie wanted to shout. It was for his receptionist who helped last night, not her.

She shook her head. Why would Annabelle or Tanner think she'd be a candidate for the pageant? She wasn't at all interested in participating, but would she? For Mariah? "Isn't there a talent section?" she inquired, looking for an excuse.

"Yes," Annabelle said. "You'll need a black dress for the opening and something formal for the interview. It gets the most points."

"I don't have talent," she muttered.

"Hearts and leaves," Tanner offered.

"Lattes?" He couldn't be serious. "My talent should be putting designs in lattes?"

He smiled. "You're in! Good. I'll pick you up Saturday."

"What?" She shook her head. "No. I don't have a formal or a portable espresso machine. This... This is crazy. I'm trying to do something nice and you're... blackmailing me?"

He chuckled. "I'm not blackmailing you. And I'll take care of the espresso machine. And you wore a formal as a bridesmaid in Sara and Chuck's wedding last month. You looked nice in that gold dress."

Her eyes found his. It was the oddest thing. He'd remembered her dress from the wedding, Annabelle on his arm then and again now.

"See there?" Annabelle smiled at her. She'd been Iced Tea Queen each year she participated since she was a senior in high school. At least she was emcee this year. "You'll be great!"

_This is for Mariah_ , Allie reminded herself. "Fine," she muttered. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she said, walking away.

She watched as Tanner and Annabelle left the shop. He opened the door for her, but looked back at Allie as he left. Allie stood her ground, openly staring as they walked down the sidewalk and ran into Mayor Callaghan. Annabelle walked on, leaving the two men on the curb in conversation. When Tanner handed the Mayor his other latte, she turned to go back into the office. She was being ridiculous. Tanner wasn't interested in her or her coffee. Apparently.

IV

"You're lucky I didn't have to work this weekend," Allie said, cramming into Tanner's car.

"You have the second weekend of each month off," he reasoned. When she gave him a sideways glance, he added, "The schedule is posted above the pick-up counter." When she didn't speak, he continued. "Thank you, by the way. I'm getting the impression this is outside your comfort zone."

"Way outside."

"Mine too," he admitted. "I lost a bet last year with Mayor Callaghan. Poker game."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Charity poker game," he amended.

"So I'm not the only one blackmailed into this foolishness?"

"I guess not," he said with a laugh as they pulled into the Dew Drop Community Center.

He carried her bag and his, escorting her inside. After introducing her to the pageant coordinator, they split ways. Allie was rushed through set designs and staging, then given a brief layout of the show. Before long, she was in front of a mirror with someone doing her hair.

She had only minutes to change for the opening. When she took her first step on stage, her breath was gone. The place was packed. It was hard to determine who was there thanks to the blinding stage lights, but the enormity overwhelmed her. Thankfully, the stage manager took pity on this late entry. She didn't have to do much but step forward and wave when they called her name.

As soon as she was off stage, the male contestants were introduced and she changed into her formal for the interview. If she bombed it, she'd be done and not have to show her talent since only the top 5 moved on. _Simple._

Finally, it was her turn, she walked onto stage, coming face to face with Tanner. In a tux. Yummy.

"Good evening, Allie," he said. She just smiled and nodded. "What does the Wounded Warrior Project mean to you?"

This was unexpected. While the weekend benefited the nonprofit, she hadn't expected it to have a place in the pageant. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She felt a soft hand at her lower back, softly comforting her. "Just speak from the heart," Tanner whispered.

"I can't quantify it," she said into the microphone. "The Wounded Warrior Project saved my family. My brother served for many years, but after... He struggled to cope with life due to PTSD. I'm forever indebted. They brought our family back together, providing Rex, a yellow lab, to help with my brother's anxiety." A single tear ran down her cheek. "They are an amazing group. They give so much to those that are willing to give their lives for our freedom. I realize the proceeds from your ticket purchase will go towards them, but if you can do more to support their cause, you support more than just those that served."

She was blown away by the applause. Then she was pulled into a hug, soft lips against her temple. "I couldn't have said it better myself," Tanner said.

V

It took some time for the interview round to wrap, but she'd made the top five and would continue. She found the portable espresso machine Tanner assured her he'd provide. As the person before her performed on a ukulele, she made espressos for each judge and emcee. When her time arrived, she pushed the espresso machine out, hoping for the best.

"They say people with true talent can make a career of it. Perhaps I'm proof."

She steamed milk and controlling the pour she made two hearts, two leaf patterns, and one tulip. It was mostly a tulip, just not completely. She delivered the hearts and leaf to the judges, then offered the other leaf to Annabelle, who quickly accepted. She offered the tulip to Tanner.

"No, thank you," he said holding up his hands.

"What do you mean?" she was confused. "It's not the Horchatta, but it's still a latte."

"I don't care for coffee," he said.

"You don't like coffee?" She lost her calm exterior. "You come in every morning at 7:30 for a latte."

"Not for me," he said, suddenly shy. "For my receptionist."

"Your receptionist? That's..." She did the math in her head. "That's $1200 a year? Good grief, who's your receptionist?"

"Hello," Annabelle waved. "I wouldn't expect you'd know; you're never sick."

Suddenly aware that everyone was listening, she turned back to the audience. "My talent, ladies and gentlemen. If you'd like to experience it first hand, swing by the Brew House." She grabbed the espresso machine, beginning an awkward trudge off stage. Then it struck her, she stopped and turned. "Wait," she walked back across the stage towards Tanner. "You come in on weekends. Saturdays and Sundays." Matter of fact she saw him every day.

He gave Allie an uneasy smile. "Annabelle, perhaps you should introduce the next candidate," he said, walking towards Allie who was doing her best to stand her ground center stage.

He took her hand and pulled her backstage. "I like the way coffee smells, but I hate the taste."

"So you come in for the smell? That doesn't make sense. Why order coffee?" She was frustrated, feeling like she'd been lied to.

"Let me make it crystal clear for you." His eyes drifted to her lips and then he was kissing her. What started with a hint of frustration ended with the perfect amount of tenderness and affection. He paused, placing his forehead to hers. "I come to the Brew House to see you. I'm..." He stepped back looking into her eyes. "I'm completely crazy about you. I had intended to invite you to the roof on Thursday night for wine and to tell you how I feel, but then the thing with Mariah and Lettie--"

"And blackmailing me," she whispered feeling relieved and giddy. The doctor had a crush on her.

He laughed. "Yes. Blackmailing you." He tucked some hair behind her ear. "Can we get out of here?"

"Yes. Please," she begged.

"If we stay, you know you'll win, right?"

She shook her head. "Even if you're right, I don't want the responsibility."

He smiled, taking her hand in his, leading her towards the exit.

"Wait." She made him stop and face her. "How did you know my apartment had roof access?"

"I leased that very apartment when I first moved to Dew Drop, when the Brew House was a clothing boutique. When I heard it was going to be a coffee shop, I decided it was time to move."

"But you like the smell?" she challenged.

"I'm in love with the owner," he whispered, claiming her lips once more.

The End

# Mystery Marine

## By Gena Ellington

Dedication

For my favorite librarian...

Mystery Marine

Josephine Kincaid pulled the book from the shelf and shook it, hoping she was right this time. When she used a quote from _Pride and Prejudice_ , she had no idea the library had seven copies. A folded blue piece of paper fell to the floor. _Jackpot._ Carefully, she slid the used book back onto the shelf in the exact location it had been previously. She leaned down to pick up her prize, but it was gone.

"What--?" She turned, only to come face to face with her older brother, Wyatt. Green eyes matching hers stared back. He wasn't pleased with her choices.

"You're still doing this?" He held aloft her prize, rolling his eyes before heading back to the reference desk where he spent most of his time as the librarian of Dew Drop Public Library.

"This is the last one." She dug into her oversized handbag as she followed him, pulling out the ziplock baggie which securely held her response, a pink note, freshly doused with her perfume. "Might as well read it," she said, gesturing to the blue paper he still held captive. She leaned against the countertop, drumming her fingers, watching him open her future written on the paper, still a secret to her. He leisurely read it before looking up.

Her stomach fluttered. "What's it say?" She leaned forward trying to get a glimpse of the writing. She'd been anxious to read this particular note since her last words to her mystery Marine had been stolen from Jane Austen. _In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you._

She was no closer to reading the paper as Wyatt's fingers quickly typed something into the computer. "And here I thought you were actually beginning to appreciate the books I was suggesting." Still holding the paper, he moved from behind the counter, leading the way to her destiny. She followed closely, finally snatching her prize from his hand. He didn't pause at her accomplishment.

She froze in the middle of the old converted Victorian home which housed the library. Her hands shook as she gripped the blue paper between them reading the quote he'd left at the bottom, the key telling her within which book to place her letter, her response; the words she desperately needed him to find. Today. She was suggesting they meet to enjoy the evening's fireworks. This was their final written correspondence because she wasn't giving him another way to communicate with her in this inconspicuous manner. She did add her phone number. The Marine would have to man up.

Her heart almost stopped when she read the words he'd left behind. _I am nothing special, just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life._ She disagreed. The letters they had exchanged had made him much more than common. He was uniquely shaped to her. Beneath the quote he'd written something else _. I'm ready to meet, when you are. -Westin_ The Marine was manning up, that's for sure.

She clutched the note to her chest, confident, tonight would go _exactly_ as imagined. Then things would be different. Everything would be different. She looked around for Wyatt, realizing she was standing alone. A sinking feeling entered her belly as she started to comb through the shelves, looking for her brother.

The hair on the back of her neck stood. Was he here? Was Westin watching her? She paused turning all the way around, frustrated she hadn't taken a few minutes to fix her blondish brown hair, which was now piled on top of her head. At least she'd changed out of her workout gear. As the local fitness instructor, it wasn't uncommon for her to look a little less than put together. This minute she was wearing a skirt and a nicer tank top than she normally wore to the gym.

The library wasn't at capacity, but it was a place with free air conditioning and free internet, so it was natural for people to flock here. Plus, it was opening night of the Iced Tea Festival and if she had her way, she'd be experiencing it hand in hand with her Marine. _Was it too soon to call Westin hers?_

_Westin._ She liked his name.

Ignoring her self-doubt, she turned again taking in the library patrons, scrutinizing each one, comparing them with the picture of him she'd created in her mind. Problem was, none of them were looking at her. She'd been imagining things.

She quickly found Wyatt, anxious to drop off her note. He was standing at a half shelf just below a window. "We have four copies." He held up the Nicholas Sparks books. "I'll tuck these three behind the counter and put this one on hold for you so no one can check it out."

She took the book in her hand, no coincidence in Westin's choice for this quote. He was returning things to exactly where they'd first begun. "Thank you, Wyatt." She hugged him, then carefully opened the ziplock bag and pulled out the pink paper, laying it between the pages. She watched her brother turn his head in an effort to take a breath that wasn't consumed with perfume. "Don't say a word," she commanded, avoiding eye contact as she kissed the book for luck, placing it back on the shelf.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered. "You headed to the Brew House?"

"Yep," she gave him a wave over her shoulder as she headed for the exit. Her brother knew her routine, but was he the only one?

She was digging into her bag, searching for her sunglasses when she ran into someone. A loud _pop_ sound filled the library, wood hitting wood, then strong hands grabbed her upper arms. At first she thought it was to steady her, but she was wrong.

A cane with a unique mermaid handle lay on the ground. "Sorry," she choked out, looking at the man that was only a few years older than her. When he'd regained his footing, she reached down, retrieving his cane for him. "I was busy searching for my sunglasses," she muttered.

"Probably my fault," he commented holding up the cane in thanks. "My balance has seen better days." He smiled at her, showing perfect white teeth, his black hair falling into his face. He pushed it back with his free hand before pointing at her. "They're on your head." He gestured.

"What?" She couldn't stop looking at his eyes. They were almost as dark as his hair.

"Sunglasses?" His smile went high on one side, making her blush at her incompetence.

"Oh. Right. Thanks." She positioned them on her face and headed for the exit trying to brush off her silly moment.

It was a short walk around the square to the Brew House, the coffee place owned by her best friend, Allie. She pulled out the blue note, reading as she walked.

I often wonder if your quotes are just quotes or if they capture your heart. I refuse to make assumptions. Something tells me, when we meet, I'll know. And while you may or may not be writing in code, let me assure you I am not. I've liked our friendly exchanges, but have enjoyed moments when our exchanges became flirtatious. I'm anxious to make those moments our reality.

Thank you for sharing parts of your life with me. While we've never included our identity, I feel you've held nothing back. You've been genuine and real, sharing your quirks. (What color paper will you place this note on?) I won't take that for granted, I won't take you for granted, assuming you ever give me the chance.

" _I am nothing special, just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life."_

I'm ready to meet you, when you are.

-Westin

She read it again thinking back to the beginning, how she stumbled upon her mystery Marine. It began with Shelby, Wyatt's eight-year-old daughter. Early in the summer, Josie and Shelby joined the library for story time. While perusing the shelves she came across the Nicholas Sparks book, The Notebook. Having seen the movie, and not at all interested in the children's story time, she began to read the book each time they came. Wyatt would kill her if she turned down a corner to hold her spot. Instead she tucked the queen of hearts between the pages.

On the third story time, her card had been changed to the king of diamonds and it had a message:

Are you reading my book? Or am I reading yours? Want to keep going? Find my next note among this quote: "You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how."

She'd seen _Gone with the Wind_ , but hadn't remembered that particular part. Thankfully Google knew. Finding the nonfiction section, she quickly found his first letter.

He'd told her the basics. Male, age 34, single, no children. Once a Marine. She found it humorous his first letter was among _Gone with the Wind_ , but he'd claimed someone said he looked like Rhett Butler. Plus, he enjoyed books which had been made into movies. That had been the trend she'd kept to, going back and forth as they shared a little bit more about themselves each time. They had been exchanging letters multiple times a week, all hidden throughout the library.

She tucked her latest gem into her pocket as she arrived at the Brew House. She opened the door, quickly finding many patrons had fluttered here for the free air conditioning and wi-fi, but Josie never understood drinking coffee when it was over 100 degrees outside.

When she approached the counter, Allie was busy with a customer. Josie waved her blue paper making her best friend smile. Allie reached below the register pulling out the small tackle box, placing it on the counter. The customer gave Josie a strange look when she squealed.

She took the box and found a booth to spread out. Carefully she pulled the scrapbook from her bag, opening it to the back, preparing to paste in his final letter. She selected a piece of patriotic paper, quite fitting for her Marine. She was busy cutting it to size when Allie joined her, curiosity evident. Without words, Josie pushed the blue paper towards her friend.

She opened the tackle box, carefully laying out her double-sided tape, her regular scissors plus the ones that made designs. She used a ruler, meticulously marking the center of the page where the final letter would rest before being tucked back into the protective clear sleeve. With caution she plucked the blue paper from her friend's hand and picked up her fancy scissors, trimming the edges.

"His name is Westin?" Allie spoke softly. "I'll grab some yearbooks," her best friend proclaimed.

"Not necessary," she said, opening another section of the tackle box, dumping the contents onto the table. She spread out the different sized embellishments, all the letter W. She began positioning them around the paper, deciding which to use.

"You can't tell me you're not curious," Allie claimed. "You've been here almost daily for the past six weeks, scrapbooking the communication between you two. You don't want to know who he is?"

"I have a name," she said calmly. "And hopefully I'll get to meet him tonight."

"Impressive," Allie muttered.

"Besides, he's not from Dew Drop. He won't be in the yearbook."

"Now that makes more sense," Allie said.

***

Westin watched her leave the library. He already knew who she was. Had known since the first time she picked up that book and started reading during children's story time. It was coincidence that he'd been there that particular day. He'd been enamored with her then, even more as they continued to exchange letters. Today, he was laying it all out there, telling her he wanted to meet. Would she say yes?

He wasted no time finding the small shelf below the window where he knew the Nicholas Sparks book was located. But it was missing. There were four copies, surely not every single one had been checked out, she was just here and all four copies had been here yesterday.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the circulation desk where two individuals sat, each behind their own computer. He managed to avoid the eye of the male, gaining help from the female. She smiled brightly, obviously willing to help.

"I'm looking for a copy of the _The Notebook_ ," he was practically whispering, then added wistfully, "for my sister."

She smiled typing into her computer. "Strange," she said, echoing his thoughts. "Three were just checked out and the last was pulled and put on hold by--" She turned facing the man behind the counter. "Wyatt? How is it that Josie checked out three copies of this book and put a fourth on hold?"

Confusion swam through him at the mention of her name. _Josie._ The man behind the counter turned, pinning him with his eyes, sizing him up briefly before looking back at woman. "I've got this one Claira."

Leaning on his cane, Westin watched him pick up a book, then gesture towards the reference section, which was absent of patrons. He held out the book for Westin. Throwing all caution to the wind, Westin reached for it, only to have it jerked back from his hand. "She's my sister," the man claimed. "What are your intentions?"

This just got interesting. He stuck out his hand. "Westin Marks."

"Wyatt Kincaid," the other man replied, shaking his hand once before holding up the book between them. "Intentions?"

"You should be more impressed that I've been appropriately courting her for six weeks." Westin paused, taking in his name tag, seeing that he was the librarian. "But perhaps you've already read our correspondence."

Wyatt shook his head. "A few quotes, maybe. She's not really a reader at heart."

"I didn't assume she was since all of her quotes came from movies." Westin held out his hand for the book. "My fate, if you don't mind?"

"She says you're a Marine," Wyatt said, handing it over.

He nodded. "Honorable Discharge. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Bum knee ended things a little early for me," Westin explained as he thumbed through the book. He pulled out the pink paper already smelling that she'd sprayed it with perfume. It made him smile, she was trying to share another part of herself with him. She held nothing back, was genuine. Insightful. Beautiful.

"What do you do now?"

As friendly as it was, Westin was ready to end this interrogation. "I'm part of the Wounded Warrior project for Dew Drop." He watched a smile cross Wyatt's face. "Moved here two months ago." He'd gained the brother's approval.

"She's at the Brew House, probably engrossed in--"

"Scrapbooking?" Westin interrupted.

Surprise covered the brother's face. "Good luck," Wyatt offered. "And when she decides to introduce us, I won't pretend to know you."

Westin waved goodbye, not at all interested in keeping secrets. He turned towards the exit, pausing to open the pink paper. He inhaled deeply, knowing she'd smell good. The perfect balance of aromas, not too sweet, not too spicy. He read her response, anxious for fireworks and face-to-face first meetings, thankful to be kicking off his weekend the right way.

Once he was home, he texted her _. At the southeast corner of the lake, the running trail goes into the woods. I'll be by the red yucca plant, twenty minutes before they begin. ~Westin_

To his complete surprise, she wasted no time responding. _I run that every morning. I'll be there. ~Josie_

***

He lived close to the section of the lake where they were to meet. He parked his truck there to secure the best view for the fireworks; then he walked home.

Now he waited, anxious, the sun completely gone. The park lights would go next, setting the perfect scene.

He leaned against the tree, still ten minutes to go before her arrival. Then another fifteen before he'd assumed she stood him up. He thumbed through apps on his phone, wishing for something better to do to kill time.

"Westin?"

He turned to face her. She was early.

"Hi." He said the first thing that came to his mind.

She smiled. "It's you," she said joining him. She had her large handbag over one shoulder, holding it with both hands, a buffer between them perhaps.

It was a little odd, their first meeting. "I'm parked in the lot." He gestured in the general direction. "I saved us a spot."

"Oh. Okay, thanks," she said, turning to walk with him.

"I met your brother today," he blurted, frustrated with his conversation material.

"I wish I could say I'm surprised. I had to tell Wyatt about you a few letters ago when I couldn't figure out one of your quotes. I'm actually impressed that he waited until today to interrogate you."

"I think if it's up to him, you'd never know that he did."

She shrugged, not bothered by her brother's actions.

"This is me," he said, putting a hand on the back of the black pickup truck. Two chairs sat at the end. He gestured her towards one while he reached into the back of the truck. "I brought you something," he said, retrieving a small box.

"I brought you something too, but I'm not sure I want to give it to you." It was the first time she ever looked shy.

"Interesting," he said, sitting next to her. "What if you go first?" He pushed his box towards her suddenly nervous for them both. Curious.

"Thank you for wrapping it," she said softly. "Wyatt just leaves it in the shopping bag."

Westin laughed at her honesty, thankful he took the extra time. "I didn't exactly buy this."

"Mysterious," she commented, trying to open the box. "You taped all the sides?" She looked up at him helpless as she shook the box.

"I'm efficient," he said, pulling out a pocket knife and handing it to her, handle first. He watched her cut open each side before trying to close the pocket knife. It took her a few tries before she found the release, handing it back to him.

"Thank you." She placed a hand over his, shaking her head. "Not for the pocket knife, but for whatever's in this box."

"Josie," he whispered, taking her hand and kissing her palm. "The last six weeks have been some of the best in my life. I can't explain it but you, your sweet nature, your carefree spirit, your letters made me long for the next day and the next. You came along at a time when I thought life wasn't really worth living anymore." Had he said too much?

"Westin." She leaned towards him, kissing him right on the mouth. It startled him; wasn't he supposed to make the first move? "Maybe you should go first after all." She opened her bag, pulling out a wrapped box.

Reluctantly he released her hand, taking the gift and unwrapping it. He paused before opening the box. "I think this is the first time a woman has ever bought me a gift."

"Hopefully not the last," she said, moving closer.

Did she know she was moving closer? "Perhaps at the same?" He gestured towards her box. She nodded and counted to three, then opened her box. He watched her face as she realized the contents.

"You saved my letters?" She seemed stunned.

"I thought you'd want to add them to your scrapbook."

"I do," she exclaimed, blinking rapidly as if trying to hide back tears. "You cheated," she said pointing to his unopened box.

"I didn't want to miss your reaction." She blushed at his words.

"Well, now it's my turn." She put both fists at her chin, focusing on him, on his face.

God, she was gorgeous and real, completely herself. He popped off the lid, pulling out a thick journal. He must have looked confused because she gestured for him to open it. Inside, she had written him a letter.

"I was thinking," she said and moved his arm around her shoulder, snuggling into his side. "Just because we've met doesn't mean we should stop writing each other."

Was it too soon to call this love? The woman knew exactly what he needed. "I couldn't agree more," he said, pulling her closer as the first firework shot into the sky. "Hey, Josie?"

"Yes, Westin?"

"I'd very much like to take you to the Iced Tea Festival next year."

"I'd very much like that," she said, looking up at him.

He cupped her cheek, bringing their lips together briefly once, twice, three times before kissing her forehead and leaning back to watch the fireworks. "Best. Iced Tea Festival. Ever."

"At least until next year," she whispered.

The End

About Gena

After collaborating with a few different authors, Gena Ellington decided to bring her own ideas to life. She has finished a few books but this is her first venture outside her circle of friends. Texas is home to her and her husband. She prefers Pandora over television, Netflix over movie theaters, and outdoor hiking over the treadmill. An avid reader, she has a love for the smell of old books especially over a cup of coffee at her local coffee shop which has just the right din of ambient noise for an hour or a hundred pages, whichever comes first.

# A Bid For Love

## By Jen FitzGerald

Dedication

To my fellow (the BBC's) Robin Hood fan girls.

I love that even after all these years,

we're still hanging out online.

A Bid For Love

Mateo approaches the Dew Drop Public Library building—a former Victorian mansion—and pulls open the door. Wyatt Kincaid is forehead to forehead with his daughter, Shelby, and Mateo's heart sputters at the sight. He'd give anything to have what they have...or, better still, be a part of it.

Shelby spots him, grin spreading across her face.

Wyatt looks over, smiling as well, and Mateo's heart stalls completely. Wyatt likes him, Mateo knows he does. Mateo likes Wyatt in return. Sparks have flown between them for most of a year.

"Mr. Mateo," she calls, racing toward him, her honey blonde pigtails bouncing. " _¿Cómo estás?_ "

Wyatt's never agreed to Mateo's invitations for coffee, dinner, or a movie, worried that Shelby would be bullied for having a gay dad. Mateo can't blame him. He doesn't want that for Shelby either. He sighs. Perhaps it's just as well. He lives an hour and half away.

" _Bien, ¿y tú?_ " he says, accepting Shelby's hug. " _¿Cómo es su verano?_ "

" _Mi verano está..._ " She thinks with one eye squinting before she says, "is almost over."

Mateo chuckles and heads for Wyatt. " _El verano está a punto de terminar. ¿Cuándo comienza la escuela?_ " He reaches the circulation desk and slides the cartons of books off the dolly and hands Wyatt the scanner, which he dutifully signs. They've done this every Tuesday for two years. Mateo slides another couple of cartons of books back on the dolly to exchange with the larger system that Dew Drop's library is a part of.

" _La escuala_ starts in two weeks."

Mateo laughs. He's been teaching her a bit of Spanish over the last year, since she started coming to the library with her dad last summer. "Are you ready for school to start?"

She nods and then her face lights up. " _Oh!_ Guess what?"

"What, rubiecita?"

"Daddy's gonna be auctioned."

A charming flush of color stains Wyatt's handsome face when Mateo looks his direction.

"Auctioned?" Mateo asks dutifully.

"During the Iced Tea Festival to raise money for the school," Wyatt says. "Half a dozen city officials are being auctioned off as dinner partners. The City Council thinks I'm attractive enough to be included. Since it's for the school," he tugs one of Shelby's lopsided ponytails, "I agreed."

"And so you are, hermoso."

Mateo never thought he had a type before, but Wyatt's slim, muscular build, as well as his green eyes and not-quite-blond/not-quite-brown mop of loose curls might be it. Wyatt's beautiful, inside and out.

"I'll see you next Tuesday," he says with a wave, wheeling the dolly toward the door.

He's almost to his truck when Shelby's voice stops him.

"Mr. Mateo, wait. You forgot your machine thingy," she says, holding his scanner toward him.

"That would have been bad. _Muchas gracias._ "

"De nada." She's silent for a beat. "Mr. Mateo?"

Her tone is serious and concern turns his lunch into rocks.

"What's the matter, Shelby?" He kneels down.

"Will you come and bid on Daddy? On Friday?" She digs in her pocket and holds out some cash.

He's so surprised that he takes it, realizing there's close to fifty dollars in his hand.

"Is this your money?"

She nods. "I saved it from my allowance and doing chores for Mrs. Nita next door."

"Why're you giving it to me?"

"I see how you and Daddy look at each other. Like the way my best friend Bethany looks at Roger Scott. And I just thought..." She sighs.

"The auction?" he asks.

She nods again.

The generosity of spirit of this little girl takes his breath away. She apparently has no qualms about her dad seeing another man. The very real possibility of Shelby being bullied if he does has kept Wyatt declining Mateo's invitations.

If Shelby has no issues, then Mateo will make one last big gesture and see what happens.

"Keep your money." He hands it back to her. "I have my own money. I'll see you Friday, all right?"

"Really?" Her smile is as blinding as the sun, and he feels just as warm under her happiness.

"Really. But it's a secret, so you can't be smiling so big. Now get back inside before your dad comes out here, wondering what's taking so long."

***

Mateo arrives in Dew Drop mid-afternoon Friday. The streets aren't full yet, but they're going to be within a few hours. The open tent for the supper auction, both picnic baskets and dinner partners, is on the school grounds. Makes sense if all the funds go to the school.

Mateo hovers at the periphery of the tent shortly before five. There's a good-sized crowd and he hopes every last picnic supper will earn a decent amount of money. He likes that every bid goes to the school anyway, with the highest bid earning the meal. Whatever he doesn't spend directly on Wyatt's company, he'll donate to the school. His mother volunteered at every level even when she could barely speak or understand English, always lamenting the lack of funding.

Wyatt's sitting on a stool, lined up with one other man and four very pretty women. A charcoal grey fedora is perched on his wheat-colored head; the yellow and purple plaid of the band around the crown picks up the plaid of the waistcoat he's wearing. The long sleeves of his white button-down are rolled halfway up his forearms.

Mateo's never seen this side of him, but he likes it. A lot.

Wyatt's chatting with the woman next to him as he scans the crowd. His eyes round to the size of sand dollars and his jaw actually drops when he spots Mateo.

Mateo lifts a hand in greeting. Wyatt swallows and nods. Mateo can't tell what that means though. After all of Wyatt's gentle rejections, Mateo wasn't expecting him to have heart eyes or anything, but a smile would have been nice.

Mateo winces. Well, shoot. Maybe no one knows he's gay. Mateo should have considered that, but since Shelby knows, he thought...well, he thought it was common knowledge. But maybe that's not the case. His heart sinks. Now what?

He racks his brain for an explanation and comes up with one in short order. He wants to support Shelby's school, and Wyatt's the only person being auctioned off he really knows. Plus, Wyatt's well-read, and Mateo has often wanted to have a conversation longer than the couple of minutes it takes him to drop off and pick up the books each week. Yeah. That works. All those things are true, even if they're not the real reason he's here.

The emcee says hello just then and the proceedings begin. When all is said and done, the school has raised close to $2500, which includes the $115 it cost Mateo to win Wyatt's company.

"Wow...I hope I'm worth whatever you paid," Wyatt says, approaching Mateo.

"I have no doubts. So..." Mateo shoves his fingers in his pockets, feeling nervous now that he's alone with Wyatt, relatively speaking. "...what would you like to do?"

Wyatt shrugs and smiles. "You drove a long way and paid a premium for my companionship. What do _you_ want to do?"

They're surrounded by a lot of people so Mateo keeps his less innocent thoughts to himself, but says, "I understand your reasons for not accepting my offers. Protecting your daughter is your job. Shelby is beautiful and smart, but stronger and more observant than you think."

Wyatt's eyebrows go up, but he says nothing.

"But I like you and you like me, and I want just one evening, Wyatt. Tell anyone who asks, I did it for the school."

He nods. "Okay."

"Okay?" Mateo can't help his smile. "So where to?"

"Food. I'm starving. Shelby's working with Bethany and her mom at the Frito Pie booth. She'll be disappointed if you don't say hello."

"Frito Pie it is."

On the short walk, Mateo asks Wyatt why he became a librarian. It turns out that the library had been his haven as a child; he'd loved books and learning, and the librarian at his local library growing up had nurtured him in more ways than one.

"Mrs. Landry will never know what she did for me," says Wyatt as they approach the Frito Pie tent. "I just wanted to be like her."

"Mr. Mateo, you came," hollers Shelby. She tosses a small bag of Fritos at the teenager in front of her, scampers out of the booth, and launches herself at him.

She looks from one man to the other. "Did you bid on my dad?" she asks.

Mateo thinks he sees a smirk playing around her lips, but he can't know for certain.

"You won?"

"I won. I was able to help out your school and I get the chance to ask your dad all the questions I've been saving up since I started delivering the books to the library." There... Bethany's mom had sported a look he couldn't decipher; his explanation elicited a nod and small smile.

"That's so cool. My dad knows a lot of stuff."

"I know. I can't wait to pick his brain. Do you think we could get some Frito Pie, though?"

" _Oh._ Yeah. Bethany's mom makes the best chili."

"Hey," says Wyatt, mock hurt.

Shelby rolls her eyes. "Dad, your chili comes from a can." She dashes back into the tent and sets out the cardboard bowls. Bethany's mom dutifully ladles thick rich chili into them.

Mateo hands a five-dollar bill to the little red-haired girl who must be Bethany for all that she's the spitting image of 'Bethany's mom.' "Keep the change."

She squeaks out a "thanks," her face turning pink, and slides the bill into a money box.

"We'll call you before we head out," says Bethany's mom to Wyatt.

"Sounds good. Thanks so much for keeping her." Wyatt's eyes get big. "Where are my manners? I'm so sorry." He looks from Mateo to Bethany's mom. "Felicia, this is Mateo. He's the NatEx delivery guy. Mateo, this is Felicia, the mayor's executive assistant, and apparently the best chili maker in Dew Drop."

They exchange pleasantries and then Wyatt excuses them since customers are lining up for Frito Pie. They stop for ice cold sweet teas—it is the Sweet Tea Festival, after all, and it's still ninety degrees in the shade even though the sun has almost reached the tree-line and there's more shade than not.

They find a picnic table and sit side-by-side, eating and chatting. Mateo really does have a lot of questions, and he asks them. After they're done eating, they walk the streets of Dew Drop, talking and laughing easily, looking at the various booths.

The desire to hold Wyatt's hand is strong, but Mateo knows he can't cross that line. Wyatt wouldn't appreciate the public display in the least. All it would do is provide fodder for anyone who doesn't approve. Mateo won't do that to Wyatt or to Shelby.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Mateo asks.

They're strolling down a wide side road lined with livestock. The scent of beast and manure reminds Mateo fondly of his summers at his _tío's_ farm.

Wyatt gives him a sidelong look, but nods.

"When did you know?"

"Know what?"

Mateo raises a brow.

"Ah. In college. I was in denial for years. Until one day I just," Wyatt shrugs, "couldn't anymore. I found a gay bar across town from school and, after a couple of experiences, there was no denying it any longer."

"What about Shelby?"

Wyatt smiles. "Laurel was about five months pregnant at the time of my revelation. She didn't want to get married any more than I did, so we agreed on child support and went our separate ways. Shelby was four when her mother was killed by a drunk driver. Thankfully, Shelby had been with her grandparents. They didn't want to raise another child, though, so I became a fulltime, hands on dad. The first year was tough, but we figured it out. She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"She's smart and beautiful, just like her dad," Mateo says. "I've enjoyed getting to know her."

Wyatt stops, nudges Mateo's shoulder. "Mateo, look...I like you. A lot, if we're being honest, but I don't want Shelby to suffer because of me. I took a lot of shit as a kid for stuff that wasn't my fault, and I can't do that to her."

"I know, Wyatt. I know. I can't fault you for it. I took a fair amount of bullying just because of the color of my skin, and I was American-born. So I get it. I just wish it could be different."

They stare at each for a long time, attraction arcing between them.

Wyatt's phone jingles and Mateo lets out a disappointed breath.

Wyatt looks at the screen and accepts the call. "Hey, sweetheart. You guys heading back to Bethany's house? You waiting at the same place? Okay. I'll be there in ten minutes or so. Love you."

"I have to go..."

They've spent more than two hours together and it's been better than Mateo could have imagined. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. Now he knows what he's missing.

"I'll walk with you and then head out."

"Where'd you park?" Wyatt asks.

"Up at the school."

"That's a trek from here."

Mateo nods, knows this is it. Once they part ways, they can never be more than casual acquaintances.

There's a large pick-up with a horse trailer hitched to it and no one seems to be around. He grabs Wyatt's hand and pulls him around to the other side of the vehicle.

"What—"

Mateo cups his face with both hands and quiets him with a kiss. Wyatt melts into him with a slow slide of lips. His hands clutch the sides of Mateo's polo shirt. Mateo's heart thrums like hummingbird's wings.

The kiss ends slowly. Wyatt's smoky lashes flutter as he opens his eyes. He swallows. "Um. Yeah. Thanks for tonight. I have to go."

He scuttles back around the trailer and a horse snorts from inside, unimpressed.

Mateo bangs his head against the still-warm metal. He just ruined everything. His next book delivery is going to be so awkward.

***

Wyatt all but runs to meet Shelby, Felicia, and Bethany. The pounding in his chest is not from his pace, but from that kiss. He touches a finger to his still-slick lips. It was everything he'd imagined a kiss with Mateo would be like, and he's imagined kissing him way too often. But Shelby's well-being is of the highest priority; it always has been. Wyatt's wants and needs must take a backseat until she's older. How old, he's not sure. High school...college...marriage. He'll know when the time comes.

"Daddy," she exclaims from half a block away. The sight of his precious daughter fills him with light as it always does. If that light doesn't reach a few fissures in the deepest darkest parts of him, that's okay. He'll live with it.

Shelby runs to him, and he kneels down to sweep her into his arms and hug her too tightly. "I love you, baby girl."

"Are you and Mateo boyfriends now?" she asks, pulling back and looking at him with eyes much too green and bright and expectant.

He coughs in surprise. "What? No. Why would you ask that?" He sets her down.

Her hands ball into fists and settle on her ten-year-old hips. "Because you like each other and you're grownups, duh." She rolls her eyes for good measure.

"Listen, Shelby, Mateo and I can't be boyfriends."

A wrinkle appears on her forehead beneath the wisps of hair that have come loose from her pigtails. "Why not? I know you like each other."

"It's not that simple, honey. Not everyone thinks it's okay for men to like each other that way. I don't want people to pick on you or say mean things to you because of me. I'm your dad; it's my job to take care of you and keep you safe."

" _Pfft_ ," she says. "Sticks and stones, Dad."

"It really could be worse than sticks and stones, Shelby, you know that." They've watched enough TV shows for her to understand. "If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself."

"The time is always right to do what is right," she says, quoting Martin Luther King, Junior at him.

His mouth falls open.

"Isn't that what you always tell me?"

"Yes, when you can't decide between telling the truth and telling a lie or when you're supposed to right a wrong you've done. How is me agreeing to be boyfriends with Mateo doing what's right?"

"Because doing what's right also means standing up for what's right, doesn't it? You always tell me to stick up for other people when it's the right thing to do."

Wyatt sighs. Who is this little lioness he's raised? "You're right. I do. But I still don't—"

She huffs. "I'm sticking up for you, Daddy, because you deserve someone to like you and care about you and make you laugh, and Mr. Mateo does too. You think that what people _might_ say about you is going to hurt me. Maybe it will, but it won't matter, because we've got each other, just like always, and we'll have Mr. Mateo, too.

"Will I still have to call him mister if you're boyfriends?"

Wyatt can't help it. He laughs. He picks her up and whirls her around. She's used his own logic against him. And if he's perfectly honest, turning down Mateo's invitations time after time has been the hardest thing he's had to do in a long time. The man is kind and generous, sweet, and terribly sexy. All that muscle and bronzed skin. Dark eyes a guy could lose himself in. He clears his throat. He definitely shouldn't be thinking along those lines at the moment.

Wyatt's certain they're going to face some haters, but Shelby—and Dr. King—are both correct. It's time to do what's right.

"Okay, you win. I'll go find Mateo, and you enjoy your sleepover with Bethany. I'll see you tomorrow."

***

Wyatt jogs toward the school. A John Philips Sousa march fills the air as the marching band plays its way back to the band hall. He has no idea what kind of car Mateo drives, so he has to stare through the windshield of every car he passes. Thankfully there are still so many pedestrians that cars have to go super slow and there are only a few streets they can actually drive on.

He reaches the school and curses when he finds only a handful of cars left, including his own. He recognizes two others. He's missed Mateo, which really isn't so surprising. But still. He wants to stomp his foot the way Shelby had done as a four-year-old. Instead, he slumps against the hood of his car, hands shoved in his armpits, to sulk before he heads home to an empty house.

It's not quite dark on the western horizon, but all traces of daylight will be gone in a few minutes.

A lone figure makes its way up the hill and an awareness bursts in Wyatt's brain like a flashbulb. Mateo. After two years of watching the man walk up to the library building, he'd recognize those shoulders and that gait anywhere.

Wyatt'd been so hell bent on finding Mateo that he'd given no thought on what to say if and when he did find him. It comes to him in a bubble of inspiration.

"Hey, there."

Mateo's head flies up and he halts. "Wyatt? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, actually. A certain little matchmaker seems to think we should be boyfriends." He closes the distance between them, and a sudden flash of realization hits him. "She put you up to this, didn't she?"

Wyatt remembers Shelby running Mateo's signature machine out to him and the trip taking longer than it should have. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, knowing their propensity for impromptu Spanish lessons.

"It's nothing I didn't want to do anyway, but yes. She's noticed that we look at each other the way 'Bethany looks at Roger Scott.'" Mateo shrugs one bulky shoulder. "So I agreed to try one more time."

Wyatt nods, chuckles. "Well, she gave me what for, for not asking you to be my boyfriend. So, Mateo Perales," he tugs some cash from his pocket and holds it up, "I'll double what you paid for my company if you'll go steady with me."

"Sold for two hundred thirty dollars."

"Oh my God, is that what you forked over just to get rejected?" Wyatt is aghast. Heat washes up his face. "I'm so sorry."

Mateo's grinning widely now, teeth bright in the darkness. "Nonsense, hermoso. Shelby's education is worth every penny. That kiss was worth twice as much."

The End

About Jen

Jen FitzGerald has loved romance since her Winnie-the-Pooh days. Christopher Robin and Winnie-the-Pooh have always been platonic soulmates. As a teen, Jen cut her romance teeth on Silhouette's teen romance line and Danielle Steele books concurrently. She's still an avid reader, but these days, Jen has added writing romances of her own to her list of fun things to do.

Jen lives in Fort Worth, Texas, with her husband and dog. Their three children are now adults and out terrorizing the world at large instead of them. When not working her day job, Jen spends a lot of time reading, writing, watching sports, and perusing her social media platforms of preference. She also enjoys music, cross stitching, and chatting online with writer friends.

# Warrior

## By Fenley Grant

Dedication

To Todd, Brian, and Nicole. You are my heart. Thank you for your support and your ability to keep our world going when I'm under a deadline.

To my parents, John and Nicki, thank you for instilling my love of the written word.

To my mother-in-law, Linda, bless you for your complete faith in me.

And to my fabulous critique partners and friends, Robin Lynn, Amanda Byrd, Susan Person Miller, Kim Miller, Angi Morgan, Jen Geigle Johnson, Jennifer Looft, Stacy Wells, and Nuha Said, I love you for your time, patience, and expertise. Couldn't imagine writing without you.

Warrior

ONE

Condensation dripped from the bottle. I pressed the slick surface to my neck, then rolled it across my forehead. _Bliss._ Who needed to drink the contents to cool off, when you could use the glass itself?

My left leg ached. Again. I shifted on the stool, leaning my chest against the worn, wooden countertop to take some of the pressure off my painful limb.

The Iced Tea Festival's noises blared every time the bar's door opened. I needed decent air conditioning and fewer people and a moment of quiet.

A prayer for less heat, too, went out to the cosmos.

Dew Drop, Texas' humidity saturated the air like a steamy downpour and my prayers, as usual, went unanswered. Wet heat surrounded me. Cloying. Ominous.

Like the man who entered the bar.

He strode in like a storm, sweat dampening his dark hair where it curled at his neck, t-shirt slicked to his muscled form, his eyes ebony, fathomless pits. A momentary urge to bow my head snaked through my spine, but I squelched it and raised my chin. Army MPs bow to no one.

Even when they're former MPs.

The man scanned the semi-crowded room. Couldn't be looking for me. I didn't know him, told myself I wouldn't want to know him. Yet something about him called to the primal part of me.

Adrenaline coursed when we locked eyes.

The 'fight' response multiplied tenfold when he halted in front of me. I stepped off my stool to meet him head-on.

Large hands gripped my upper arms. "Why are you here?"

His height forced me to look up, no mean feat, that, and my sharp, witty retort died in my throat when I met his gaze. Pain and anger resided there...and he somehow believed me the cause. A soft oh escaped my lips.

I balled up my brain's woolgathering. "You have me confused with someone else, sir."

"Damn you, Katrina," he growled, his head lowering to mine. He took my lips, the kiss carnal, decadent, and I surrendered to the assault. Heat. Man. _It's been so long._ I fed on the firestorm of his attack, my sanity spellbound, until reality intruded. I shoved him hard enough to give me some breathing room and time to think.

How did this man know my name? And why did he smell like home?

Home. Pack. I wanted to smack my forehead with my palm. A stupid werewolf. "Which pack do you belong to?" I hissed under my breath.

A man from the table behind me rose and hitched up his jeans. He wore a MC club jacket and a frown. His stance telegraphed 'former military'.

_Time to head off this cluster._ I raised a palm in a 'stop' motion. "It's okay, he's a friend of mine from a long time ago. He surprised me, that's all."

"You're sure, ma'am?" Lines creased around my would-be-savior's eyes as he gave Tall, Dark, and Wolfy the once-over.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for the offer. I've got this." _I hoped._

My knight in shining leather walked back to his seat, never taking his eyes off me or this stranger.

"We need to talk," my companion murmured.

"Apparently. Any location in mind?"

"Spotted a little diner near here. Tea Cup or something."

I tried to picture this man in a place with the words "Tea Cup" in the title, which brought on a snicker. "Let's go."

When he tried to grasp my arm, I pulled away. "Whoa, cowboy. No touching."

His growl made me smile.

"One of the many topics to settle, Katrina. Let's save the verbals for the diner."

We walked in silence, my leg protesting the entire journey. I promised myself pie after this ordeal. Pie and an ice pack.

Air conditioning welcomed us as we entered the diner. While we waited for the bus boy to clean up a booth, I noticed a sign above the dessert case. It read, 'Pie Fixes Everything'. My lips twitched at the idea. Vinyl squeaked as I slid into the newly-cleaned booth's corner and made sure I claimed the side with the best view of the restaurant.

My companion had the balls to slide in beside me and budge me over.

"Hey, personal space." I pointed to the opposite seat. "Be a good dog. Sit there."

With a smirk, he shoved me even farther into the wall. The only thing saving his sorry butt was the cute waitress approaching the table.

"Y'all ready to order?" She glanced between the two of us. "Or should I come back?"

The rumble of my stomach answered for me. "I'll have the double cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. And a piece of cherry pie."

My companion glanced over, did a head-to-waist body scan of me. His eyes narrowed.

Jerk. Don't approve of my eating habits or my size? Don't look.

He grunted and said, "I'll have the same, ma'am, but with two cheeseburgers, please."

Well, at least he was polite to her.

Once our waitress walked away, I launched. "Who are you and what gives you the right to assault me in a public place?"

His laugh did not earn him points. "Don't think the sheriff's going to arrest me for sitting next to you, Katrina."

"I refer to the kiss-assault in the bar."

"Well, he's not going to arrest me for that, either. Probably applaud me." He leveled the full weight of his stare on me. "You grew up to be a fine woman."

_Well, crap. An Alpha._ "And how do we know each other?"

His arm went around my shoulder, effectively caging me into the booth's corner.

My turn to growl.

His lips turned up and he bent to murmur in my ear, "Because I'm Hunter Jackson and you're my fiancée."

TWO

"Who sent you? Dad?" The words gritted out through my teeth.

"Your brother."

The man needed to stop talking in my ear. I liked the effect a little too much for comfort. "Look, Mr. Jackson, about that..."

"Hunter. And there's nothing to say about the engagement."

I tried to throw my hands up within the small amount of space he'd allotted me. "Our packs drafted the contract when I was two. In this country, who arranges a marriage for someone when she's _two_? Never even met you."

"You did, when we were small. We're getting reacquainted now."

"Notice I'm not swooning in your presence." I straightened my spine to the point it cracked. "Look, I'm twenty-nine, so you have to be at least thirty-four. Are you so desperate for a wife you're calling in pack politics from ages ago?"

The rumble started deep in his throat. "I'm the Alpha of the Central Texas Pack. Women have offered to kill to earn their place as my mate. I honor my commitments, even when they're made for me at the age of seven. Besides, you check all the necessary Alpha's mate boxes: Alpha, Attractive, Available."

I widened my eyes, fluttered my lashes. "I check all the boxes? I've never heard anything so romantic. Catch me if I faint." I threw a dramatic hand up to my forehead.

Lips widened over white teeth in a spectacular grin. No tact, but I'd give him handsome.

Our waitress chose this moment to slide my plate over to me. The scent of grilled beef wafted and I ignored the man plastered to my side to savor the moment, before I lost control and tore into the burger in true carnivore fashion.

I placed a napkin on my lap, organized my silverware, and took a sip of my shake. Heaven. The burger followed next and then the fries. I ignored Hunter Jackson's looming presence while I ate.

My seat mate broke the silence. "Does the entire North Texas Pack eat with such precision?"

"Unique to me. Training," I said with a shrug.

He leaned back in the seat, stretched his arms across the booth's upholstery. "Now we're getting somewhere. What kind of training did you get when you ran off and left me at the altar?"

I squinted at him. "Wouldn't call it 'leaving you at the altar'. I graduated from high school, my family and I had a difference of opinion on my life's path, Dad threatened to throw me out, and I found a career and left the family instead."

"Career."

"Best decision I ever made."

He bent the fork in his hand into a twisted, metallic mass. "Defying your Alpha, who also happens to be your father, forgetting your duty?"

My blood heated and I leveled him with my own Alpha stare. "Duty is something I understand quite well and performed with distinction. Never question my dedication." My leg decided to twinge at that moment and I couldn't stop my eyes from narrowing against the pain. I massaged my lower thigh.

Hunter stared at my fingers while they worked.

From the corner of my eye I could see the waitress hesitating near the lunch counter, a plate of cherry pie in each hand.

_Saved by pastry, fruit, and sugar._ "Pie's here." I waved our server over. "Détente until I eat dessert."

Hunter grunted in what I decided to call agreement.

"Best cherry pie in the state of Texas," the waitress chirped with false cheer. She placed our bill face down on the Formica surface. "Pay at the register whenever you're ready. Thanks, y'all." She paled when she saw the mangled remains of the fork, snatched up our cleaned-off plates from the table in record time, and bolted.

I'd never seen a woman move that fast. She sprinted through the kitchen door, her arms laden with dishes. I doubted we'd see her again.

"Rabbit." Hunter and I both muttered the word at the same time and then glanced at each other.

And cracked up.

"Congrats, Hunter. You managed to chase off our waitress. What if I wanted ice cream on my pie?"

He'd just shoved a bite in his mouth, so he held up a finger while he chewed and swallowed. "You don't put ice cream on cherry pie. Ice cream only goes with apple."

_Hmm._ I happened to agree with his statement, so I responded with nothing but a smirk.

We both turned to our plates. Tart-sweet cherries enveloped in sugary crust burst in my mouth with each chew. Whether the pie held the "Texas Best" title or not, it hit my top three list.

Hunter slid his dish back and turned to me, leaned in.

The urge to drop my gaze from an Alpha challenge almost undid me. But I held on.

"Your brother sent me here to talk to you."

"Yeah? What did Rand say we should discuss?"

"Said you'd be at the Iced Tea Festival. Said I should find you and demand some answers, because your story wasn't his to tell."

_Demand?_ My brother knew why I left home and what I'd done with my life since high school. Even gave me a tentative hint of approval. So why sick this man on me? Rand and I would have words. A rumble started low in my diaphragm. Time to leave this place before I did something I'd regret. "Move."

He licked his lower lip. "Make. Me."

My turn to lean in. "Pack rules. 'A pack member shall never divulge the nature of our wolf status to humanity'."

He once again leaned back against the seat. "You going to go wolf if I don't let you escape?"

"No, but you might get a little fangy, once I explain things. Let me out. I'll tell you why I left home. Then you leave me in peace."

Hunter tilted his head, looked up, his mouth flattening in a line.

_Why did his mouth have to look so good?_ The recollection of his one-of-a-kind kiss managed to burn itself into my memory.

He straightened, shoulders back, spine stiff. "You'll tell me what I want to know?"

"Yep. Short and sweet."

Vinyl squeaked once more as he exited the seat. Hunter rose to a stand, all tall, tan, and fine of him.

Best ease out before he changes his mind.

His slid his fingers in the pockets of his jeans in an attempt, I guessed, at nonchalance.

_Don't look at the man's jeans, Katrina._ I rummaged in my purse, pulled out a few bills, and left them on the table.

A frown marred his lips. "I'm good for the meal. Keep your money. Answers. Now."

I cocked a hip against the edge of the table and tried to ignore his commanding tone. "I joined the Army after high school. Worked my way up. Earned the money I needed to get my college degree."

The fingers came out of the pockets and dropped to his sides. _Bad sign._

"If you wanted to go to college, Katrina, you still could've married me. I would have let you go to college."

Blood heated in my veins. "Think about what you just said. _Let. Me._ "

" _Alphas allow_ , sweetheart. Alpha rule applies to everyone." His knuckle caressed my jawline. "Even pretty, fiery-haired mates."

Before he could register my move, I'd knocked his hand away from my face and grabbed his wrist. "And there's the reason I left, _sweetheart_." I pressed his wrist and forearm against his chest. "I'm not now, nor will I ever be, any man's brood bitch."

THREE

My shove hit him hard enough he lost his footing for a second.

Adrenaline surged, the flight response trying its best to kick in. Damn those inbred reactions to an Alpha's presence. _No running today._ I sidestepped left around Hunter. "Bye, now," I called over my shoulder. "Nice catching up with you."

A low chuckle rumbled and footsteps fell behind me in a leisurely gait.

_He's treating me like prey._ Well, I'd saved the coup de grâce. Once he learned why I attended this festival, he'd back out of our arrangement, head home, and find one of those fighting females ready to kill for him.

_So why did the idea of Hunter with another woman sting?_ I'd get what I wanted—no one planning my life but me. But the scent of him, of Pack, of werewolf and Alpha, set off a homesickness I'd tried to forget.

The military made a great stand-in for Pack, but couldn't replace home. Dad had a change of heart about my future, once Mom chewed him out and he witnessed what I did for my country. He and Mom begged me to return to the North Texas Pack, but, first, I needed to rediscover myself and figure out my future.

And Hunter and his people would never accept this me. After my last tour, I no longer qualified as mate material.

I made it out the door, the heat and humidity hitting me like a wall.

Saturday. Tonight, they'd crown the Festival King and Queen. I snorted. No crown for me or the man still stalking me.

"What's so funny and where are we headed?"

"Thought of something ridiculous and I'm heading back to the Dew Drop B&B. Tomorrow they hold the closing ceremonies. They're why I attended the Iced Tea Festival in the first place."

"Guest of honor, huh?"

This laugh held no humor. "No. Paying back. I owe support to a group of folks and I won't let them down."

He strode ahead to walk even with me, looped my arm in with his and clamped my hand against his side. "So you'll support a group of humans in their pursuits, but won't honor a pact made with your own kind?"

I wiggled my hand out from the crook of his arm and faced him. "Okay, let's get this out of the way. Privacy's preferable, but since you persist, let me spell things out for you. I entered the military to carve my own path, not follow in someone else's paw prints. I excelled. Received promotions. And did a lengthy tour in Afghanistan. Didn't come home the same person. I no longer meet the mate requirements you'd demand."

His face fell and his hands fisted. "You weren't, you weren't molested, were you?"

On the one hand, his concern could be seen as sweet. On the other, his stance could be viewed as sexist pig Alpha crap, an expectation I still be an untouched virgin. "No. I encountered an IED. Know what _that_ is?"

"Not an idiot, Katrina. Improvised explosive device."

I raised the leg of my jeans to showcase my titanium prosthetic. "I'm damaged, Hunter. My left leg is missing from just above the knee. This is true in both of my forms."

His brows drew down and his gaze stayed glued to my metal limb.

The scrutiny chafed and I dropped my pant leg. "So now you know. This Festival benefits the Wounded Warrior Project. WWP helped me reengage to civilian life. I, in turn, help other returning soldiers acclimate—my way of giving back. This weekend I'm here to support WWP when it receives its check at the closing ceremonies."

He stayed silent, staring at the ground.

Even though I expected the rebuff, his rejection raked my heart. My eyes started to tear up and I squeezed my lids tight. _Time to go._ "Interesting meeting you, Hunter. Good luck in the future." I turned toward the B&B.

"Appreciate you sharing your story. Time for me to head home, too. Goodnight, Katrina Stone."

The sound of his boots on the pavement broke the last of my resolve.

This time, I couldn't stop the tears.

FOUR

The heat and humidity hadn't improved from yesterday.

Sweat dripped down the back of my Wounded Warrior Project t-shirt. The heat, however, didn't account for all of the perspiration.

My leg was on display.

I rarely showed my soft underbelly to anyone, but, like I told the vets I worked with, you have to own who you are now. Still, I might as well have been naked up here on the stage.

Andrew Morton, WWP's local director, motioned me forward.

Sweat slicked my palms and bile churned in my gut. I took the mic, gripped it tight, and prayed to the Almighty my voice didn't crack. _You can do this, soldier._

"I'm Katrina Stone. Served in Afghanistan, Military Police, and encountered an IED during a recon assignment. Lost my left leg, just above the knee. Once state-side, the Army provided medical assistance and physical therapy, but I also needed help adjusting to my new reality. WWP connected me with others who'd experienced similar events, and these people helped me adapt. Now it's my turn to pay it forward." I handed Andrew the mic and stepped away.

When I allowed myself to look into the crowd, a now-familiar face stood out front. Hunter held a sign in his hands that read, 'Proud of you, Katrina.' My heart stuttered. _What did his sign mean for us?_ I gave a brief chin dip and prayed my lips didn't wobble.

From the back of the crowd, others began to hold up signs. 'Thank you for your service', 'We love our soldiers', 'Free because of the brave', sign after sign after sign.

I will not cry.

The wait for the WWP to receive its well-deserved check seemed never-ending. I walked off the stage, unsure of my reception.

Hunter met me, his dark eyes inscrutable. "Gonna tell you my story now."

"O-o-okay." I squinted up at him.

"I'm seven, and Dad dragged me to a meeting with your family, so I could observe pack politics. I'm bored. Then I see this little girl. Tiny thing, with blue eyes and flame-red hair. She's holding her own against a boy near my age."

"Rand. Is this the famous family fable where I punched my brother in his nethers?"

He chuckled. "Saw the whole thing. And that's when I knew. I told Dad you were the one for me. The rest is history."

_Sweet, but..._ "I was two, Hunter."

He shrugged. "Instinct proved me right—you're still the one for me. We can do things your way, take it slow." He flipped his previous sign. It now read, 'How about a date, Katrina?' When he whistled, the sign holders from the back of the crowd moved forward, threading their way through the throng to surround me.

Bodies pressed close, at least twenty-five by my count, but the masses cocooned me a non-threatening way. _Pack. Acceptance. Home._

"Katrina Stone, I present the senior members of the Central Texas Pack. Be honored to have you join us."

Air grew scarce. "You don't even know me."

Hunter chucked my chin with his finger. "Know what I need to know."

His eyes shadowed, a vulnerability shrouding their depths.

My heart triple-timed its beats. I swallowed and extended, I prayed, a non-sweaty hand. "Katrina Stone. Not sure where this is going or the best way to fix our rocky beginning, but I'll agree to a date."

He clasped my hand in his. "One date, huh? Well, I hear pie fixes everything. Happens I know a great little place..."

The End

About Fenley

Fenley Grant's always loved the written word. In her youth, books traveled with her on family adventures to various Army bases. North Texas is home these days, where she lives with her husband, two human children, and two furry dog kids. A perfect day includes writing, reading, family, friends, and sunshine. No snow. After a long stint in the northern climes, she's shoveled her last driveway.

Her favorite books involve magical worlds, action, adventure, intrigue, and, of course, love. Fenley writes urban fantasy, time travel, and paranormal romances.

# Conquering His Elephants

## By Eva Jameson

Dedication

~ Dedicated to our military and their families. ~

Conquering His Elephants

"Absolutely not. You know damn good and well I don't want your sister out here."

Jasper DeGroot's voice dropped deeper as he pleaded with his buddy George on the phone. "Not this weekend. Especially not this weekend."

The silence he got in return wasn't a good omen, and he braced.

"Jazz, you know I love you like a brother. You know I'd never do anything to screw you over. But it's been five years, brother. I'm not letting you spend this weekend alone, drinking yourself silly."

"So you're sending your sister as a sacrifice?"

"You're not the only one who lost someone that day," George reminded him quietly. "I know Sam was your best friend, and he saved your life in the SEALs, but Suzie and I lost a cousin, man."

"Yeah, but..."

"I saw on the Dew Drop website that some festival's going on this weekend. Take Suzie down, have some iced tea and pie. And seriously, take some time to remind yourself that you're alive. That Sam's sacrifice wasn't in vain."

Around the house from where Jazz sat on his back porch, tires crunched over the gravel drive.

"Oh, yeah," George called his attention back to the phone. "Suzie should be there any minute."

"Damn."

"By the way, I know the way you two look at each other when you think no one else is looking. If something were to happen, well, Suzie's my sister, but I couldn't see her with a better man than you."

George hung up, not even letting him get in the last word.

"Stupid matchmaker," Jasper muttered.

What George didn't know was that Sam's death wasn't the only thing Jasper was escaping when he'd fled to Texas. It was Suzie. It was the life she promised him he could see in her eyes every time she looked at him.

***

The exposed skin on Suzie Quinn's upper back was frying under the hot Texas sun. She hoped she reached Jazz's place soon so she could put some lotion on her tightening flesh. Actually, she should have left the roof up on the rental, or at least put on sunscreen—with the pale skin and red hair of the Irish side of her family, she should have known better—before heading out from the airport. Once again, she didn't think about the ramifications before jumping in.

She wasn't just kicking herself for the sunburn, but for agreeing to go to Texas at all. She hadn't seen Jazz in three years, not since she happened to be visiting George when he was trying to cheer Jazz up on the anniversary of Sam's death. Suzie thought she'd broken through to him then, that they had started something worth something. Instead, Jazz's reaction to the weekend was to disappear. He'd simply packed up his stuff and moved out here to the middle of nowhere, buying, of all things, a pecan farm.

But her brother had laid on the guilt pretty thick. _He needs you_ , George had said. _I'm worried._ And finally, _You're the only one who might have a chance._

Suzie could at least admit to herself she wasn't only here for Jazz. She was here for herself. Maybe, just maybe, if she saw he was doing okay, then she could exorcise him from her mind. From her heart. And she could finally move on.

The GPS voice told her to take a right, and she turned onto a gravel road lined on both sides with old, tall, deep green trees throwing shade onto her rental. The cool breeze raised goosebumps on her burned shoulders, and she shivered despite the oppressive August heat. The drive started up an incline, and, after a few minutes, she reached a clearing near the top of the hill. A simple brick ranch-style house with a wrap-around porch stood at the edge of the clearing.

Jazz stood on the porch, arms crossed on his chest, biceps bulging in his tight, black t-shirt. And he didn't look happy.

Didn't matter, though. She told George she'd stay for the weekend, and that's what she was going to do.

Suzie took her time parking the car, turning it off and unbuckling her seatbelt, all the while telling herself she wasn't stalling. With a deep breath, she got out of the car and headed toward Jazz, who hadn't moved.

"Hey, Jasper," she called. Not even a blink from the hulk of man guarding his porch. She forged ahead, literally and figuratively. "I'm here for the weekend, whether you want me or not. So you might as well get over it. Now I've been in the car a while and had a huge iced tea." She crossed her legs and shifted her weight from leg to leg. "Can I please use your bathroom?"

Anger led way to exasperation on Jazz's face, and she gave a mental fist pump when he shook his head and the edge of his mouth turned up in a small grin.

"Come on in." His soft voice with a hint of humor soothed nerves she hadn't realized were close to frayed. "Do you need me to get your bags from the car?"

"Bags later. Bathroom now?" She might have been aiming for him to smile, but she really did have to go.

***

"Should we cook or head into town?" Suzie settled into one of the rocking chairs on the back porch, sipping another iced tea.

She'd taken care of business in the bathroom, and Jazz had brought in her bags, which he'd stowed in what she thought was supposed to be the guest bedroom. It didn't even have a bed, just a big chair in the corner and nothing else. The inside of Jazz's house didn't have much of anything. A man-sized television and sofa in the living room, workout equipment in the room across the hall from the guest room. More proof he'd checked out of life when he moved here. She hoped he at least had a bed in the master bedroom.

"I have bread, lunch meats, cereal, milk, and bourbon."

"Dinner in town it'll be."

She glanced sideways at Jazz taking a long pull on his beer as he stared out at the never-ending rows of trees. She shared about her new job as a blogger, writing humorous columns for a variety of media outlets, and how she was looking forward to hitting the Iced Tea Festival in town for some inspiration.

He talked about pecan farming and how he got a kick out of driving the shaker, a huge clamp attached to his tractor that hugged each tree in its clamp and shook the living daylights out of it so all the pecans fell to the ground.

They argued about how to say pecan. "You call them pee-cans, and folks around here will laugh at you. I made that mistake once, and an old local told me a pee can was something a guy would keep in his truck in case of an emergency."

She laughed and asked how she was supposed to say it.

"Puh-khans, Suzie Q. Puh-khans."

Then they exchanged a couple humorous tales about what George had been up to before a not-altogether-comfortable silence cloaked the pair. Until Suzie couldn't take it anymore.

"So, about this elephant on the porch," she started.

"Which one?" he asked.

It took her a second to realize he meant first, the fact they'd slept together the last time they saw each other, and second, the fact that it was the fifth anniversary of Sam's death in Iraq. A death Jazz felt responsible for, although no one understood why.

She forged ahead. "Let's go for the sex first."

He choked on a laugh, and Suzie's tummy flipped over at his smile. She'd give almost anything to make him smile more.

"To the bedroom it is," he said.

She realized what she'd said, and her sunburn got uncomfortable again. "You know what I meant."

"Yeah, but I enjoy not knowing what you're going to come up with next."

"You hurt me when you left," she blurted, and her heart started a disco beat in her chest when his face turned ashen. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, Suzie Q, you definitely should have said that. I happen to also like knowing I don't have to decipher whatever it is you're saying. And I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't plan what happened that weekend, but I don't regret it, either. I know it sounds like a cliché, but you could do so much better than me. I'm better out here all alone."

"Is that why you moved to Texas? To be alone?"

"I needed to get away from everyone. I needed an escape. So I hopped on my bike and started driving. Was heading into Fort Worth and saw a billboard that this place was for sale. It'd been abandoned for a few years, so it keeps me busy."

"I was hurt and angry and scared," Suzie admitted. "I didn't know what happened, if I'd done something to piss you off."

Jazz put down his beer and turned so he was facing her, cradling her free hand in his. "It was absolutely nothing you did. I effed up walking away not talking to you first. I was effed up in a lot of ways then, and I wasn't in a place where I could pursue something good and positive with you."

"Are you there now?" With the implication of those words bouncing in her ears, she tried to drag her hand from his, but he held it tighter. He carefully took the glass of tea from her other hand and set it on the floor before he slid off his chair to his knees in front of her.

With his face just inches from hers, he asked, "Do you want me to be?"

"What?" Her voice squeaked.

"Do you want me to be in a place where we can start something that could lead to good and positive for both of us? Is that something you're interested in?"

Her insides were screaming "yes" but her head was warning her "no." So instead of answering, she asked, "Are you in that place now?"

Jazz looked down at their entwined hands, drew a deep breath, and raised his gaze back to her face, his eyes filled with hope. She never realized how desolate he had looked until she saw the difference.

"I want to be," he whispered. "For you."

She couldn't deny it. "And I want to get you there. For you. And for me."

He closed the gap between them, and his lips took hers in a scorching kiss. A kiss of possession, of passion. And of promise.

Jazz put his arms around her neck, and she flinched. "Sunburn," she told him.

"Come on, let's get some aloe on that. And we're dousing you in sunscreen if we head out tomorrow."

***

Two hours later, Jazz parked next to Sweetie's Tea Cup Cafe. "Best chicken fried steak you'll find anywhere," he told her.

"Sounds awesome. I can't wait."

The place was packed, but they took a booth in the back. Jazz automatically put his back against the wall, so he could watch the door. Their waitress, Sunny, hurried over, smiled at him, introduced herself to Suzie, and asked what they wanted to drink.

"Iced tea, of course," Suzie said, followed by Jazz's answer of, "Same."

"Did y'all know what you want, or you wanna take a peek at the menus."

"Chicken fried steak for two," Jazz said.

Sunny smiled at them and bounced off again. "She reminds me of Tigger. What I'd give for just half that girl's energy," Suzie said, earning another grin from Jazz.

Conversation flowed between them. They enjoyed much of the same music and movies, and they respected each other's opinions about issues, even when they didn't agree. Suzie discovered Jazz had taken up reading once he settled into the quiet life in the north Texas plains and they found they'd enjoyed many of the same books.

Sweetie, owner of the cafe, brought their meals out to them. "Here ya go, folks," she said, placing the mouth-watering steaks in front of them. "Is there anything else ya need?"

"It looks delicious," Suzie said, and Sweetie tilted her head to look at her closer.

"Look, I know you don't know me from Adam, but I have to tell ya, if there's something you want, something worth fighting for, give your all to that battle. You'll never regret it, and your life will be sweeter than a pie made with Jazz's pecans. Ya with me?"

"I, um, I think so." Suzie nodded.

"Good," Sweetie said, "Then enjoy your meals, and let Sunny know if you want some dessert."

When she left, Suzie whispered, "What was that?"

"Sweetie's rumored to have a gift that helps her give advice. Honestly, I don't pay much attention to talk, but I am in here at least once a week for the food." Jazz paused, got serious and asked, "Do you suppose that battle she talked about is us? Because I'd like nothing more than to give you a lifetime sweeter than pie. You're worth fighting for to me."

Suzie's face paled, and she whispered, "I'm scared."

"Me, too," Jazz admitted to another human being for the first time in his adult life.

***

"I'm stuffed," Suzie said as she pushed her plate away and leaned back. "I probably would've licked the plate if we weren't in public. That white gravy is heaven." She earned another grin from Jazz, and she added it to her ongoing mental tally.

He took care of the tab and gave her a hand to pull her out of her seat. "Let's walk off some of that dinner before heading back to the house."

They wandered down Main Street towards the town square, and Suzie tried to absorb every nuance of walking hand-in-hand with Jazz. He stiffened on her right side and stopped. Up ahead was a booth for the Wounded Warrior Project, American flags proudly displayed, flapping in the late summer breeze. The project, according to her internet research, was the beneficiary of the big Iced Tea Festival.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing."

The first skirmish in their battle. She faced him and tilted her head back to get his eyes. "Please tell me."

After a deep sigh, he explained. "I was happy and forgot about things for a time. The booth up there, it made me remember what else this weekend is."

"The other elephant in the room."

"Yeah." Jazz sighed.

Suzie said, "I was hoping to hang out for the fireworks tonight." When Jazz flinched, she hurried to fix it. "But I'm thinking we should head back to the house and get ourselves some bourbon."

His shoulders almost slumped with relief. "That sounds great. And I've got a surprise for you for the fireworks, too."

***

_If it's something you want, something worth fighting for, give your all to the battle._ Jazz repeated the words in his mind as he led Suzie up the ladder to his tree house.

A promise of a life sweeter than pecan pie.

Opening up his private retreat was courting the possibility of mission failure. And Jazz did not like a failed mission. In his life, mission failure likely meant death. It wouldn't this time, but it might not feel any better.

"This is gorgeous." Suzie cleared the platform and looked around the interior. Jazz had spent the first three months he lived on the farm working with the trees and fixing up the tree house. He hadn't known it was there when he'd bought the place, but as soon as he saw it, he set about making it his man cave.

It wasn't big, maybe 10-by-10, but he'd reinforced the basic structure and replaced the roof with acrylic panes with a hinge down the middle so he could flip half back if the weather was nice. The furnishings weren't elaborate, as he'd had to lug everything up a temporary ramp to get it in, but the bed was more comfortable than anything he'd slept on during his tours in the desert.

He stayed away from Suzie when she moved to the big window he'd put in the south wall, taking in a view he knew was unparalleled, looking over the treetops from his slight hill—this part of Texas was nothing if not flat. From up here, she would be able to see the lights from Dew Drop. He didn't take his eyes off Suzie, even when the festival fireworks started lighting up the sky.

She _oohed_ and _ahhed_ with the first few explosions, and luckily, from this distance, he couldn't hear the blasts that went with them. Then she turned and lifted her hand in a silent invitation to come to her.

Jazz crossed the space and turned her so she was facing the window, tucking her body into his front and wrapping his arms around her. "I love fireworks," she whispered.

"I don't," he said, watching both her reflection and the bright lights beyond.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she said, "The other elephant in the room."

"Yeah."

"Can you tell me about it? Tell me what I can do to make it better."

"There's nothing any of us can do to make it okay, but I'm thinking maybe George, and you, were right that it's time to move on."

"Tell me."

He leaned forward to rest his chin on her shoulder and cradled her body, feeling her heat seeping into his skin, warming him in ways he didn't think he could ever feel again.

"We were in the mountains in the north of the country. I can't get into the details because there're some things I'm just not allowed to share with anyone. But it was eerie, so freaking quiet, kind of like it is around here. We entered this small village and our terp..." Her head tilted, reminding him she didn't speak SEAL. "Our interpreter," he said, and when she nodded, he continued.

"Anyway, our terp started asking one of the locals for info, and I swear, the local started shouting for the Russians to get out of his village, 'cause he thought we were Russian. This village was so lost in time, they hadn't even heard that one war had ended and another one had started. He had no idea who we were, let alone what we were fighting for. How are you supposed to engage folks like that?"

Jazz shook his head and got quiet as the memories of that night burst behind his eyes and slid down his spine. Shouting, gunfire, blasts.

"The whole mission went FUBAR pretty quick. Sam was on my six. We were making our way to the exfil site to get picked up. I saw the target pop up from behind some rocks. I dropped behind an outcropping. Sam didn't. He fired at the same time the target did. Sam got hit. Neck shot got him between the chin and body armor."

Suzie's quick gasp brought him back. "Sorry," he whispered.

"I know this story doesn't have a happy ending, Jasper. But I need to hear you tell it anyway. What did you do then?"

"Killed the shooter and checked on Sam. He was already gone."

"But you carried him out, didn't you?"

"Of course. We don't leave a man behind."

Suzie turned, wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed. He couldn't see her eyes, except when the fireworks behind her lit up the night. "I'm sorry you lost Sam."

"Didn't you hear what I said? I didn't just lose Sam, I killed him."

"How do you figure that?"

"I saw the target and took cover. Sam didn't, and he died." Jazz's voice got quieter as he continued, his eyes squeezed shut, and his jaw hurt from clenching it. But he took a deep breath and finished it. "I didn't fire. I ducked, and my best friend in the world took the bullet meant for me."

Suzie didn't say anything, she just kept holding him. In the silence, he noticed he was shaking.

He fought to stop the shaking, and when he regained his control, she whispered, "Have you ever told this to anybody else?" He shook his head.

"I know you didn't kill Sam, and I know that you know that, too."

"No, I..."

"Jasper, how do you eat an elephant?"

"Huh?"

"That old joke, how do you eat an elephant?"

"One bite at a time," he answered, confused.

"We aren't going to get rid of this elephant as easily as we did the first one, which was basically both of us just accepting that we wanted each other. This, getting you to believe you didn't kill your best friend, is going to be harder. But if it's okay with you, I want to be with you while you do. And I want to be here after that, too."

The tension he'd carried for a long time started to ease out of him. He tightened his hold and lifted her off her feet, kissing her when her mouth reached his.

"Is that a yes?" she asked.

"Yes, my Suzie Q. Yes."

The End

About Eva

Trust love to heal yesterday and promise tomorrow.

Don't expect it to be easy. Or safe.

And plan to have some fun along the way.

Eva lives her own happily ever after in an idyllic suburb of Dallas with her high school sweetheart and two amazing teen daughters who keep her busy driving to theater rehearsals, finding theater props, designing theater programs and washing theater costumes. Some days she even gets to play dance mom and watch them compete in – you guessed it – musical theater (and some clogging).

She earned an MFA in writing romance novels from Seton Hill University. (Technically it's in Writing Popular Fiction). Eva belongs to the Romance Writers of America and the North Texas, Dallas Area and Kiss of Death chapters.

In any free time, you'll find her reading romance novels or watching sports, anything from hockey and football to curling and MMA. Her favorite sport to play is pool. One-pocket anyone?

# Breakfast at Sweetie's

## By Risa Leigh

Breakfast at Sweetie's

"Hey, Livy, if you want to meet men, you should come down to Sweetie's first thing in the morning."

Startled, Olivia looked up from her phone as she scrolled between job postings and graduate schools. Her father, Jim liked to read a print newspaper, and their morning routine had settled into reading together at the table after breakfast.

"What?"

His eyes crinkled as he sipped from his #1 Principal's cup, a retirement gift. "Men have to get their breakfast. They're lined up at the counter, and not a one of them drinking alcohol."

Her mouth dropped open. "Dad, I have nothing against alcohol. All I said was it's hard to meet men here. The only options are bars and church, and they both have their drawbacks."

"I know. I'm giving you another option. Sweetie's draws quite a crowd on Fridays and Mondays. Tomorrow will be even better because of the Iced Tea festival. Rodeo riders, out-of-town guests, who knows who might be there."

Life was pretty sad if her dad gave her dating advice.

She bit her lip. "I don't know—"

He put down his paper. "Livy, I don't know what I would've done without your help. Your mom—well, I don't know."

Olivia squeezed his hand. "I count myself blessed to be with y'all for her last year."

"But we interrupted your life." His expression was positively hang-dog.

She gave him a big smile designed to ease the guilt off his shoulders. "Consider it my gap year. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with my broadcasting degree."

He shook his head. "Not many broadcasters in Dew Drop."

She leaned toward him. "There's always the radio station."

"That's run by the high school."

A moment of silence. He cleared his throat. The air conditioner kicked on. "Livy." Uh-oh, the serious-talk tone that was a cross between The Principal and The Father. "It's time to move on."

Dad must have planned this speech for weeks. It was so like him to lurk and listen, mull it over and make a scheme. The least she could do was play along.

"Okay." She suppressed a sigh. "What's the best time?"

That's how Livy found herself up early, dressed in last year's print dress and strappy sandals and headed to Sweetie's Tea Cup for breakfast. Her dad left ahead of her, chuckling as if in triumph. She couldn't find a parking place in Sweetie's lot, so she pulled in front of Turner's Hardware and walked over.

Dad sat at a table in the corner with Mr. Richards, her retired senior English teacher. They waved at her.

"Hey, Livy, good to see you." Sunny said when Livy slid onto the swivel seat at the counter. "Your dad's over there."

"That's okay, Sunny. I'll just sit here at the counter. I'm meeting someone. Could I get some coffee, please?"

As Sunny sloshed coffee in a mug and slid her a menu, the guy sitting next to her turned around.

"Oh, hey, Livy. Your dad's sitting right over there."

Oh, my god. She sat next to the entire maintenance crew from the middle school, probably getting ready for school to start. What was her dad thinking? "Hi, Mr. Duarte. I'm meeting someone."

The crew got up together like a startled flock of birds, heading for the door, making more room for the line of people coming in. In the confusion, someone else sneaked onto Mr. Duarte's seat.

"Don't worry." Her dad whispered in her ear. "The younger ones will get here any minute."

"Dad—"

His silly grin made her shake her head. When he went back to his table, Mr. Richards rose to leave.

Sunny topped off her coffee. "Ready to order, or do you want to wait on your friend?"

_My imaginary friend?_ Livy thought as she nodded.

For fifteen torturous minutes, she waved off plumbers, elderly gentlemen, and a family with three rambunctious kids, telling all of them she was saving the seat next to her. Dad gave up his table to the family.

"Sorry, Livy. I didn't think it would be this hard."

Livy took pity on him. "It's not that bad."

"I'll buy your breakfast for humoring me."

"These portions are huge. I just want coffee."

"No, pick something. Treat yourself."

Her dad wanted to keep her there. All she wanted to do was leave.

The bell on the door sounded. For the last fifteen minutes, she'd been like Pavlov's dog. Once again, the bell rang and she looked. And salivated.

He was tall and lean, looking mighty fit in a light blue polo. _Who wears a polo shirt to a rodeo?_ He pulled off his ball cap and ran his fingers through dark hair that fell into place. Not even hat hair. She could tell at this distance he had the kind of blue eyes that looked like a still lake.

"Nope, no tables." Ah, he speaks and the Sam Elliott tones rolled over her. "There are a couple of seats at the counter."

Did he mean here? Next to her?

Livy managed to look at Dad. His lips were moving, and she barely registered his words. "No, these seats aren't taken."

A slender, gray-haired woman stepped around the tall man. "Jim? Jim McCain? I thought I recognized that voice."

"Margery?" Something in her dad's voice made Livy tear her eyes away from the hottie to look at him in surprise.

Introductions: Jim and Margery taught together before Margery's husband, who'd died two years ago, God rest his soul, moved them to Ft. Worth. Ely, the hottie, was four years ahead of Livy in school.

Why were they here in Dew Drop? Margery's younger son— _Livy, he was in your kindergarten class before we moved._ —had been wounded in Afghanistan, but he was being honored by the Wounded Warrior chapter at the ceremony this weekend.

When they all sat, Margery moved down to sit next to her dad. Ely sat next to her, but Livy found herself tongue-tied. He glanced at the menu, but then brought the full force of his gaze back to her. And smiled.

"Mom wanted to come here for the cinnamon rolls because—" He pointed to the end of the counter.

Unaware of his comment, Margery's laughing voice finished the statement in her conversation. "—they're the size of a hub cap."

Livy and Ely shared a laugh.

"Your mom's right. The portions of everything are huge. All I want is a scrambled egg."

As Ely read the menu, he scrubbed his square jaw. "I only want bacon and pancakes. How about this?" Ely pointed at the menu entry. "I can order the King Ranch special. You can have the eggs. I could even spare a piece of bacon because I don't need the whole meal."

Dad's arm brushed hers. She had the feeling he was gloating.

"Sounds great. So y'all live in Ft. Worth?" She may as well start the get-acquainted conversation. "What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm in search and rescue work. I mostly train dogs. It keeps me free to help Mom. How about you?"

This was the first time she'd had to explain her situation. Even as she folded her napkin a couple of times, she smiled big. "I took some time off to help Dad. Mom had cancer and he needed help taking her to doctor's appointments."

Ely nodded. "So has your mom passed?"

"Yes, eight months ago."

Dad and Margery were having a better time. Margery laughed and one corner of Ely's mouth kicked up, then he was back with her. "So what's next?"

Livy frowned. "Next?"

"Yeah. Looks like you can fly the nest. Your dad seems to be doing okay."

She tuned into Dad's lively talkfest as he laughed once again with Margery. Frankly, he did sound fine. When had this happened? Livy suddenly felt unmoored.

"I've been thinking about—some things." She tried to sound confident.

"Like what?"

"Maybe graduate school."

"What's your degree?"

"Broadcasting."

Ely did a double take. "That's crazy. Have you heard of "Lone Star Rescue?" That's our show. It's on Animal Planet."

"The TV network?" Livy barely noticed their breakfast arriving. She barely noticed Ely graciously scooping eggs onto a plate and pushing it to her. "You—you have a TV show?"

"Yeah. It grew out of my work training service animals. We've got one season under our belts, and we've been renewed for another."

"That's great." She sounded lame. To cover up the awkwardness, she tasted her eggs and reached for the salt. "How did you get into service animals?"

Ely practically soaked his pancakes in syrup. "I started in law enforcement, and then became an animal cruelty investigator. One little rescue seemed to show potential as a service dog so I learned how to do it."

"You overachiever." Livy hoped that wasn't bitterness she heard in her voice. Compared to him, it sounded like she hadn't done anything.

Ely didn't reply because he was working on a big bite, and Livy heard Margery say, "I don't know what I'd do without Ely. He completely rearranged his life to help me with Trevor."

Livy responded even though Margery had been talking to Dad. "So where is Trevor? I probably wouldn't recognize him from kindergarten."

She didn't think the joke was that bad, but Margery lost some of her animation. Her dad leaned over. "Trevor sustained a brain injury in Afghanistan."

Even though an awkward silence fell, her mom's death had given her ways of coping with them. The best way to handle awkward moments was to forge ahead. "Does Trevor help with the dogs?"

Ely sat back, looking thoughtful. "He has his own service dog, but—"

"Livy, Trevor is in a wheelchair." Margery fought tears, making Livy feel like she'd stepped in it and couldn't get out.

"Gosh, I'm sorry. It seems like Trevor would be even better with the dogs now. It would give him purpose."

So far, Ely hadn't resumed his breakfast, and her dad wouldn't meet her eyes. May as well keep going. "Where is Trevor now?"

"He's at the Fellowship Hall at the First Baptist Church meeting with the Wounded Warrior people." Margery wiped her eyes and tried to smile.

"Livy! You've hit on something!" Ely leaned over to look at his mother. "They're filming in about an hour."

Margery looked as confused as Livy felt.

"Don't you see? My series producer thought Trevor's Wounded Warrior recognition would be a good way to kick off the second season. He's here with a couple of cameras to shoot some footage. Trevor got really into it and worked even harder at his rehab and speech therapy. Mom, I think he's ready to be a bigger part of the show. Livy, I could kiss you."

Go ahead. Make my day.

"That's—um, great, but what just happened?" Livy's face flushed.

"You've given me a great idea. We've kept Trevor and the training business separated to give him time, but he couldn't seem to shake his depression. He could start training dogs or at least help. I'll bet Dean would be open to it, and it gives us something to base the season around."

Margery narrowed her eyes. "Ely, you'd be putting a lot of demands on Trevor."

"It's worth asking him." Ely stabbed his fork through his pancakes.

Livy risked a glance at Dad. His face reflected her feeling they were in the middle of someone else's fight. They all took a bite as if to explain the lull. When Sunny came to refill their coffee, they readily pushed their cups forward in tandem.

Her dad, bless his heart, broke the silence. "Margery, I know you're protective of Trevor, but give him a chance."

Margery's fork screeched on the plate as she cut off a piece of cinnamon roll, then she blew out her breath. "I know you're right, but I've been afraid for Trevor for a very long time. It's hard for me to remember he's still a person, not just a patient. Thank you for reminding me of that." She put her hand on his arm. "You've always been the best at considering everyone's good."

Livy glanced at Ely for his reaction, but he wasn't watching his mother. His sideways look was aimed at her. He leaned in, making her heart race. "Look what you started."

Then he winked at her, and she wanted to melt.

"You were at the edge of this idea. I just pushed you over." She shrugged.

"You pushed me over, all right." Now he straightened. "Why don't you come and watch the filming, meet the producer, see Trevor. You could do some networking."

Livy's breath caught. She'd been buried in this small town for so long. Networking? Was she up to it? How would her resume look? This seemed like too much.

"Livy, it's perfect." Her dad chimed in.

She now pressed her lips together. All this pressure.

"You've got to." Ely, the big bully, softened the demand by offering her a piece of bacon. "Please?"

How could she refuse all this encouragement? "Okay."

"How about this, then?" The light was back in Margery's eyes. "Why don't the two of you go to the church? Jim and I can stay and catch up."

Events felt out of Livy's control. While Jim looked at Margery, Ely grabbed the check. Everyone seemed ready to take action, except her.

"Sure, okay." Seemed like the only thing she could say.

As they walked out to a huge wheelchair-accessible van, Ely bumped shoulders with her. "It really will be okay."

Was her anxiety that obvious?

After ushering her into the passenger side of the van, Ely climbed into the driver's seat and turned to look at her. "I hope I haven't made you nervous."

"Well, you and your mother did barge in and kind of take over."

Ely took no offense. "Well, you were there, sitting at the counter."

Thanks to her dad with all his talk about moving on. Now the wheels of change seemed to be grinding forward, pulling her along whether she was ready or not.

"I'm overwhelmed. Dad's ready to move on, and it makes me feel weird."

"Yeah." He started the van. "Now that Mom is getting out more, I have to remind myself that my dad wouldn't have wanted my mom to be lonely."

And Livy's mom didn't want that for her, either, or her dad. Ely's remark put her right next to her dying mother's bedside. One of the last things her mother said was, "I wish I could meet the man who would make you happy."

Staying buried in this town wouldn't get her a life. She had to take a risk if she was going to find it. Already she'd talked to a stranger at Sweetie's and look where that led.

Ely continued. "Keep yourself open to something new. That's what I always say."

"Do you now?" She lifted one eyebrow in a flirty way, surprised at how good it felt. "Do you remember how to get to the church?"

"I can find the way. I came from there less than an hour ago."

"You know, it's easy to get lost in Dew Drop. One wrong turn puts you back on the highway."

Ely's laugh filled the car, and something in her relaxed. She managed to ask him a few questions about living in a reality TV show before they pulled into the church parking lot.

When they walked into the Fellowship Hall, she spotted Trevor. Even though she knew he was in a wheelchair, even though she knew her old classmate's face from pictures would be different, she hated to see his twisted body. The imagined violence and trauma that put him there tugged at her heart. She'd had a friend in elementary in a wheelchair, but nothing like this man who should be walking around. She gulped.

"O-liv-i-a!" Trevor's face lit up.

One camera swung her way, and at first she felt a bit self-conscious. Then her old instincts of camera work kicked in, allowing her to forget it and focus on the interviewee. This wasn't about her, it was about Trevor and putting him at ease.

Livy walked up to face him and put her hands on her hips. "Now tell me the truth. Did you recognize me from kindergarten?"

He wheezed out a laugh. "Text."

She caught the word because she listened really hard. "Text? From who?"

"Mom."

Sure enough, he had a phone in a cup holder mounted on the arm of his wheelchair where he could easily see it.

"That's cheating." Then she gave him a genuine smile. "Trevor, I'm glad to see you. Can I shake your hand?"

He thought about it for a long time, but she didn't rush him. Then he said, "Okay." She couldn't deny she was a little uncomfortable shaking his hand when he couldn't move it, but she liked the way he kept beaming at her.

"Excuse me, who are you?"

Only when Trevor looked over her shoulder did she look around. "Olivia McCain." She turned and offered her hand now to the speaker.

"Dean Cooper. I'm the producer for "Lone Star Rescue." We're filming for next season and you seem pretty comfortable with Trevor. Could we get some more shots with the two of you? Then we can do one of those segments where you tell us how you felt, blah, blah, blah, you know reality show style. _Capisce?_ "

Livy turned back. "Trevor? What do you think?"

His phone flashed a cartoon thumbs up. She laughed and gave him a thumbs up back.

For the next hour, she talked. Into a camera. Behind the camera to the cameraman. To Trevor who seemed to do better the longer they talked. To Dean who kept asking her to do stuff. She learned a lot and gained confidence the more she talked. And every time she looked at Ely, he grinned from ear to ear.

Livy felt like she was part of something big. It felt good.

"Ely, she needs to be part of the show." Dean wasn't even talking to her when he said it and that overwhelmed feeling came on her all over again.

As the camera man took the microphone off her shirt, he caught her wide-eyed look and nodded. "I thought you were good, but if Dean says it, you're really good."

Livy realized Margery and Dad had come in and were standing by Trevor. Everyone seemed to be staring at her. She had that backed-into-a-corner feeling again.

Why should she be scared? She'd trained to do this kind of work and the opportunity was the perfect one. To make it even better, Ely was a great guy who believed in her. Was it because change came on her so fast? Did it seem too good to be true because two hours ago she couldn't imagine anything except being here in Dew Drop?

True, her mother's illness interrupted her career. But if Livy hadn't come back to Dew Drop, she wouldn't have this amazing chance now. She felt her mother's love and encouragement pushing her forward.

Livy straightened up. She now gave Ely a wink. "So Dean, let's talk turkey. Make me an offer I can't refuse."

At first he looked surprised, then he shook his finger at her. "I should have known. I'll offer you a flat rate for the weekend. If the footage looks good, we can negotiate a contract for the season."

"How much for the weekend?"

Dean looked over at Ely. "You set me up, didn't you?"

Livy didn't take his first offer, but she did take his counteroffer. She'd get her negotiating mojo in time to go after the season contract.

"Well, I'd best get home. I have a picnic supper to make." Livy pulled her purse strap on her shoulder.

"Wait, what?" Ely looked up as he released the brake on Trevor's wheelchair.

"I have to get ready for the picnic supper auction. You and Trevor are going to get in a bidding war for my excellent supper at the auction tonight."

"Trevor, what have we gotten ourselves into?" Ely pushed his wheelchair toward the door.

As Livy heard Trevor's gasping laugh, she hooked her arm in her dad's elbow. "Hope you're okay with this."

He patted her hand. "How can you say that after I made you go to Sweetie's this morning?"

The End

About Risa

Risa Leigh is the author of Surrender at the Border, a romantic suspense published by Entangled. Writing as Risa Brown, she has written sixteen series non-fiction books for children as well as professional books for librarians. She sings in two choirs and stays busy with her grandsons in Arlington.

# Man of Steel

## By Gina Lee Nelson

Dedication

~ To James, Seth, & Pierce ~

Man of Steel

"Sweet or unsweet?"

"'Excuse me?" I blinked.

The girl behind the table wore bright lipstick, a fancy scarf, and dark nail polish. All red. Fire engine red. Her raised eyebrows told me I'd been staring at the army of plastic cups a bit too long. Again.

"Unsweet." Those cups could've held motor oil. If the normal thing to do was drink tea at an iced tea festival then give me a gallon.

"Coming right up," she said with a lilt, her vowels elongated like a proper Southern lady. She turned from a glass canister. "Lemon?"

"Sure."

She gingerly forked a slice, plopped it in the cup, and handed it over with a smirk. "So you drink a lot of tea, that right?" A dimple appeared in one cheek.

I smiled in spite of myself and took a sip. "Never heard of an iced tea festival. Was all the produce taken?"

"Let me think." She placed a finger to her chin. "Yep. Unless you count rutabagas--which no one does, not even Emma Jean Brattle."

My mouth went as dry as toast without coffee. Nothing witty came to mind. Nothing came to mind. Nothing came. To. Mind.

Her gaze softened. "Just breathe."

I turned away, my face heated, squeezing the plastic cup so hard ice cubes and lemon spilled over the rim, across my skin, and onto the dry, rocky ground. Before I could scrape my composure from the dirt, a family of six hurried over, demanding their own liquid relief from the broiling Texas sun.

Being in this place, near my old neighbors and people I'd known since high school made my stomach roil. I wandered the outskirts of the crowd, nodding when greeted, smiling when someone actually called me by name. And once I shook the hand of an old woman who claimed to have changed my diapers when my parents attended First Baptist Church. Her skin had been soft, her gaze clouded with age, her smile genuine. Safe.

Shouldn't have come, I told myself for the umpteenth time. Should've stayed at the house. Only the house was empty. Except for antique dishes, expired canned goods, picture frames of long-dead relatives. Balls of yarn, faded magazines, dusty books. Pillows, cans of motor oil, dried up plants, broken tennis rackets, and a thousand other oh-so-important pieces of memorable crap that were not my mother. Or my father.

"Tag, you're it." He was three, maybe four. His hair was dirty blond and he grabbed my knees with his chubby hands.

"Nope." I knelt down, taking him gently by the shoulders before he could topple backwards over the concrete step behind him.

"Are too." His bottom lip trembled.

"Who says?" I asked, glancing at the surrounding park area for an embarrassed young mother or amused sibling.

His words came out in a rush.

"Slow down." I put a hand to my chest as if speaking to a foreigner. "My name is Peyton. What's yours?"

He grinned and tilted his head to one side. "Peyton."

"No, that's my name."

"Peyton." He pointed to his own tiny chest. "Me."

I stared at the blond tyke with the single dimple and gave him my best glare.

"You'll have to find a scarier face than that, Peyton Adams." It was the sassy girl behind the counter . . . with the dimple. The one who'd caught me losing time. Before I could answer, the boy giggled and ran into her arms. She swung him around and kissed his neck, which made him giggle even more.

My stomach dropped, an elevator plunging to the bottom floor. "What?"

"His name is Peyton too, Mommy." He grinned at me from the safety of his mother's arms. His head on her shoulder. His finger pointed straight at me.

She swayed back and forth, humming a country tune I'd sung in her ear nearly four years earlier as we courted on her back porch swing. "I know, baby boy," she said, and then resumed her song--her voice angelic gold, tempered with rubies.

I stepped closer, my throat closed, my vision blurred. I reached for a blond curl, and he grabbed my finger. "Boy, where'd you get such a strong grip?" I managed, not daring to look away from his familiar hazel eyes.

"From his daddy." She challenged me in silence. Her eyes burning with criticisms I couldn't bear to hear.

"My daddy's strong as Superman."

"Used to be." I shook his finger, but he refused to let go. "Not anymore." I wanted to hold him close, feel the whisper softness of his hair, and inhale his baby scent--the way I'd dreamed for hours without end under the blinding desert sun.

"You're wrong, soldier." The strength of her words flooded my ears with the memory of an innocent vow spoken by an angel in white. 'Til death do us part,' she'd promised. The best day of my life.

"Superman may be bulletproof." I forced the words through my clenched teeth. "But I'm not that guy."

"Clark Kent and Superman were two sides of the same coin." She reached for my artificial hand and brought it to her red lips before I could pull away. Her touch froze my boots to the ground as if she'd cast a spell. A sudden gust of wind brought the long-remembered scent of jasmine in her hair and I wanted to cry, the desire to feel the cornflower silk between my fingers once again.

"No tour of duty could take that away from him."

Little man released my finger and placed his hand on top of ours. "You have the strongest hands. Ever." He grinned and leaned forward onto my shoulder. "You must be my daddy."

"My name's Peyton Charles Adams," I whispered.

"We have the same name," he murmured sleepily.

"The same eyes," she added with a lilt.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the loving arms of the only girl I'd ever loved. "And the same gal."

The End

About Gina

Gina Lee Nelson grew up on the sugar beaches of the Florida Gulf Coast. Drawn to the Big Apple by the sweet smell of wishful thinking, she studied acting on Broadway until a dark-eyed cowboy flung her over his saddle and hightailed it to the Southwest.

She's currently content to pour her melodramatic tendencies into writing sweet contemporary romance with a sweet, Southern-fried flavor. Her alter ego, Rebecca Adler, writes the Taste of Texas culinary mysteries from Berkley Prime Crime. Set in far West Texas, her humorous stories are filled with delicious suspense and scrumptious Tex-Mex recipes.

# A Hot Time in Dew Drop

## By Carolyn Rae

Dedication

Thanks for all the help and suggestions from

Word Wranglers Critique Group.

A Hot Time in Dew Drop

Late Tuesday night, breathing hard, Deidra Poole dragged herself up the steps and knocked on her sister's door.

A light came on, and Ashley opened the door. She took Deidra's hand and pulled her inside. "You look awful. What happened?"

Deidra's throat ached, and tears ran down her face. She could barely get the words out. "My bakery, my home, and everything I have just went up in flames. Everything I own is gone. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Ashley hugged Deidra. "Oh, that's terrible. Come on in. Why didn't you call me?"

Deidra shrugged and stepped inside. "I was so stunned. I don't even remember walking here, but I knew this was the only place I could come after watching my home and livelihood crumble before my eyes. I dread having to deal with the insurance company and waiting until they approve funds. I have no idea how long it will take to rebuild. I'm not even sure my customers will come back when it's rebuilt. That new bakery department at the grocery store has been cutting into my business."

"I'm sure you can build it back up in time." Ashley looked concerned. "But are you all right? Did you get burned?"

"No. I got out in time."

Her sister led Deidra to her red couch. "Sit down and tell me what happened." Ashley looked her over. "Are you hurt?"

Deidra collapsed onto the couch's comforting softness. "I smelled smoke and ran outside. And then...I watched my bakery go up in flames." Was it accidental, or maybe arson? Who could she have angered enough to burn her bakery?

"At least you're all right. That's the important thing." Ashley looked at her leg. "When did you get the bandage?"

"I tripped and hurt my knee, but David Black, the paramedic, took good care of me. His hands were so gentle on my knee as he swabbed it with something that stung. However, my head hurt so much, I hardly felt the sting."

"Wait a minute. Isn't he the handsome new firefighter you've been telling me about?"

Deidra nodded. "At first, he was kind of shy. He'd only smile at me when he came in to buy cookies. He always bought several dozen. But then he'd stop and talk with me. He'd ask how I liked working at a bakery. When I told him I owned it, he said he really admired me for running such a great bakery. He'd come in almost every day. I'd ask questions about fighting fires, and he'd explain things to me. I know he liked me, but somehow, he never asked me out on a date. Here I am babbling...when I should be calling the insurance company."

"They're probably closed. You can do that tomorrow. Let me get you a cup of tea." Ashley walked into her tiny kitchen and soon returned with a cup of steaming liquid. "This should make you feel better."

Deidra sipped the sweet tea. It helped a little. "I just want to take a shower, go to sleep, and dream of something besides a burning building."

Ashley brought her a flannel nightgown. "Here, wear this. It should keep you warm and cozy."

Deidra washed her clothes and asked her sister to put them in the dryer. She'd have to go shopping tomorrow.

***

The next morning, Ashley woke her and handed her a phone. "An arson investigator wants to talk to you."

"Hello," Deidra said.

"This is Captain Walters. I'd like you to meet me at the fire scene at ten o'clock and answer a few questions."

"OK. I'll be there."

After dressing and eating breakfast, Deidra walked three blocks to where her bakery had stood. The sun shone brightly like nothing was wrong. The smell of smoke and wet wood filled the air. The ruins were unrecognizable as a bakery showroom.

A tall, robust man met her on the sidewalk next to the broken timbers of what used to be her pride and joy. "Good morning. I'm Captain Walters. Did you have insurance?"

"Of course."

"Tell me what happened. Were you alone when the fire started?"

She nodded. "I'd just locked the front door and walked back into my living room, but I got a strange phone call just before I smelled the smoke. Some man said I should leave town and that my business was burning."

"Did you recognize the voice?"

"He sounded familiar, but I couldn't place him."

"Did a name show up on the phone?"

"No. Just a phone number. Then I smelled smoke and ran."

"If you hear that man again and recognize who he is, call me. Bring your phone to the police. Unless it came from a burner phone, they can trace the call."

The voice had sounded a little like Steven, the boyfriend she broke up with a year ago, but Steven would never burn her bakery. She'd never liked his brother, Tom, but she couldn't be sure if that's who she'd heard.

"Did it look like someone set the fire?"

The intense look on the investigator's face made her wish she hadn't said that. He might suspect her.

"We'll follow up on any evidence I found." He asked a few more questions, then handed her a business card. "I've finished evaluating the scene. My report will be on file in case the insurance company wants a copy." He drove away.

Deidra started walking back to her sister's place. As she came near the corner, David, the paramedic who'd treated her, stood by a nearby lamppost.

"Hi," he said. His eyes, full of compassion, focused on her face. They were beautiful eyes, a warm brown with glints of amber. "How are you this morning? Does your knee still hurt?"

She shook her head. "It's fine, but my bakery is ruined."

"I'm sorry about your building. It must be a hard blow to take." His look of concern made her feel like he really cared. She usually liked tall men. David was only an inch taller, but with his brown eyes, dark, wavy hair, and warm smile, he appealed to her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm going to rebuild if the insurance gives me enough money."

"My buddies and I will miss your cookies until you get back in business." He looked around. "I don't see a car. Is someone picking you up?"

"I'm walking to my sister's. It's only three blocks."

"Let me walk you there."

"Sorry, I shouldn't keep you from your work."

"I'm off today. Let's go."

She enjoyed talking with him. As good looking as he was, he could have his pick of women in Dew Drop. Now was her chance—before skinny, petite Leslie could lure him away from Deidra's tall, big-boned self. Too bad she couldn't tempt him with baked goodies. He wouldn't be interested in what she knew about cooking. "Your firefighters moved with precision, like they knew exactly what to do. I was so upset last night, I'm not even sure I thanked you for taking such good care of me."

He smiled. "It's my job, but you're welcome."

Since he was close to her height, she easily kept in step with him. Deidra wracked her brain for something to talk about besides the fire. "You have a faint accent, but I can't tell where you're from."

"Guess. I bet you have no _idear_."

"My aunt pronounces the word 'idea' like that. You're from New England."

He nodded. "I grew up in Boston, and my parents moved to Dallas, so I've always lived in big cities."

"What do you find different about living in a small town?"

"There's not much hustle and bustle. The people seem nice and friendly, but there isn't much to do besides bowling or going to movies."

"Oh, but we have the Sweet Tea Festival. It will be in full swing next weekend. They'll have fireworks on Thursday night...except I don't want to see any fireworks for a while."

"I'm off next Friday and Saturday. If you like, I could come over Saturday morning and take you to the fair. It would take your mind off what happened for a little while."

She smiled. "My mind is reeling with all I have to do, but I'd like that."

"I'll be there around nine. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

***

After he left her at the doorstep of her sister's place, Deidra rushed in. "Guess what. He finally asked me out on a date."

"That's great. When is it?"

"He's taking me to the Festival next Saturday."

Deidra spent a sobering afternoon checking her place and listing what she'd have to replace. The insurance company representative promised they'd give her an estimate in a few days. That night, she bought some new clothes.

***

Friday, wearing a pair of Ashley's sweats, Deidra got an estimate on how much they'd give her to replace her bakery. She hoped it would be enough. Then she called some local carpenters and asked them how much they would charge to rebuild her place.

The insurance company would pay to rebuild her bakery, but then she'd need supplies. Wondering how she'd find the money, she hung up and slumped in a chair. Things would be tough for a while.

David called. "How are you today? What did the insurance company say?"

"They'll pay enough to fix the building, but then I'll need to replenish my supplies."

"That's too bad, but surely the bank will give you a loan."

"I hope so, but I can't be sure I'll sell enough to keep it running."

"Hey, as delicious as your baked goods are, I don't know why you wouldn't."

"Thanks for having confidence in me."

"I'm off today. Let me take you to Dairy Queen for a cone or a blizzard. Maybe that will cheer you up."

"OK. Give me about fifteen minutes."

"I'll see you then."

Glad Ashley hadn't left for work at the bar, Deidra found her in the kitchen. "I've got a date this afternoon with the paramedic who walked me home the other day. Can I borrow some clothes from your closet?"

"You mean the hunk with dark hair and a great body you've been telling me about?"

Deidra nodded. "He's taking me to Dairy Queen to cheer me up."

"He sounds nice."

"He is. I like him a lot."

Deidra dressed quickly in jeans and a pink sweater, then paced in the living room until he knocked on the door.

She opened it and saw his smiling face. His black T-shirt was molded to his broad chest. His muscular arms were visible below the short sleeves. He looked at her. "I like that color on you. It looks good with your blue eyes." He held out his hand. She took it and walked with him to his car.

At the Dairy Queen, he told her to order anything she wanted. He asked for a milkshake, and she ordered a Blizzard with pecans and chocolate pieces.

As she took a bite, she said, "There's only one disadvantage to running a bakery—besides being vulnerable to fire."

"What's that?"

"There are too many tempting goodies around all the time. I have to be careful not to eat too much."

"You look great."

She couldn't help smiling.

As they ate, he told her he'd graduated from the University of Texas, and then applied to be a firefighter. "The training was rigorous, but I'm glad I qualified to be a paramedic. I guess I'm not an adrenaline junkie, although some of my buddies might be. I actually prefer the paramedic assignments, although they can be just as stressful as fighting fires. I like helping people, and I bet you do too. You seem to enjoy providing all sorts of baked goods people love."

She smiled. "You're right. I like running a bakery. I always have, ever since I helped my grandma with it when I was a little girl. In college, I took business courses, but I knew this was what I wanted to do. I'm sorry now that I didn't borrow money to modernize it and put in sprinklers. That would have minimized the damage."

"I'm surprised there isn't a city ordinance requiring it."

"There is, but this place falls under the grandfather clause."

He looked at his watch. "Sorry, but I need to walk you back to your sister's place now. I have an appointment later this afternoon. I'm looking forward to spending tomorrow with you."

***

Saturday morning after she'd dressed, her sister knocked on the bedroom door. "Deidra, you have a guest. She hurried to the door. His tan shirt fit closely, revealing powerful-looking biceps. His sturdy legs extended from his dark brown shorts. His smile said he was glad to see her. He held out his hand. "Shall we go?"

She clasped his hand in hers. She wouldn't think about her bakery. She'd just enjoy today.

At the fair, he led her to a carousel. "I always enjoyed riding the merry-go-round as a kid."

"Me, too. Let's find some horses that go up and down."

They found two and climbed on. He reached for her hand. Except when the horse he was riding went up, hers went down, and it was hard to keep connected as they rose and fell. They both hummed along to the familiar tune.

Later, as Deidra stood beside David, watching a worker make cotton candy for them, she heard voices. One sounded like Steven or maybe his brother, but she couldn't be sure. "Quick, let me borrow your phone." The man had his back to her, but she pretended she was taking a selfie, catching both the suspect and Mr. Johnson, the developer who'd approached her several times offering to buy her bakery.

As she took the picture, the developer put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Come. We need to go somewhere else to talk."

Deidra leaned close to David. "He sounds like the man who called and told me my shop was burning. We need to follow him, so I can listen to his voice."

"Okay, and I need to get a picture of his face, too." He waved at the worker holding out two sticks with cotton candy. "We'll come back."

"No. That will help camouflage us in case they're looking around to see anyone following them," she said.

"OK." He paid, then grabbed both and hurried after her. "Here's yours."

He took hold of her hand. "Stay close to me." As the two men walked briskly away, David and Deidra almost had to run to catch up.

"Now," he said, "slow down to a stroll. Maybe we can hear what they are saying."

Holding their cotton candy in front of their faces, David and Deidra walked as close as they dared, but all they heard were snatches of talk about baseball and the new stadium Arlington was building for the Texas Rangers. When the younger man briefly turned his face toward them, David was finally able to get a picture of him.

David tapped on his phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"Our fire investigator." He spoke into the phone. "I have a picture of a possible suspect. I'll send it to you."

The two men separated.

"We should follow the younger man," David said.

Deidra shook her head. "I think we should follow the older man. Mr. Johnson is the developer who offered me money to sell my bakery."

"Were you going to do it?"

"No way. That's been my dream ever since I learned to bake. My grandma started it and taught me almost everything I know. I wasn't going to let it go, no matter how much he offered. Besides, we don't need a big apartment building right in the heart of the business district."

Adults and children milled around as Deidra and David followed the developer, who finally turned around. "Why are you following me?"

Deidra said, "Was it my business you wanted or my land?"

"I wanted the land. Of course, I won't offer you as much as before—it will be costly to remove what's left. If you won't sell me your land, I'll find someone else who will sell theirs. He turned and walked away.

David turned to Deidra. "Do you think he had something to do with the fire?"

"I'm not sure, but for now, I'll take him at his word." She followed the developer. "Mr. Johnson, who were you talking to just now?"

"Steven Johnson. He's my nephew."

"I thought he looked familiar, but I didn't recognize him with a full beard," she said.

Mr. Johnson continued. "He was trying to persuade me to move here."

"I see."

As Mr. Johnson walked away, she said, "Guess I'll have to look elsewhere for someone who might have set fire to my bakery."

"So who do you think burned your bakery?" David asked.

"It must be whoever called me, but I'm not sure who it was." Steven had pleaded with her not to break up—but he'd slept with Leslie Tate, and Deidra couldn't forgive that. His older brother, Tom, always gave her a hard time when they shared a class in college, but surely, he didn't dislike her enough to burn her bakery. "Steven didn't sound like the man on the phone."

David leaned close and whispered in her ear. His aftershave had a nice smell. "Don't be obvious about it, but take a glance over there. Isn't that Steven standing beside the booth where they're selling lemonade?"

Another taller man joined him. "That's his brother, Tom."

David snapped a picture of the two men. "Let's stroll by to listen to them talk."

As David and Deidra came closer, Tom frowned. "What are you taking our pictures for?"

"I like to take pictures of people at the fair."

Tom reached for David's phone. "Let me see that picture."

David pulled his phone close to his chest. "No." He grabbed Deidra's hand. "Come on. We're leaving."

David led her about twenty yards away. "Do you think Steven or Tom set your place on fire?"

"It could have been Tom. Now that I've heard both of them talk, I'm sure he was the one who called me—maybe to warn me to get out. I bet he set the fire."

David spoke into his phone. "Walters, I'm at the festival, and just spoke to a person of interest. Here's a picture. Can you meet me here?" David disconnected. "I'll watch Tom in case he starts to leave."

Mr. Johnson hurried over. Steven and Tom joined him. Mr. Johnson asked, "Why were you taking a picture of my nephews?"

"I'm a firefighter, and I was at the bakery fire Monday. Our arson investigator may want to ask them a few questions."

Steven gasped. "What makes you think either of us would do something like that?"

Tom said, "I didn't have anything to do with Deidra's bakery, honest. But I'm not sorry she's having a hard time after the way she broke up with you, Steven. You've been at loose ends ever since." He glared at Deidra. "I wish you'd leave town, so he can forget about you."

Steven glared at his brother. "That's a bunch of bull. I get along without her just fine. By the way, you just bought a new car and offered to pick up the dinner tab for us and our dates at an expensive place last night. I didn't think working for our uncle paid that well."

"If you must know, he gave me a loan."

A tall, thin man arrived and walked up to Tom. "I'm Captain Joe Walters, and I'm an arson investigator. I need to ask you some questions about Monday's fire. Will you come to my office willingly, or do I need to arrest you?"

David nodded his head toward Mr. Johnson. "I suggest you also talk to him."

Walters faced Mr. Johnson. "I'd like to see all three of you at my office to answer questions. If I'm satisfied with your answers, you all will be free to go."

Mr. Johnson frowned. "Why would you think I had anything to do with it? Sure, I loaned Tom a lot of money, but he's my nephew. What's wrong with that?"

Tom faced Walters. "We did nothing wrong." He faced Steven. "We should be through with this guy in no time. I'll call you later. I know a great gal I can fix you up with. She'll make you forget about Deidra."

Steven frowned. "I don't need any help, brother. Besides, it looks like Deidra has a new boyfriend."

David smiled. "I hope you're right about that." He pulled Deidra close and kissed her, in broad daylight, right here in front of everyone. But his kiss was so wonderful and so overwhelming, she didn't care, and when he pulled back to catch his breath, she threw her arms around him and kissed him again.

The End

About Carolyn

Carolyn Rae follows her passion of writing romantic suspense where bullets are flying, people are dying, and lovers are resisting attraction until they can escape the danger following them.

She taught home economics, family living, and English in Michigan, Illinois, and Texas. In Texas, she taught and supervised ironwork, painting, and carpentry to inmates at a federal prison, where she wrote and directed videos on nutrition and fair fighting for couples. She also worked as a paralegal in Dallas and Fort Worth.

Carolyn Rae is the author of Romancing the Gold, a romantic suspense novel, and has a Witness Protection Series trilogy, Hiding from Love, Protected by Love, and Tempted by Love. Her e-book, Royal Wedding Cake, is set in the fictitious world of the Royals of Monterra, soon to be followed by a sequel, Holiday with a Prince, in April 2018, and a suspense novel, Romancing the Doctor, in May 2018.

# The Colonel and Her Major

## By Marsha R. West

Dedication

To all the members of NT who over the years guided me and inspired me in this business. To all romance writers everywhere who lend a hand to the women coming behind them. Thank you for always being willing to help and not seeing new authors as competition. Enough varied readers exist out there for all the different writers, and I'm grateful to the wonderful community of romance readers and writers.

The Colonel and Her Major

"Milly, let's go to the Dairy Bar. I'm dying for one of their ice creams on a stick covered in chocolate." Joanne licked her lips before she tugged on the hand of her best friend. Best friend since kindergarten. They'd grown up together. Milly had never left except for college in San Angelo. Joanne Pettigrew, on the other hand, a retired full bird colonel, had seen the world with the U.S. Air Force. However, when she retired, she headed home to Dew Drop, Texas.

"Joanne, we agreed we'd start eating healthier." Milly placed both hands on her hips, only slightly wider than when she'd been a cheerleader for the Dew Drop Dragons.

"I remember, but it's the Iced Tea Festival. A time for celebration, and ice cream has to be part of any celebration. Besides we haven't eaten any in over two weeks." Would her plaintive tone convince her friend? She'd never had any trouble with her weight when she'd been in the service, but since retirement and now at 55, she had a love affair with sweets.

"Oh, all right. An ice cream on a stick, even slathered in chocolate isn't near as bad for us as a banana split."

"Now that you mention it, maybe I'll have one of those or a chocolate soda."

Milly laughed as she hooked her arm through one of Joanne's. "Let's at least walk there."

They left Milly's house and made their way down the street, smiling at the few folks crazy enough to be outside. Some Joanne knew, and some she didn't. Visitors here for the festival.

"Milly, you were always game for a good time. I've never understood how you were able to tame that rambunctious spirit enough to be principal of the high school."

"It's all the acting I did in high school and college. I just played the stern but understanding leader." Milly spread her arms out at her sides and shrugged her shoulders.

Joanne laughed again. "Right. I'm glad I decided to move home. Facebook has been good, but in person is way better. Though I can't say I've missed this August heat." She brushed at the sweat gathering at her neck. "Ye gods. Why did I agree to walk?"

"So, Joanne, you've heard that Jackson Wright has been back for a few months now?"

"No, I don't believe I have." She glanced in a store window. What was her friend getting at?

"Come on. Too hot to window shop, even for me." Milly tugged at Joanne's arm. "I'm sure I must've told you. I thought maybe that was why you'd decided to retire here, though I couldn't be happier about it for myself. With your parents both gone, I wasn't sure there'd be anything to pull you back to Dew Drop. Compared to where all you've been...we'll, we're pretty po-dunky."

"Sometimes po-dunky is just what a person needs, Milly. And don't let Mayor Duncan hear you disparaging his town."

Milly couldn't keep a giggle inside. "No, Joe Bob would be pretty POed."

"Thank heavens. Their AC is working." Joanne sighed when Milly pulled open the Dairy Bar door, and cool air gushed out.

The only customers were two older women. Milly smiled at them and stopped at their booth.

"Hey, Granny White and Grandma Taylor. Y'all remember Joanne Pettigrew?"

Both women, looking to be in their late 80s, nodded.

"You're Joe & Mary Ann Pettigrew's daughter, aren't you? Your parents are really missed."

"Thank you, Ms. White, that's nice to hear." Joanne caught the original Jergens scent so many older women used.

"What are y'all having there?" Milly leaned over, peering at what the two ladies were eating.

"I recommend this chocolate soda made with real chocolate ice cream." Granny White pulled the straw out and ran her lips across it from one end to the other. "Um ymmm."

"That's not as good as my banana split," Granny Taylor argued.

Joanne laughed. "We'll leave y'all to settle that disagreement. Nice to see you. Come on, Milly."

"Let's order. Her description made my mouth water." Milly moved to stand in front of the counter.

"I thought we were just going to get an ice cream on a stick." Joanne studied the menu. The ice cream soda did sound wonderful. She hadn't had one in years.

In the end, they both ordered the ice cream bar, and after getting them from the case, they settled into a booth by the front windows. Through the windows, heat waves shimmered above the street and wavered in the air.

"Thank heavens for AC." Joanne stretched out her legs under the white enamel table. The Dairy Bar had a 50s vibe going, tricked out with white and turquoise booths and chairs. The floor was a black and white checkerboard pattern.

"Have you decided what to pack in your basket for the Supper Auction Friday night?" Milly asked between bites.

"I don't plan to go."

"Oh, but you have to. The proceeds are split between the school and the Wounded Warrior Project. You wouldn't let me or them down now, would you?" Milly pointed her stick of ice cream at Joanne. She looked like she meant business.

"You don't work there anymore, Milly."

"No, but once an educator, always an educator. Please do it for me, Joanne. And the Wounded Warrior Project. You can't say no."

"Who would bid on my basket? I hardly know anyone here anymore and haven't been back long enough to re-connect with folks." She'd already taken two good-size bites from the lusciousness on a stick. Her taste buds turned cartwheels. Too bad she couldn't eat these as often as she liked. But she liked still fitting into her size 12 slacks better.

"I don't think you realize how proud we are of your service, Colonel Pettigrew Yeah, we're real proud. Lots of folks will want a chance to eat your food and visit with you about your adventures."

"Oh, okay. I give up. You can charm a bee out of a hive, Milly Carson Bledsoe. And this ice cream on a stick is awesome. I'm glad you agreed to come."

The door swung open and Milly glanced up and waved. "Hey, Jackson."

***

Jackson stopped in his tracks before making his way into the Dairy Bar. He couldn't remember when he'd last seen Joanne Pettigrew, but he'd kept up with her career. He crossed to the booth where Milly and his old girlfriend sat, his fingers tapping a rapid beat against his thigh. Couldn't believe he was so nervous about seeing her again. Though he clearly had to come up with a new definition. His old girlfriend sat up soldier-straight in the booth. Her brown hair, cut short was barely touched with silver, and her face had only a few lines to tell of her life's experiences. He couldn't resist, but reached out a hand and pulled her from the booth for a hug.

"Hey, you're as beautiful as ever. Really glad you're home, Joanne. Or do I have to call you Colonel?"

She laughed, and a slight blush spread across her face. "No, Jackson. I think we can dispense with our titles since we're both retired."

"Why don't you join us? In fact, you can have my seat." Milly looked at Joanne. "I've got to run. You stay and catch up with Jackson."

Milly scooted from the booth, the last of her ice cream clasped in her hand.

"But Milly—"

"Never you mind, Joanne. We'll compare notes on our supper baskets later. Are you coming to the Supper Auction Friday night, Jackson?"

"I plan to be there, especially if you two are bringing a basket." He winked at Milly and then patted Joanne on the shoulder. "I'll be right back. Gonna grab one of what you're having."

"See y'all later." Milly hurried out of the Dairy Bar.

Jackson returned to the booth and settled across from Joanne. He didn't plan to botch this second chance. They'd been close once, but then they went off to colleges in different states. She'd followed her father into the Air Force, and he'd followed his into the Marines.

"Kind of surprising, we've both ended up here in Dew Drop after traveling the world. He took a healthy bite from his stick of ice cream. "Hard to beat this for a quick pick me up, but I hate the brain freeze." He squeezed the bridge of nose between his forefinger and thumb.

"I returned often, Jackson, at least once a year, to visit my parents," Joanne said and took a small bite of her ice cream.

"I came back too, Joanna. We just never came at the same time."

"Even though Mom and Dad are gone, this small town, without much going for it, still calls me home. Well, of course, it does have its Iced Tea Festival." She smiled, popping out a dimple in her left cheek. "Definitely a reason to return."

Jackson laughed, and she joined in. He'd always loved that single dimple of hers.

"What about your parents, Jackson?"

"Dad's still alive, but we lost Mom five years ago. He moved into the small new retirement center. Told me he rattled around in their large old house, and it made him miss her too much."

"I'm so sorry, Jackson." She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "I hadn't heard. Did you sell the house?"

Her hand in his felt right, reminding him of when they were young.

"No. We held on to it. Since I retired, and Dad moved out, I've been living in one part and working on remodeling other sections."

"I'm impressed. I've never had time for anything like that."

"I've always puttered. Dad got me started when I was a kid, and each place I moved, I'd build one piece of furniture or something small for the house or condo to make it my own. Now I've got a lot of things, and I'm not sure any of them fit into this old house, but it's the only home I've ever had. Where are you staying?"

"I'm renting the old Victor house. It's small, but all I need for now. I want to find someone to build me my own place by the lake. There are still a few parcels of land for sale out there, I understand."

Jackson couldn't keep a smile from spreading across his face. "There are. Sounds like you're planning on staying here." She nodded, finished off her ice cream, and tucked the stick and napkin in the paper sack. She'd always been meticulous. No wonder she'd done so well in the service. Would her having earned a higher rank than he had be a barrier to a relationship? He hoped not. With hers settling here, he gained time. Time he'd been afraid he wouldn't ever have. He'd never married because of Joanne Pettigrew.

"Yes, I am."

"I'd love to visit longer, but work at the house is calling. Milly mentioned you'd be fixing a basket for the Friday Supper Auction. If you are, I'll bid on that basket, so we could talk more. I'd like time to catch up."

She nodded and smiled. Boy, that smile still did things to his insides, just like when they were teenagers.

"I'll be sure to have lots of fried chicken and potato salad then. I seem to remember you were a big eater."

He nodded. "Sounds great. See you Friday night, Colonel. I'm glad you've come home."

***

Friday evening, Joanne put the finishing touches on her supper basket, making sure it would be perfect, so Major Jackson Wright would be pleased he won the bid on her basket. Of course, maybe no one else would bid. Well, only one man was important, and that was Jackson. She hadn't really been surprised to feel the same tingle inside when he walked into the Dairy Bar, looking even better than he had when he was a teenager. He'd broadened out, and the silver touching his temples and lines in his chiseled face added a touch of distinction. There'd never been anyone else for her but him.

Her job interfered with developing any love life. The men of a lower rank wouldn't make contact, and the men of higher rank worried about appearing to harass a junior officer. Some people managed to work around that, but she never had. Civilians couldn't understand her need to move to a new location every several years. Her work had been her entire focus. She didn't regret not having kids. All the junior officers she supervised were her kids.

But now she was home. Home for good. She glanced in the mirror by the front door, deciding she didn't look bad for a full bird colonel, retired. She'd always worked out and watched what she'd eaten. Guess it paid off, but it had gotten harder as she'd gotten older. Joanne headed out to her car, set the basket on the seat next to her so she could steady it if needed, climbed into her small SUV, and pulled out of the driveway.

And Jackson? Oh, my goodness. Surely, he still didn't have a six-pack under that shirt that fit so well across his middle. Maybe she'd have a chance to find out. Her cheeks heated at the very idea.

When she arrived at the school, the parking lot was only partially full because some townsfolk were attending the rodeo. She walked into the gym where the auction would be held, and a woman pointed her toward the registration table. After leaving her basket and receiving a number, Joanne made her way to the drink table and helped herself to the $3 sweet iced tea. The money all went to good causes. They offered a variety of teas, but Joanne stuck with the old-fashioned sweet kind her mother always made. A band played on a stage and balloons sailed through the air when kids lost hold of them. And the smells. Boy, there'd be some good eating tonight.

She climbed about halfway up the bleachers and settled in. Would Jackson be able to find her? How would he know which basket was hers? For heaven's sake she was thinking like a teenager.

"Is this seat taken, Colonel?"

She glanced up to find the man in question standing one step lower. They were eye to eye. His brown ones, soft as a doe. How could that be sexy on a man? But it was for her for sure. He looked fine in his jeans, boots, and plaid short-sleeve shirt, exposing his muscled arms.

"I was saving the spot." She used her snootiest tone.

"Oh?" His eyes darkened.

Relenting, she smiled. "I was saving the spot for you, Major." She patted the bleacher next to her.

He grinned and settled near. "Will you tell me when they auction off your basket?"

"Absolutely."

More people gathered. Milly walked by after signing in her basket and waved, wagging her eyebrows up and down, giving them a two-thumbs up.

"What is with that woman?" Joanne mumbled, not intending him to hear.

"It looks like she approves of us being here. At least, I think that's it." He took her hand and squeezed once. "And I agree with her."

"I'm having fun, Jackson." She smiled at him, worrying his taking her hand didn't mean anything. And she wanted it to mean something.

The band stopped playing. "Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention," a middle-aged man with something of a paunch on him spoke into the microphone.

"Oh, look, I think they're about to begin the auction."

"What is your number?"

"Fifteen."

"Did you make everything yourself?

"Yes, I did. Even dessert. Cooking and baking were things I could do any place I moved, and I collected recipes from everywhere. But tonight's meal needed to be quintessential, small-town Texas. If I could've figured a way to keep chicken fried steak warm, that's what we'd be eating."

The bidding became hot on a couple of the younger women's baskets with lots of yelling and laughing. Both Granny White and Grandma Taylor had also brought baskets, and four of the retired men in the community put up a good fight to see which one of them raised the most with their baskets.

"I've heard both ladies are among the best cooks in town," Jackson said.

"Well, they are certainly raising a lot of money. A couple of hundred dollars each seems pretty good."

"I think your basket is next."

The auctioneer, Butch Hopkins, held up the large braided basket. "Basket fifteen was prepared by Dew Drop's own full bird colonel, Joanne Pettigrew, retired. Glad you've come home, Colonel. We thank you for your service." The gathered crowd hooted, hollered, and applauded.

Joanne nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"So, gentlemen, besides a chance to visit with the beautiful and commanding Colonel, you are promised her mother's famous fried chicken recipe, potato salad, celery and carrots—not sure those are necessary—and pecan pie. Yum. If I didn't have to bid on my wife's basket," he allowed the laughter of the audience." I'd certainly go after this one. So, let's start the bidding at fifty dollars."

Jackson raised his hand. "One hundred dollars."

"Thank you, Major. We've got one hundred. Do I hear one fifty?"

"Two hundred." The words came from the other side of the bleachers.

Jackson looked at her and raised his eyebrows in question. "So, Colonel, do you have a secret admirer?"

Joanne shrugged her shoulders. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Well, the money is for a good cause. Let's see what he's got." Jackson raised his hand. "Three hundred dollars."

"Four hundred." From a gravelly sounding voice.

"Well, I'll be." Jackson sat up straighter on the bleacher as if trying to see who the bidder was. "You know, Joanne, I'm starving. Let's end this." He raised his hand. "One thousand dollars."

"Wow!" The auctioneer looked flustered but recovered quickly. "One thousand dollars—going once, twice, three times." He banged his gavel. "Sold to Major Wright."

Jackson hugged her and then left the stands to pay for her basket. Joanne's heart beat double time. She didn't know whether he'd ever married or not, but was it possible he had feelings for her the way she had for him?

***

Later, Jackson rubbed a napkin across his mouth and leaned back patting his stomach. "Well worth the thousand bucks, Joanne. You are really a great cook."

"Thank you, though not worth a thousand dollars, but it went for very good causes."

"Do you mind if I ask what you plan to do here? I mean, you've always been so busy with lots of responsibility. I can't quite see you sitting around twiddling your thumbs."

The blush kissed her cheeks the way he'd like to. She looked across the gym and then at him.

"I'm writing a book. Hopefully, more than one."

"Really? An autobiography about your life as a female officer in the Air Force?"

"No, but I'm sure I'll pull from those experiences." She tapped her fingers on the table. "Well, if it all goes well, I'll have to tell folks. Might as well start with you."

Again, she looked away before facing him, something of a determined expression on her face. "I'm writing a romance novel."

Despite his best efforts, his eyebrows rose. She'd really surprised him.

"A romance novel?"

She nodded. "A military romance novel. I've heard they're very popular these days, and I have lots of stories to tell."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I just bet you do."

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No, ma'am. Never laugh at a superior officer. Are you going to use your real name?"

"Yeah, I am. Lots of folks know who I am, I figure the first book they'll want to read out of curiosity. After that, I guess it will be up to whether I can write a good enough book to bring them back."

"I think that's super. Seriously. And a place out by the lake will make a great place to work."

"That's what I'm hoping. What about you? After you finish fixing your family home, what will you do?"

Jackson set aside his plate. "I'm planning on starting a repair-man business."

"That sounds fun. Set your own hours, and gosh, so many people need a qualified person to fix stuff around the house."

"You wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen hanging out with a simple handyman?" He was sort of pushing his luck right now, his heart beat accelerated. He'd waited so long for this chance, he had to believe them both returning at the same time had meaning.

Joanne smiled at him and her blue gray eyes twinkled. His hope increased.

"No, Jackson, I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen hanging out with a handy man." She took his hand in hers. "Especially if you were the handyman."

The End

About Marsha

Marsha R. West, a retired elementary school principal, is also a former school board member and theatre arts teacher. She writes romance, suspense, and second chances. Experience required. Marsha lives in Texas with her supportive lawyer husband and Charley, a Chihuahua/Jack Russell Terrier mix. Their two daughters presented them with three delightful grandchildren who live nearby.

MuseItUp Publishing released her first book, VERMONT ESCAPE July 2013 and her second book, TRUTH BE TOLD, May 2014. In the Fall of 2014, Marsha formed MRW Press LLC to provide print and e-versions of her books. SECOND ACT, Book 1 of the Second Chances Series follows up with a secondary character from VERMONT ESCAPE and begins a four-part series. ACT OF TRUST is Book 2, and ACT OF BETRAYAL is Book 3. Book 4, ACT OF SURVIVAL, has a release date of Fall 2018.

THE THEATRE, is a stand-alone released in 2016.

Other NTRWA Publications

In 2008, NTRWA celebrated its 25th anniversary and put together its first anthology called, Love Texas Style. Unfortunately, the book is no longer available except possibly through Amazon.

NTRWA compiled a second anthology in 2013 to celebrate its 30th anniversary called Deep in the Hearts of Texas. It's available as a free download via Smashwords.

For more information about NTRWA anthologies, visit our website: http://www.ntrwa.org/chapteranthologies.aspx

