 
# Deep in the _Hearts_ of Texas

A short story collection celebrating the 30th anniversary of the North Texas Romance Writers of America

Copyright 2013

Cover design by Soaring Phoenix Designs
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events are either products ofthe author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

"Beautiful Freak" copyright March 2013 by Gina Lee Nelson

"Dear John" copyright March 2013 by Jenn FitzGerald

"Varsity Vanity" copyright March 2013 by Kary Rader

"A Forever Kind of Love" copyright March 2013 by Christine Crocker

"Dive Into Love" copyright March 2013 by Christine Crocker

"Coffee Cravings" copyright March 2013 by Lavender Daye

"Sophie's Choice" copyright March 2013 by Arline Todd

"Blind Love" copyright March 2013 by Kym Roberts

"Fishing" copyright March 2013 by Clover Autrey

"Promise" copyright March 2013 by C.A. Szarek

"The Contract" copyright March 2013 by Jeanne Guzman

## Beautiful Freak

Gina Lee Nelson

Copyright 2013
Beautiful Freak

Her name was Abby.

I followed her down the hall, ignoring the shiny tile floors and glaring fluorescents that blinded me with lousy ideas and Stone Age rules.

I followed her though a thousand students trafficked between us, punching and laughing and screaming with their need to be heard, seen, different–God, please make us different.

All in red from her hair to her Sketchers, she was easy to track, like a cherry Popsicle waving in the hot Texas sun.

In thirty seconds she'd flow into biology like that girl from those vampire movies, only tougher and smarter and hotter and—not here in school, stupid. Chill.

I hit the floor running.

"Watch where you're going," a coach bellowed as if wearing cowboy boots made him a man. "You hear me, Angel?"

I slowed and gave him the nod he demanded. I added a smile, which made him grunt in surprise.

When I turned, she was gone. She'd disappeared into the bowels of learning before I could see her face and imprint the image of her nose and eyelashes into my brain.

* * * *

Where was he? I opened my spiral and stared at the board. He always stood near the water fountain before fourth period, staring at me while I chatted with my friends and pretended not to notice even when my skin grew hot and my body tingled. Coal black eyes and bleached blond hair, like a wild mustang, graceful and strong, he drew me in until our eyes met, and he shied away.

"Where's that weirdo that always follows you around?" a cheerleader asked in a Slurpee-sweet whine. The back row of losers snorted with laughter.

I ignored her weak jab and drew bloody skulls across my notebook with my red pen. When Ms. Tyler turned her back, I made sure pom-pom breath saw what I'd drawn.

"You're so gross."

"Yeah, but at least I'm not you."

One day he'd just appeared, as if I'd ordered him from a catalog that only sold guys with hot eyes, soft lips, and black skinny jeans. He never drew closer than the water fountain, but it was as if I heard him speak my name and felt his breath upon my neck. I kept expecting him to say something, to ask me a question. Nothing. That first week I thought he was waiting for someone else. The next week I knew . . .  He was waiting for me.

What did he want? Why didn't he speak?

Three weeks and still no words.

It was a game I never won, a test I couldn't pass. One glance in my direction, capturing me in his vibe, and he was gone.

He was weird. He was tall. He was blond with black roots. He was serious, and his eyes held secrets I wanted to hear.

A beautiful freak.

* * * *

I walked into Art 2, her smile branded across my brain. I flipped through my sketchbook to a blank page and lifted the broken pencil from my pocket.

A hand rested lightly on my shoulder. "Would you like to borrow mine?" Mrs. Martin asked in a gentle voice. "I know you'll return them." In her smile, I heard my mother's voice. _You are special._ I nodded, and my favorite teacher handed me three different pencils, perfect for shading my dreams.

"Finish your pumpkins, people," She walked back to her desk. "Then you can do your own thing."

I had finished _Shading for Dummies_ yesterday. I would finish Abby's picture and give her my soul.

* * * *

Today he stepped toward me.

My heart stopped . . . and the friggin' bell rang.

"Abby, sit, or go get a tardy pass," Coach Baird warned, but I heard the indulgence in his voice. He wasn't sending me or anyone in a skirt to the tardy center. The boys weren't so lucky.

Coach was saying something, but I couldn't hear him for the rush of heat soaring up my body. All I knew was my freak's shy, sexy smile and a question I'd seen in his heavenly eyes. _Are you ready_ ?

* * * *

I finished her picture. Three days of shading and blending. Forever. Now it was perfect.

"Awesome job." Though Mrs. Martin spoke softly, the guy next to me, who must have chopped his hair with a butcher knife, still heard her.

"Let me see. Angel, I won't tell." His ear-splitting whisper woke the class and heads turned.

I slapped my sketchbook closed. "Shut up," I warned him under my breath. I wasn't sharing the perfection of her nose and the light I'd captured in her hair with anyone else . . . but her.

"I know who she is," said the jerk with the hair, "you crazy Mexican." He laughed, and I wanted to grab him by the throat and choke him until he stopped. "Snow White's got money, man. She don't care about you and your ugly drawing."

I hid the sketchbook in my backpack. My face was on fire. I wanted to slam out the door, but I knew he was right. Why would she want trash when she could buy anything? Have anyone?

* * * *

He didn't come back. Not the next day or the next, or the next.

I waited until Baird bellowed, and I knew for sure I was headed for the office. Was he okay? Tears flooded my eyes. Was I crazy? I couldn't feel sad for someone I didn't know. I couldn't cry like a brat because he _might_ be sick or faking it at home.

My stomach hurt and my sides ached. Did he see the truth? Did he catch a whiff of the real me? I was a fake. I surrounded myself with shallow friends and hid behind conceit, too afraid to change and step away from all I understood.

What had I done?

* * * *

She led me to her locker, unaware that I tracked her with my heart. She escaped into the ladies, and I pulled her picture from my pocket.

Her friends wouldn't leave,

wouldn't leave,

wouldn't leave,

wouldn't leave . . . until finally they did. I slipped closer to slide my hopes into her locker. I turned,

and she was there.

* * * *

He was there, from nowhere, sneaking a note into my locker. I swallowed. I fought to speak. Should I say hi? Maybe hello? Nothing came out.

He turned and there he was. Tall. Quiet. Speaking with only his eyes.

He reached out his hand.

I grabbed the note, afraid to read it. His eyes were burning, but no smile. He was letting me go. I unfolded the page and saw someone I knew, but more honest, more real, more . . . loved.

He reached out his hand, and I reached out mine.

With pinkies linked, we turned as one and headed for biology.

## Dear John

Jenn FitzGerald

Copyright 2013
Dear John

October 2011

Dear Staff Sergeant Hertzler,

The rest of your squadron will be getting letters from my class of fourth graders. I hope you don't mind getting one from me. My name is Chelsea Johnson, and I teach at Ten Rigs Elementary School in Ten Rigs, Texas.

I want to thank you and your squadron for your service to our country. I can't imagine what it must be like for you over there. If there's something we can send to cheer you up, please let me know what and where to send it.

If you're wondering why everyone else got a letter from one of my students and you got one from me, I'll tell you. One of my students moved away recently. We had more names than kids, and I didn't want someone to not get a letter.

I grew up here in Ten Rigs. In fact, I attended this elementary school. Of course, it's the only one in town, so I guess it stands to reason. But you wouldn't know that, would you? I have three sisters who are all married. (I'm not.) And I have a couple of nephews, whom I adore.

I guess I'll sign off now. I'd really enjoy hearing back from you if you have the time.

Thank you again, and God bless.

Chelsea Johnson

* * * *

_May 2012_

John glanced at the stack of letters on the passenger seat. There were over a dozen in all. All on purple stationary, all with the same floral scent. After the first of the year, their relationship had deepened. Not by any conscious choice. It had just happened, and Chelsea's letters had begun to arrive on a regular basis. She'd opened up to him about everything from her faith and her politics to her horrible senior prom experience and the middle school teacher she'd dated for close to a year. _He was a nice man, but he just didn't make my knees melt or my stomach flutter, if you know what I mean_.

John certainly did. His knees felt a bit wobbly at the thought of seeing her in just a short time.

His family drama, his flubs on the football field and his struggles through boot camp had been offered to her in exchange, and now it was as if they'd known each other forever. Not only that, but they liked the same music and had similar senses of humor. Her gentle snark about life in a small town never failed to make him laugh.

He just hoped his plan didn't backfire. She'd expressed uncertainty the few times he'd broached the subject of meeting, and he couldn't understand why. They were made for each other.

A flashbang exploded in his brain and he thumped the steering wheel.

Images of the handful of pictures she'd sent flashed one-by-one through his mind's eye, and several of her comments scrolled across his thoughts like a ticker tape in her neat writing.

_Aw, hell._ She was weight conscious. Why hadn't he picked up on that before? In his opinion, she was the perfect size. He'd have to make that absolutely clear at some point.

He drove along Main Street and through the three blocks of downtown. A left at the stop sign and two more blocks. His pulse picked up speed even as he slowed for the turn into the parking lot.

A group of kids chased one another around the school yard; others climbed the jungle gym and several swung. And then he saw her. Mahogany-colored hair gleamed in the Texas sunshine and dark jeans hugged her rounded hips. He took a deep breath and let it out as anticipation rippled through him. _Oh, yeah._ It was true that the camera added ten pounds, because there wasn't a curve or a valley that needed resculpturing.

He couldn't think of any place he'd rather be. The question was, would she be as excited to see him as he was to see her?

With another deep breath, he headed for the school office. After explaining who he was, he was given a visitor sticker and led to the playground. At the clank of the gate latch, Chelsea and the other teacher turned around.

"Miss Johnson, Mrs. Hill, this is Sergeant—"

"John," breathed Chelsea, her hand flying to her mouth.

"—Hertzler," finished the assistant principal. "I guess you know each other?"

"Oh my heavens, you're _here_." Her voice was like music to his ears. A moment later, he found himself with an armful of woman.

Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her hair. _Oh, yeah._ This was right where he was meant to be. He clung to her longer than strictly necessary, but it had been forever since he'd held a woman. He couldn't help but hug her soft curves close.

Her familiar perfume floated around him, and he breathed it in. Whatever it was, he'd buy her a case if she'd agree to keep spritzing her letters with it.

She pulled away and tucked her hair behind the smooth shell of her ears. One embrace and he missed the feel of her. Dang, he had it bad.

"How did you . . . what are you doing here?"

"I had to travel through Dallas to get home. I took a detour to say hello."

Color bloomed on her cheeks, enhancing her sweetness. He just wanted to abscond with her and get to know her in person, to enjoy her company and conversation in real time. Okay, sure, he wouldn't mind another hug, holding her hand, or even kissing her, but all in due time. He hoped.

"That's six hours one way," she said.

"Well worth it." Any absconding would have to wait. It was still the school day and she was still the teacher. "Can I meet the kids?"

"What? Oh, of course." Her hands flew to her face, and her face reddened further. Cupping her hands, she turned and called out to her class. Many of them already watched and hurried over. Twenty or so children crowded around them. Her gaze scanned the pint-sized crowd. "Do you remember when we wrote letters to the soldiers last year?"

Some nodded, others called out yes.

"Well, this is my soldier—I mean this is the soldier I've been writing to."

He didn't miss her word choice, and his stomach flip-flopped. He didn't mind in the least. He very much wanted to be _her_ soldier.

He followed her and the children back to a small classroom decorated with hand-drawn pictures, science projects, and colorful wall posters. John shared a kid-friendly version of what he did in Iraq and thanked them for their letters and the box of goodies they'd sent his squad at Christmas. It had been a huge hit. As had the stocking full of treats she'd included just for him. The final bell rang a short time later, and he waited while she walked her students out front.

Chelsea returned to her room and stood inside the door, wringing her hands.

"Hey . . ." He shifted into parade rest as uneasiness prickled across the back of his neck. "I know this was kind of a shock."

Her initial greeting had been everything he could have hoped for, all things considered, but now . . .

She smiled, and a dimple appeared in her right cheek.

Most of his anxiety ebbed away right then and there. He was imagining things, right? An unexpected visit from a stranger was a biggie as far as surprises went. And she hated surprises. She'd complained about them in more than one letter.

"I'd like to take you to dinner—I passed Pearl's Diner on the way in."

She shook her head, and his heart plummeted to his combat boots. _Crap._ He'd totally misread her.

He wasn't sure what sort of expression crossed his face, but her blue eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, _no_ —I'm so sorry. I mean, I'd like dinner. Just not here in town. News of your appearance has already spread like pinkeye, and the busybodies and nosy Parkers will be out in force. If you don't mind a little more driving, there's a sit-down pizza place in Snyder. It's just up the highway, but we'd be able to visit in peace and quiet."

Relief lifted his heart back to his chest. "That sounds great. I haven't had a decent pizza in a long time." Nor a one-on-one conversation with a woman who didn't outrank him, wasn't his subordinate, or was otherwise off limits for more than conversation. If he had to, he'd drive back across Texas.

* * * *

John sat across from Chelsea in the pizza place. Once they'd gotten past the meeting-for-the-first-time awkwardness, their friendship fell into place and conversation flowed fast and free all through the drive to Snyder. They'd picked up almost where their letters left off. But in person beat the hell out of paper. How was he going to go back to letters?

She nibbled at her salad, and her one slice of pizza sat cooling on a plate. His gut said she'd much prefer a second slice of pizza to the rabbit food she'd chosen.

"Your pictures didn't do you justice, you know."

Chelsea looked down at her plate, fighting a smile though color splotched her neck. "Thank you."

"I, uh . . . I just wanted to say, too, that you have a lovely figure and I really . . . "

Her brows rose.

Why was this so difficult all of a sudden? They'd been so forthright in their letters and in the car. Why did that have to change just because they were face-to-face?

"Look, Chelsea, I like your figure. I don't like stick-thin women, and, from here, you look pretty damn good."

Pleasure made her blush, and her gaze dropped to her plate. A second later, sparkling blue eyes met his, and she laughed. "Thank you. I appreciate you saying so. You know, I can't believe you're here after all these months and all our letters."

"Me either."

Her hand landed on his forearm, and sparks zinged from her touch to his chest. With a gentle twist of his wrist, he laced his fingers through hers.

Much better.

Surprise flitted across her features, but she didn't pull away. Her hands were soft with rounded nails painted a light raspberry pink color that matched the gloss on her lips. There was just something _right_ about her hand in his.

"I debated with myself all the way from Saudi, whether or not to come."

"What about your family, John?" She set down her fork and leaned forward. "Your parents, especially. They haven't seen you in over a year, and you come here instead? I don't understand."

His hand tightened around hers. "I was so close, Chelsea, I couldn't not come. You—"

"But your family . . . you should have gone home first. Kissed your mother, hugged your father."

He shook his head. "All in due time. You're not the only person I write to, you know. My parents know all about you."

"What? Really?" Color tinted her cheeks yet again, and she wrinkled her nose.

"Of course they do. And they get how important you are to me. I called my mom from Dallas and told her what I was doing. She thought I was nuts . . . " He lifted a shoulder. "But she understood."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say that you're happy to see me. Say that you're happy I came even though you hate surprises. Say—"

A man bounded up to the table, and Chelsea blanched.

Every muscled in John's body tightened.

"Hey, Chelsea, I'm really looking forward to dinner tomorrow night."

What the hell? A Humvee rumbled onto his chest and parked.

She groaned and dropped her chin to her chest as it rose and fell.

John took in the guy, from his red ball cap to his black polo and silver name badge, and frowned. She had a date with the assistant manager of the local pizza parlor?

He _was_ nuts and an idiot. His brother had warned him. His mother had worried his heart would get trampled. But John had been sure there was something genuine between Chelsea and him. So sure, in fact, that he'd risked his family's derision to find out. It would take years to live this down. The Humvee got heavier.

He couldn't breathe; he needed air.

Sliding from the banquette, he tossed a couple of twenties on the table and headed for the door.

The fluorescent lights of the parking lot glared down on him as if to highlight all the cracks in his plan. She was a beautiful woman. Of course men wanted to date her. She was young and vibrant. Of course she wanted to be loved and cherished. He couldn't give her what she needed and deserved from halfway around the world. He kicked the tire of the rental car. _He was a damned fool._

"Wait, John," she called, hurrying over to him, furrows marring her forehead.

"I don't know what to say," said John. He didn't know what to think, either. And his pizza now sat like stone in his gut. It was certainly no time to get tongue-tied. They'd been honest in their letters, or so he thought. He had, at least. So why was he suddenly hesitant to say what was on his mind? Or in his heart?

Because this was it. This was do or die time. And despite the hope he'd harbored as he'd flown halfway across the globe, the last fifteen minutes had shaken his certaincy that she was the woman for him.

But because this was it, there was nothing to do but forge ahead.

"I thought we had something. That's why I came."

"We do. You know we do."

"I don't know what to think or what to feel now. We've been writing these letters, and things changed between us. I liked the changes, Chelsea. So much so that I risked rejection and humiliation to come here. To see if what we have on paper works in reality."

He should have listened to his brother. He raked a hand across his head and settled his hands on his hips.

"You have a date. You're a beautiful woman. I should have expected this. I was a fool to think I had a chance. I mean—"

"John, it's not a date."

"Dinner sounds like a date."

"It's not a date, I swear. Our church has a singles night dinner/mixer every year, and my mother's the committee chair this year. All my mother's done for the last six months is harp at me about being single. You know that. I've written about it more than once. I just wanted to shut her up."

"By going on a date?"

She shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Yes. _No._ " She stomped her foot. "Dammit, it's not a date."

"You're having dinner with a member of the opposite sex at a function designed to encourage singles to not be single any longer. How is it not a date?" He crossed his arms. "Ernie seems to think it's a date."

"No, he doesn't. He's being a jerk. He's a school chum, nothing more. There's nothing between us. Never has been, never will be. And he _knows_ that." She sighed. "I just wanted to shut my mother up."

He said nothing. Her explanation didn't contradict anything she'd ever said in her letters.

She studied him, her expression a combination of trepidation and determination. Sparks flickered in her eyes. She stepped closer and her sweet scent teased him, wafted through the cracks of his defenses, softened his stance.

"John, c'mon, we know each other. You know we do. You've read my letters. You know how I feel."

He wanted to believe her.

She placed her hand on his arm. The warmth of her hand permeated the thickness of his BDU sleeve. Her face shone up at him, and the pink tip of her tongue slid across her lip, pulling his gaze. The desire to kiss her shot from his crew cut to his combat boots. The heat in her eyes made his decision, and he pulled her into his arms and did just that.

Her lips tasted sweet, and they parted beneath his. Arms circled his neck, plush breasts pressed against his chest. Oh, yeah.

The kiss ended, and he rested his forehead against hers. He wouldn't be surprised if she heard his heart pounding double time.

"When is this mixer?"

"Day after tomorrow."

He nodded and tightened his hold. "You're going with me then, and we'll shut your mother up once and for all."

* * * *

_February 2014_

Dearest John,

I'm glad you're settling back into the routine of deployment. It's lonely here in Missouri, especially at night. With school, the days are bearable, but I miss you terribly.

I can't say I'm overly fond of the cold, though a fresh snowfall is extremely beautiful, and the falling white stuff brings out my more domestic side. You're missing all the soups and casseroles I've been making . . .

Aside from all of that, there's not much else going on, but I do have some news from your side of the family. Your sister is finally getting married! No date set yet though. We'll keep you posted. Your brother and his wife are expecting baby number three in July. Obviously hoping for a girl this time.

And one last thing—you're going to be a daddy. Finally. I'm so excited I could burst. And I hope you are, too. I couldn't wait to tell you. But please call soon—I can't wait to talk to you and share all the details.

I love you so much.

Your loving wife,

Chelsea

## Varsity Vanity

Kary Rader

Copyright 2013
Varsity Vanity

Jake Matthews stared at himself in the lit vanity mirror of his SUV. He smoothed his hair and forced a smile. Anxiety gripped his throat like a middle linebacker from Carter High. His heart pounded with the muffled beat of some Rhianna song playing inside the mansion.

He had to go in. There was no seam up the middle to escape. This wasn't first down. The only option: punt.

Why had Jill done this?

_It's for your own good._

He snorted. Baloney. No—this was for her good. Her fake sympathy and bullshit argument, _it's me; it's not you_ tossed the Pop-Tarts inside his churning stomach.

After all they'd been to each other, she dumped him like a bag of chemistry books. Damn. He'd been her first . . .  _everything_. He'd taken her virginity, and now she was taking his dignity.

"Doesn't she know people don't dump the varsity quarterback on homecoming weekend? That isn't in the playbook."

She'd accused him of being in love with someone else. _Like who?_ Jillian Newman was the top of the dating food chain at North Dallas High. H-O-T in all caps and his girlfriend for two years. Not anymore.

Oddly, he felt more stressed than heartbroken. He'd loved her, right? Shouldn't there be anger, hurt, something other than the need to barf.

He hopped out of the Xterra, straightened the tie on his rented tux, and strolled toward the door like his life hadn't just imploded into a thousand pieces. The soles of his Luccheses tapped the pavement like a death march.

The banquet space at Belo Mansion had been donated by Randi Lowenstein's dad. Otherwise, they would've had the dance at the Hilton Gardens. Again. Belo was a historical landmark, fully restored and pretty badass; the Hilton Gardens was a bad joke. Jesus, that place sucked. Just like his life. But one thing was for sure—he had to steer clear of Randi and all of Jill's cheerleader friends tonight. _Like that's even possible_. He ran a heavy hand over his face. No snakes with pom-poms if he could help it.

"Hey, Jake."

He jerked his head up. His palms went sweaty. Tommy and Marcus stood at the entrance, reclining against a column on the wide porch.

Tommy scanned him up, down, and around. "Lookin' good, Matthews. Where's Jill?"

His gut clenched. The dreaded question. Jake stared at his two O-linemen. They expected their quarterback to have a date. Not just any date. They expected Jillian.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and squared his shoulders. There was only one solution—lie. "Aww man, she burned herself in a tanning bed. Second degree. Couldn't make it tonight."

_What if Jill shows up?_ He gulped.

 "Too bad. Was she trying to get rid of tan lines for you, Big Jake?" Marcus's eyes glinted with the sexual insinuation.

"Yeah. I guess." Jake shrugged and tried to hammer down the building tension that threatened to erect a monument in his chest. Eventually the guys would find out the truth, but now he needed damage control.

What if she showed up with another guy? Humiliation swept across his body. Fear and dread were his dates tonight. But shouldn't he feel heartbroken? Even a little?

He left his buddies in a hormone-fueled fit of raucous laughter and stepped inside the southern plantation.

A large, open dance floor sprawled to the right, and a crowd of couples in formal clothes bounced and jiggled to some lame song. Aside from colored lights flashing to the music, the space was dimly lit. Maybe he could sneak in without being noticed.

"Hi, Jake." Several sophomores he barely knew swarmed. They always spoke in the halls at school and provided grateful looks of reverence when he returned their greetings.

"Hey, Jake . . . "

He cringed as they scanned the area around him, knowing what came next.

"Where's Jill?"

_Here we go again._ "She couldn't make it."

"What? Why?"

Their shocked faces only added to his growing stress. This night couldn't end fast enough. He pulled himself from their well-formed circle and slipped away, tossing back over his shoulder, "She got hit by—"

His mind went blank.

Something stopped him like a fourth and fifteen. His mouth went dry, and feelings he'd beat back over the summer rushed at him again.

Vaguely aware of the gasps of the underclassmen, he pushed forward. It was like a dream he didn't remember until now. Only she was no dream.

Someone grabbed his jacket.

He tore his gaze from the phantom and flicked a glance to the chick clamping down on his arm.

A young, pimple-faced girl with glasses asked, "Oh my God, Jake. Jill got hit? How? By who?"

 "Helicopter . . . while jogging."

He didn't wait for a response but jerked from the gal's hold and trudged forward, scanning for the strange-but-familiar sight he'd just glimpsed. She was gone.

He roughly caught the shoulder of a junior in the marching band. "Have you seen Emily?"

The guy's face blanched. "H-hey, Jake . . . Who?"

"Emily Williams. Yearbook editor, Student Council." _Trigonometry tutor_. His heart did an end zone dance in his chest.

" _Oh_. Her." His eyes widened. "I saw. She looks hot tonight. She was with Kevin Thomasson."

Kevin? A growl he couldn't explain formed deep in his chest. "Thanks."

"Anytime, man. You played a great game last night." The guy turned to go but then stopped. "I heard Jill wasn't here. What happened?"

His face went deadpan. "Shark attack."

Emily Williams had been his tutor for the last semester of his junior year. She'd single-handedly taught him trigonometry. At least enough for him to pass and become eligible to play football his senior year. The snarky little spitfire never laughed at his crude jokes or gazed at him with adoring eyes like the other girls. In fact, sometimes she made him feel pretty stupid. But when he'd seen her across the room, stupidity wasn't what he'd felt. He closed his eyes and swallowed, remembering the last time they'd spoken.

Urgency mounted. He stalked past the dancers to find North Dallas High's Student Council president.

Had Em really come with Thomasson? God, he hoped not.

He paced the perimeter of the floor, searching for the star basketball player. His eyes focused on the lanky dude and then on his dance partner. _Not her._ A long breath whistled from his lips. The tension in his chest eased but then shot up his spine like a NASA rocket as he spied her dancing with a guy from chemistry.

The weight of countless stares from all over the room pressed in on him. He was making a scene. Not that he had to do much. The attention was always there, but tonight the demands of the crowd felt heavier, brutal even. A certain standard was expected of him.

Screw it.

He wanted this. He wanted _her_. He had wanted her for a long time. _Who cares what they think?_ Okay, he cared a little, but not enough to stop him this time.

Early summer he'd invited Em to lunch as a thank you for helping him stay on the team. His mom had suggested he take her out, but knowing they might be spotted in public, he'd opted for cooking her a meal. When she arrived, he'd handed her the unopened envelope with his grades—grades he'd not looked at until she was with him. He hadn't realized at the time why it had been so important for her to share in the moment. Now he did. But he wasn't supposed to feel like that with her.

_You got an A, big guy. I guess we'll have to stomach your shoddy play calling one more season_.

At her response, a surge of joy had hit him. Without thinking, he'd picked her up and spun her around the room until they fell on the couch with her on top, their faces electrifying inches apart. Her eyes had sparkled with flecks of green, gold, and blue, and her chest rose and fell against his in soft bursts. His body heated, and he'd leaned toward her for a kiss.

But at the last second he'd pulled back and practically thrown her off the couch.

He'd never been a cheater, and he was already dating the hottest chick in school. Her face fell in hurt and disappointment. She'd raced out the door.

Since the start of school eight weeks ago, he and Emily hadn't spoken. They hadn't even made eye contact. They'd been invisible to each other. Only she hadn't been invisible, because he stole glances at her whenever he knew she wasn't looking—which was always. Thoughts of her crammed his brain at the worst possible moments. Like during pop quizzes in World Lit, in the huddle during games, and during other more intimate contact sports with Jill.

He couldn't lie to himself anymore. Emily Williams made him laugh and made him feel . . . giddy. Jesus, a giddy quarterback was just all kinds of wrong.

Em didn't care what he looked like or that he played football, but when he aced his final exam, she'd flashed a smile so bright he needed shades.

He made his way to where she danced and waited for the song to end. His insides turned to Chewy Chips Ahoy.

Her long brown hair was pulled up on her head, and her black dress clung to subtle curves he hadn't realized she owned. His lower abs tightened. He watched her ass sway with the music and kept a tight eye on the guy's hand, making sure it didn't drop any lower than the small of her back.

The song ended. She released the guy—Cooper was his name—and spun, almost colliding with Jake's chest. Her eyes widened, and a faint blush covered her cheeks, but then steely indifference fell over her features.

"Hey, Em," he said softly. "How's it going?" He slid his gaze down the scooped neck of her beaded dress to her chest. Crap. He hadn't known she had one. At least not one like _that_.

"Oh, so now you can talk to me?" Her lips pursed in a tight oval like they always did when something didn't please her. It was a face she'd given him quite a bit during study sessions. She scowled. "You've been ignoring me since June, and now you want to chat . . . and check me out?" She stomped her little foot. "Quit looking at my boobs."

"I—I'm not checking you out." His face heated, and he met the scolding look in her hazel eyes. Damn. She was right. He was totally checking her out. He'd stayed as far away from her as he possibly could. But now he wanted to get closer. Way closer. "You wanna dance?"

It was her turn to blush, and she dropped her gaze. "You mean in public? Where all your fans can see?"

"Right here. Right now." His palm itched to wrap around her waist.

"Where's Jillian?"

The way she spit out Jill's name made a smile creep over his lips. Maybe she wasn't as unaffected as she appeared, and for the first time all night, he was glad to spill the truth. "Jill and I broke up."

Her throat bobbed when she swallowed, and her chest rose and fell a little more heavily.

A slow song began, and couples crowded back out on the floor.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled. "Dance with me."

She narrowed her eyes but didn't resist. "You're kind of bossy tonight."

He flashed her one of his signature smiles. "You look good, Em."

Her cheeks flooded with color, but she ignored the compliment. "So what happened with Jill?"

"She accused me of being in love with someone else." He cinched his arm around her waist and pulled her in. "She was right." Staring into Em's face, he waited for a response.

She rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, you want me to help you win the heart and hand of the new girl."

"Something like that." He never broke his gaze and swayed slowly to the music, causing their bodies to brush wherever he could.

Her face was masked with indifference, but the shallow breaths she took made him chuckle.

"What are you laughing at, ball boy?

" _You_. You want me."

"You're delusional."

He lowered his head and whispered against her lips, "Am I?"

She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. Her voice came out soft and shaky. "So what if I do?

The sweet smell of her lifted him right off the dance floor.

"It doesn't change who I am and who my friends are. Just because I'm wearing makeup and a push-up bra doesn't change what I'll look like at school on Monday, Jake."

His body quivered at thought of seeing her in that bra—only that bra, but he took a deep breath. "I don't care what you look like or who your friends are. I only care about what you think and what I think. And do you know what I think?"

"Based on that play you ran in the third quarter of last night's game, I'd say not too much."

" _C'mon_. Ricky ran the wrong route. Not even Tony Romo could've seen that safety streaking across the field." He scowled. "Why are you giving me shit? I won the game, didn't I? Did I eff up homecoming? No."

"All right. I'll give you that, ball boy. That QB sneak was pretty wicked." A sly smile played at the corners of her lips. His heart twisted in a knot. "I guess I can cut you—"

He caught her lips so fast she squeaked the rest of the sentence into his mouth. He held her tight and kissed her slow and deep. Warmth poured over the top of his head, down his body as he held her soft curves. So freaking sweet.

A far away murmur filtered into his consciousness, but he pushed back the whispers and gasps to focus on the girl in his arms.

Her tongue mingled with his, stroking and caressing. The flutter of her breath tickled his cheek. She smelled like Christmas and tasted like warm apple cider and pie. His chest heaved, and his hands warmed against her soft curves.

He released his hold and pulled from the kiss to look into her eyes. "I don't care what my peeps say."

She wiped her lips, straightened her dress, and took several breaths. He loved breaking that calm exterior of hers.

She took a step back. "But I do. I have my reputation to think of."

He scowled. The girl loved to toy with his ego.

She giggled.

"You're gonna cause me grief, aren't you?"

"Yeppers. Lots of it."

He grabbed her faster than she could move, picked her up, and swung her around. She squealed. He set her to her feet and kissed her again.

Sparks ignited in his chest, and apparently hers too because she kissed him back with more emotion than she'd ever shown. It stole his breath.

He pulled away and caught the gaze of her amazing eyes. How they had so many different colors was a mystery he needed to study. Way more fun than trig but just as complex. "I'm sorry I didn't do that before now."

" _Jake_ , what are you doing?" A shrill screech that might've contained a rudimentary form of English interrupted them. "Where's Jill?"

Randi Lowenstein.

Jill's BFF propped a hand on her boney hip, probably to keep her head balanced with that long beak of hers.

Emily spun to face the little beanpole and in an apple pie voice said, "Jill couldn't make it tonight. She got callbacks for the new TV show, _High School Sweethearts_."

" _What_?" Randi paled and swayed. "She got callbacks? And she didn't even have the guts to tell me?" The chick turned in a huff and marched off.

A crowd of about thirty kids encircled them, stunned to silence by the scene.

Jake waved them off. "There's nothing to see, people. Go dance."

The onlookers dissipated, and another song played. He grabbed Emily's waist and pulled her into a sexy move, pressing her against him in all the right places. If he wasn't careful, he'd be sporting something in addition to a tuxedo. "You know, you didn't have to keep up the pretense. They're gonna find out Jill broke up with me eventually."

Her brows knitted together, crinkling her cute little nose. "What are you talking about, Matthews? I was telling the truth. Jill really did get callbacks for that new teenaged _Bachelor_ show. I heard her talking in the bathroom at school on Friday."

_WTH?_ "She broke up with me because of a TV show?"

Em shrugged. "Guess so."

That little pepmonger was gonna get—he tossed Em a look. A smile lit her face.

Something warm and sweet squeezed inside his chest. "I don't even care. I'm with you . . ." His smile faded as his words trailed off, and his heart hammered. "That is if you want . . . I mean . . . if you'd like to . . ."

"I don't know, Matthews." She stared long and hard at him. "I'm kind of embarrassed to be seen with you."

"You're embarrassed by _me_?"

"What will my friends think? You're not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed." A wide grin spread over her face.

"You're so going to pay for that."

She snickered, but it didn't last long, because he seized her mouth and kissed that smirk right off those tasty lips, making certain every synapse in her overindulged brain fired only for him.

He pulled away and chuckled at the satisfied, glazed look in her eyes. He flashed her the brunt of his male smugness and whispered in her ear, "I don't need to be a brain surgeon. My girlfriend is a freaking Merit Scholar. Right?"

She blinked. "Girlfriend?"

"What do you say?"

Her sweet kiss was all the answer he needed.

## A Forever Kind of Love

Christine Crocker

Copyright 2013
A Forever Kind of Love

"Our great-grandson's been jilted again."

"That girl just wasn't the right one for him." Libby looked up into her husband's exasperated face. "You've seen how fickle these modern girls are."

He shook his head. "No, darlin'. He lost her because he took her for granted."

"I disagree." Libby patted his hand. "She was all wrong for him. Mama always said "pretty is as pretty does" and a pretty face can't make up for a selfish heart. Our boy deserves a woman who'll support his work and not feel miffed when it takes attention away from her."

"Then he shouldn't keep getting involved with women who are wrong for him."

Libby sighed. "But what can we do? It's not as if we've been able to get his attention on the matter."

He looked across the parking lot to where a long line of people were waiting to purchase tickets for the Halloween Haunted Cemetery tour presented by the Greater Fort Worth Historical Society.

"I know just what we're going to do, dear. It's time we took matters in hand. We are going to find the right woman for him. One who is sensitive to what's around her." He crooked his arm. "Come on, sweetheart, the tour guides are forming their groups. It's time to get to work."

Libby slipped her hand onto his coat sleeve. "How will we know we've found the right woman?"

He put his arms around her and drew her close. "We'll know, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to her temple and watched the last brilliant streaks of sunset fade from the late October sky. "We'll know her when she sees us."

* * * *

Noelle drew up the collar on her jacket. What was she doing here? She didn't like cemeteries in the daytime let alone touring one at night. Kyle had convinced her it would be fun as well as educational. Members of the historical society portrayed early citizens of Fort Worth and told stories of their life and times. Not her idea of fun. Heck, if she wanted a history lesson, she'd read a book.

Where was Kyle anyway? He was supposed to meet her but as usual seemed to be running late. She glanced at her watch. A sinking feeling settled low in her belly. Kyle wasn't coming. If not for the fact the tickets had been prepaid, and by her, she would leave. But darned if she'd throw thirty bucks away.

It was past time she faced reality. Kyle was a loser and a freeloader, an inconvenient convenience.

She was the one who always managed to get suckered into paying for their so-called dates and then ended up waiting for the promised reimbursement. A promised repayment that never came.

She gave herself a mental smack. For crying out loud, she was a school counselor who could handle hormonal teenagers with aplomb. Why then was she such a wuss when it came to adult relationships? Why couldn't she be more assertive? Why couldn't she come right out and ask him to pay her back?

No more, she vowed. It was past time she moved on and found someone who knew how to treat the woman he professed to love. Someone with whom she could build a future. She wanted a lasting love. A forever kind of love.

The couple in line ahead of her snuggled and kissed in a nauseating display of too-public affection. The girl looked as if she was ready to crawl right into her boyfriend's skin. Noelle turned her head away. She wasn't sure she was disgusted as much as jealous.

A dust devil skipping across the parking lot picked up a load of leaves and seemed to make a beeline to where they stood. The girl screeched as the mini whirlwind suddenly collapsed and showered her and lover boy with falling leaves and other debris.

Huh. Noelle smirked, thinking if there were such a thing as ghosts, they didn't seem to care much for PDAs.

Hearing her number called, she hurried across the parking lot to the graveled walkway where a tour guide was gathering the members of her group. Evidently kissy couple was part of it too. Oh joy, she thought as she trailed behind them.

The guide did a headcount. "One, two, three . . . nine, ten, eleven. Who's not here? There's supposed to be twelve of you." She scowled at Noelle as if Noelle were to blame for the missing tour member before going into her spiel.

Noelle gave her a bland look and shrugged as if to say "not my fault." No way could the woman know I was stood up, she thought.

The guide shone her flashlight in the direction of the live oak trees that stood sentinel over the graveyard. In the twilight, Noelle could make out flickering lights and a few shadowy figures among the trees. She hoped they were the actors. A shiver that was not entirely due to the wind made her zip her jacket. She moved closer to the group. Just to hear the guide better. Yeah. Right.

"Please stay on the graveled pathway, and do not wander away from the group. Although most of our ghosts were upstanding citizens, a few of the rowdier denizens of Fort Worth's past might be inclined to drag you back to their just deserts."

That brought a few titters and nervous laughs. Noelle looked over the group. A family of three, the overly affectionate couple, four rowdy teenage boys costumed like zombies, replete with obligatory gore, and, by the way he kept reining them in, a man who appeared to be in charge of them.

Now there was someone who looked as if he'd stepped out of the old west. Wearing a faded denim jacket over an open-collared white shirt and well-washed jeans that hugged his backside and thighs like a second skin, he looked every inch a cowboy from the tips of his down-at-the-heel ropers to the sweat-stained Stetson on his head. Incongruously, he carried a bouquet of yellow roses.

Ummumm. I bet he doesn't make a woman pick up the tab on his dates. Her gaze meandered slowly up his body and after lingering a bit too long on his midsection and chest, landed on his face. A handsome face, but rugged. Not a pretty boy by a long shot but a real outdoorsman. A hot flush crept up her neck to her face as her eyes met his. His teeth flashed white in the twilight as he grinned and tipped his cowboy hat.

Mortified at having been caught checking him out so thoroughly, Noelle was spared further embarrassment when a sudden gust of wind lifted the hat from his head and sent it dancing over the parking lot. He handed the flowers to one of the boys and set off after his hat.

The hat flew through the air as if held by unseen hands and landed in the midst of a large group of laughing women. A flashy blonde with too much lipstick and too-tight jeans picked it up by the brim and waggled it at the cowboy before placing it on her head.

"What'll I get if I give your hat back?" The blonde shouted out to the cowboy who was jogging across the parking lot to retrieve his hat.

When he reached her, he gave her a peck on the cheek before plucking the hat from her head.

"Sugar, I'm sure you can do better than that." Before he could say or do anything, the blond planted a big red kiss across his mouth. The women with her began to hoot and holler penning him in.

"Hey, Celia, you gonna share?" A busty redhead elbowed her way to the front.

The cowboy pulled back and smiled his regrets. "Sorry ladies, but I'm spoken for." He touched his hat brim with two fingers. He'd only taken a couple of steps when another wind gust snatched the hat again. This time it sailed straight to Noelle and landed against her legs. She picked it up by the crown and held it out to the cowboy.

"Thanks. My hat seems hell-bent on introducing me to all the ladies." He flashed another killer smile. "I see you know how to treat a man's hat. Even one as disreputable as this one."

Noelle smiled. "My daddy taught us kids early on to respect a man's hat. As for your Stetson, it's got character."

"Your daddy sounds like a wise man. Thanks again. I've got to get back to ramrodding the boys." He pressed the hat solidly on his head and strode back to the boys, who were doing some hooting of their own.

"Settle down guys. You're holding up the tour." He nodded to the tour guide. "Sorry, ma'am, for the delay."

Even the starchy tour guide had no resistance for his charm and sent him a beaming smile. "No problem, sir. Now, if you'd all step this way."

Brilliant conversation, Noelle. Your hat's got character. She groaned feeling like an idiot.

Noelle lingered behind as the group gathered around the first tombstone. An old-fashioned lantern illuminated a well-dressed couple attired in 1870s period clothing. The guide motioned everyone closer as the couple began to tell their story and answer questions. He had been one of the many men responsible for bringing the railroad to Fort Worth.

"The railroad ran out of financial backing, and folks began to desert Fort Worth in droves. Worse yet, we stood to lose a state land grant because one of the provisos was that the railroad had to reach Fort Worth before the legislature adjourned. Desperate to save our livelihoods, we took up the task of building the line ourselves. By gum, we made it too."

His wife took up the story. "People came from miles around to see that first locomotive pull in. Why, most of them had never even seen a train before."

Noelle had to admit she was impressed by the actors and their presentations. She was even startled into screaming when a desperado rose up from behind a tombstone and engaged in a shoot-out with a sheriff. Wandering through the cemetery was not as creepy as she'd thought it might be.

A flicker of light caught her eye and she took a few steps away from the group to see what it was. Another couple, younger than the other actors, stood beside a well cared for plot with two weather-worn headstones. For a moment Noelle thought she saw a look of disappointment cross their faces as the guide passed them by.

Acting on impulse, Noelle stepped off the graveled path and walked through the grass toward the couple.

She called out to the pair. "Hi, it looks like the tour guide missed y'all. I'd like to hear your story if you don't mind it being just me."

Startled at the sound of her voice, they turned to look at her. Noelle looked from the woman to the man as an expression she could only think of as hope flitted across their faces.

"It would be our pleasure, ma'am. Caleb Johnstone, at your service." The man removed his cowboy hat and gestured with it to the woman next to him. "Allow me to present my wife, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth turned to her husband, her face glowing with happiness. "Oh, Caleb, do you-"

Caleb put his arm around his wife's waist and drew her close. "Don't get yourself into a dither, dear." He turned to Noelle and gestured to a granite bench nearly hidden in the shadows. "If you'd like to take a seat, ma'am, we'll commence to telling our story."

With a diffident smile, Elizabeth stepped forward. "Caleb and I are so pleased you came to us."

"My wife and I had a small spread just north of the bluffs." He shot a loving glance at his wife and put his arm around her. "I was just a rough-shod, good-for-nothing cowboy when I first laid eyes on my sweetheart."

"You were no such thing," Elizabeth chided.

"Your pa sure thought so."

"At first maybe, but he changed his mind once he got to know you." Elizabeth smiled at Noelle. "Caleb may have been a cowboy, but he was honest and hardworking. My father would never have allowed us to marry otherwise. Besides, he knew true love when he saw it. Just like him and Mama."

"That he did. But he didn't go easy on us. Made me work for you, just like Laban did Jacob in the good book." Caleb grinned. "Thank goodness you didn't have a sister."

"Oh, Caleb." Elizabeth giggled. "As if I'd let anyone, even Pa, keep us apart."

Caleb's face grew solemn. "No one could part us, not even death."

"Our years together may have been few but we did leave a legacy in our son." Elizabeth's voice turned wistful. "I so wish we'd been able to raise him ourselves."

"What happened?" Noelle said.

"Caleb and I, with several of our neighbors, made up a party to see the first train arrive in Fort Worth. The railroad meant no more long cattle drives to Kansas." She cast a glowing look at her husband. "But then disaster struck." Elizabeth raised a lace handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away welling tears.

Noelle leaned foreword. Caleb picked up the narrative.

"Because of heavy rains, the river was high and flowing fast. Midway through the crossing, our wagon became mired. I jumped into the water to guide the horses. Unfortunately the front wheel struck a rock, breaking the axle. The wagon began to tip. Elizabeth screamed and held out our infant son to me. I was able to catch him and get him to safety."

"Hang on, Libby. I'm coming," I shouted. "I dove into the river to save my precious wife. Just as I reached the wagon, a surge of water flipped it over. Elizabeth was thrown into the torrent. I managed to catch hold of her as she swept by, but I could not save us. We died in each other's arms."

"Oh my God. How tragic." Noelle brushed away tears. "What happened to your son?"

"Caleb. I named him after his father," Elizabeth said and shot a loving glance at her husband, "was raised by my father."

It was almost easy to believe they weren't actors but the real people. Noelle rose and walked over to study the tombstones.

Caleb Johnstone      Elizabeth Bowen Johnstone

  B. April 5, 1851              B. March 22, 1857

 D. July 19, 1876               D. July 19, 1876

"You were so young."

"Who're you talking to?"

Noelle squealed and spun around. Strong hands steadied her as she tripped over her own feet.

"The actors portraying the couple buried here." She looked past him. "Where'd they go?"

"Ma'am, there's nobody here but you."

"But I was just talking to them." Noelle peered into the face of the man who had startled her. "Oh. It's you." Noelle felt a blush warm her cheeks.

"Yes, ma'am." For a moment he looked startled, and his voice when he spoke held a curious note. "You said you were talking to the actors here?"

"Yes. The Johnstones. Their story is tragic. They drowned." Noelle swallowed.

"Yes. I know the story well." He pushed back his hat with one finger and stared at the gravestones. "This little plot isn't part of the tour."

"It's not? Then how come you're here?" Noelle inched back suddenly aware of the dark. _What had happened to the light?_

He gestured toward the gravestones with the bouquet she'd noticed earlier. "I know because I'm Caleb Johnstone IV, but I go by CJ. Caleb and Libby were my grandparents three times removed. The first gift Caleb ever gave Libby was a yellow rose. I try to bring some every November 1. Since I was bringing the boys to the tour, I brought the roses tonight instead."

"All Saints' Day." Noelle whispered. "How wonderful to know they're remembered. They were very much in love."

"That they were."

They stood in silence looking at the graves. Noelle cleared her throat. "I'll leave you to your visit."

Spooked by what she'd been told, she hurried to her car, where she slid behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. Not even a click. She jiggled the key and tried again. Still nothing.

She was reaching for the door handle when a face appeared in the window. It was CJ. He knocked on the glass and held something up.

Hand on her chest, she opened the car door and got out. "You just about scared me to death."

"I'm sorry. I found this on the bench. I figured it had to be yours."

She patted her pocket. No cell phone. "I'm lucky you found it because my car won't start."

"The battery's probably dead. I've got jumper cables in my truck." He winked. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

"Ha-ha. Funny."

It wasn't long before he was back hooking up the cables from his big dually pickup to her Honda Accord. The zombie teens all gathered around, lending their advice when her car still wouldn't start.

"Sorry," CJ said as he coiled the jumper cables. "Can I give you a lift home?"

"I couldn't_"

"Sure you can," he cut in. "I owe it to the memory of my grandparents to do the right thing and help a damsel in distress." He nodded to his truck. "Plenty of room in the backseat for the boys. You can sit in front with me."

He opened the truck door. A single yellow rose lay on the seat. He stared at it and then picked it up and gave it to Noelle. "I reckon it's a sign." He said.

* * * *

Two wavering forms materialized at the edge of the cemetery. "I did my part, Libby. I got them together. The rest is all up to him." The forms brightened and then winked out.

## Dive into Love

Christine Crocker

Copyright 2013
Dive Into Love

Mason Fortney looked up at the front door surveillance monitor as the dive shop doorbell rang. At the sight of the woman entering he lost his grip on the compressor spring he'd finally maneuvered into position after struggling with it for the better part of an hour. It shot through the air and landed without sound somewhere beyond the workbench. But the compressor spring was the last thing on his mind now that _she'd_ walked into his shop.

The woman pushed back her straw cowboy hat and glanced around the store. "Hello. Is there anyone here?"

Amanda Nicole Harper. Central High's Rodeo Queen. Even after twelve years, he recognized her easy, soft drawl. Even after twelve years, the sound of her voice made him weak kneed. Hell, after twelve years he thought he'd finally conquered the terminal shyness that had him tripping all over his tongue whenever he'd tried to talk to her in high school.

What was it about Amanda? He knew damn well. Just didn't want to admit it. After all these years, he still carried a flame for her that hadn't dimmed despite all the women he'd dated in the interim. Not that there had been that many, but he'd had no trouble carrying on coherent conversations with them. But then none of them had ever engaged his heart like Amanda had.

_Damn. Of all the scuba shops in the metroplex she walks into mine._ Chances were pretty good she wouldn't remember the skinny nerd who had been her chemistry lab partner. After all, he had changed in the interim. For the better, he hoped. He pushed away from the workbench and stood to tuck his shirt in. _Might as well get this over with. Hopefully he could act like the professional he was._

She was examining a book of photos from a recent dive trip and twirling a strand of her glossy brown hair around one finger. It was a habit he remembered well. He cleared his throat to warn her of his presence before speaking.

"May I help you?"

She swiveled around to face him, book in hand. "Why yes, I believe you can. I'd like to sign up for scuba lessons." She waved the book at the racks of scuba gear. "I'm sure you'll be able to help me with buying the right equipment, too."

"That I can do." He took a colorful brochure and a pen from the counter and handed them to her. "Here's an application for the open water course. You'll find a breakdown of the costs and what you need listed."

Her eyes narrowed as she took the application from him. She leaned over the counter, her jean-clad derriere wiggling as she filled out the form.

Mason licked his suddenly dry lips. She was killing him. "What made you want to learn to scuba?"

She stopped writing and looked up. "My best friend is getting married in a couple of months, and I'm her maid of honor." She paused as if considering her next words and then shrugged. "The wedding is going to be in the Bahamas. Delia and her fiancé are avid divers, and since they plan on doing some diving while there, they've been encouraging me to get certified."

He gulped. "Bahamas? Great diving." Mason forced himself to look directly into her warm brown eyes. _A wedding in the Bahamas? What were the odds it was his best friend Michael's wedding? Nah. Lots of people got married there. Coincidence._

"There, finished." She signed her name with a flourish and straightened up. "What else do I need to do?"

"To be sure scuba is what you want to do, I offer a Scuba 101 course for free here at the shop. You'll be able to try on the gear and see if you like being underwater before you go to all the expense of paying for the course and buying equipment."

He needed to put some space between them before he swallowed his tongue. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll check my class schedule."

"Thanks." Instead of waiting she followed him to his office. Once there she shut the door and leaned against it. "Don't you remember me, Mason?" She searched his face as if she could find the answer to her question there.

Desire coursed through his veins at the sound of her sultry drawl. Hands splayed against his desk, he heaved a sigh and lifted his head to look directly at her. She looked like a provocative angel. The jig was up. Time to come clean.

"Yes, I remember you. We were in chemistry together." He said.

Scowling, she pushed away from the door and stepped forward to poke him in the chest with her index finger. "We weren't just in the same class. I was your lab partner. I had the biggest crush on you, but you never once looked at me in a romantic way."

Mason felt his jaw drop. "You had a crush on me? The super nerd of Central High?"

 "Yeah, I did. Pathetic, huh?" She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "When I found out Mason Fortney was going to be Delia's fiance's best man I knew I had to see you before the wedding."

"So you're not really interested in learning to dive."

"Aargh!" She slammed her hands down on the desk and leaned forward. "How can you be so dense? I could smack you. Of course I'm interested." She shook her head. "Since you teach scuba, I thought it would be a really good way to reconnect." She turned away and headed to the door. "But I can see I've made an utter fool of myself instead."

"Wait." Mason reached for her. "You haven't made a fool of yourself. I'm the fool. Let's start over. Please?"

"It's too late. I feel stupid." She tore the application in half and threw it at him. Before he could stop her she was gone.

* * * *

Their conversation played over and over in his head. He addressed the empty store. "Why couldn't I just come right out and acknowledge her as soon as she came in? Damn, I'm an idiot." Try as he might, he couldn't get her wounded expression out of his mind. He'd hurt her.

Going back into his office, he saw the torn application on the floor and picked it up. Fitting the pieces together, he found the information he needed. A quick glance at the wall clock showed the time to be only four-thirty. The shop was supposed to be open until six.

"The hell with that." He grabbed his keys and shut out the lights. Turning the Open sign to Closed he locked up the shop and walked to his car. He had to make it up to her, and he needed to do it right.

After a quick shower, shave, and change of clothes, he hurried to a flower shop. After a brief conversation with the owner, he emerged with three roses.

With the help of his GPS, he found her house easily enough. The hard part was getting out of the car. "Here goes nothing."

Standing on her front porch he rehearsed his speech for the umpteenth time and then panicked. _What if she wasn't home?_ He rang the doorbell. He heard its muffled chimes in the house. His fingers clenched the roses. Thank God the thorns had been clipped, or else his hands would be torn and bleeding.

He heard the scrape of a deadbolt being pulled back, and then the door handle turned and the door opened.

"May I-oh, it's you." She moved to shut the door but Mason was too quick for her.

"Amanda, wait. Please hear me out." He fumbled for words, forgetting his carefully rehearsed speech. "What you said back at the shop. You're wrong. You're not stupid. I'm the stupid one." He searched her face and felt another pang of remorse at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes as she stared at him without speaking. She'd been crying.

"Amanda," he said softly, as if to a child. "May I come in? Please."

With a resigned expression, she pulled the door wide and gestured to the couch. "Have a seat." She perched on the edge of the easy chair opposite him.

He shuffled the flowers in his hands and leaned forward. "No ring, I see. I thought some lucky guy would have claimed you long ago."

Amanda held up her hand and looked at it. "Nope. No ring. I was hung up on someone who couldn't see me for dirt. I couldn't seem to get him out of my mind."

"Oh, he saw you all right. He just didn't think you'd be interested in a nerd like him when all those good-looking jocks were always hanging around you."

"Hmm." She shrugged and fell silent. "You want to know something?" she asked. "I never thought you were a nerd. I thought you were the smartest guy in school. I even asked Mr. Lyons if I could be your lab partner."

It was his turn to look surprised. "You did?"

"Yep. True-confession time. I think I actually passed chemistry because I didn't want you to think I was stupid. You made me work harder without even knowing it." She laughed. "Even my dad was surprised when I brought home a B on my report card."

It was his turn to confess. "True-confession time. I had a big crush on you. But I was so intimidated by you I got tongue-tied every time I tried to talk to you. Besides, I never figured you'd be interested in me."

"But you talked to me." She gave him a puzzled look. "I can't believe you were intimidated by little ol' me."

"Little ol' you scared the bejeebers out of me," he said. "I could talk chemistry. Math. Equations. But I couldn't talk to you like a boy to a girl." He shrugged. "Teenagers and their insecurities."

"Speaking of insecurities, are those flowers for me? Or did you bring them just for something to abuse?"

Mason looked at the three roses he was twisting and turning. He handed her a white rose. "The florist told me white can represent apology. I'm giving you this white rose to let you know how sorry I am for hurting you."

Solemnly she took the rose from him.

He held out the yellow rose. "Yellow stands for friendship and new beginnings. Amanda, can you find it in your heart to let us start all over again?"

A tear rolled down her cheek. She nodded as she took the rose.

He studied the red rose. His hands began to shake as he held it out to her. "True-confession time. When I saw you standing in my shop, all those teen insecurities came flooding back. Thirty years old and the thought of talking to you still scared me spitless." He shook his head. "Now that's pathetic."

She stood up from her chair and scooted onto the couch next to him. "I think I know what the red rose means but I want to hear it from your lips." She lay her hand on his and gave it a tender squeeze.

He took a deep breath. "The red rose symbolizes strength and sincere love." Clearing his throat, he took her hand. "Amanda Nicole Harper, will you accept this rose as a sincere token of my affection and never ending love?"

Her lips quivered, and she raised glistening eyes to his. "Yes, Mason Fortney. I wholeheartedly accept." She threw her arms around his neck and with twelve years of pent up passion dove into love and sealed it with a searing kiss.

## Coffee Cravings

Lavender Daye

Copyright 2013
Coffee Cravings

Will stood before the counter, his eyes wandering over the coffee offerings as if he couldn't decide. Who was he kidding? He ordered the same damn thing every day, but today he lingered.

He had a plan.

For the past few weeks  he'd said a casual hello to the cute redhead he'd been nodding a greeting to for months. Today, he hoped to coax her into sitting at a table with him.

Dating had never been this difficult. His previous relationships involved friends of friends or women from work. This woman was different. Something about her demeanor, the way she interacted with the barista, made him want to know her.

The bell on the door chimed and he stepped out of the path to let the patron pass him.

One lovely woman.

"Hello. How's your day starting?" he asked.

Her mouth lifted in a wide, toothy grin that lit her eyes. "Good. I just love an early fall, don't you?"

"Definitely. I was just thinking about sitting on the patio with my coffee. Care to join me for a few minutes?"

* * * *

Chanci pushed her hair off her shoulder and checked the time. She had an hour before her first client and she'd been thinking about this guy for months. "Umm, sure, I have a few minutes before work." She flashed her best smile and stepped over to the counter. "Hey, Marci, can I have a large Tierrasante latte with chocolate foam?"

"Sure thing, Chanci. That's four fifty."

"Let me treat?" the guy behind her asked.

Chanci turned, and he had that look of a man in charge of his own destiny. Strong, but not overwhelming. Hunky as all get out In his gray button down and flashy blue tie.

"Okay. Thanks." She moved to the end of the counter to wait for her coffee while he ordered his. While they stood a mere foot  apart,  she thanked him again and said, "I'm Chanci."

"Will Roberts. Nice to meet you."

Coffees in hand, they slipped out the side door and found an empty table on the patio. Chanci looked around, happy to find she wasn't completely alone with Will since he was relatively unknown. Thank goodness the hot Texas weather had broken and everyone who had time was sitting outside.

"I've seen you here before," she said. "Do you work nearby?"

"Yes, across the street. I'm an assistant district attorney. You?"

"I'm two shops down from here at the Clip & Curl. This is my daily fix of caffeine."

"I've noticed. I've been hoping to meet you."

His confession set the butterflies in her stomach to fluttering. She'd hoped to meet him, too, but with his suit and tie, he seemed well above her regular date type. Not to mention his looks. Sun-kissed blond hair, light tan, blue eyes, and a body that showed, even through all the layers of clothing, that he cared about his health.

"How long have you lived in Galveston?" he asked.

"Two years. I came here for spring break five years ago and loved it. When my business partner's mom got sick, she needed to move back home, so I came with. I'll never move back to Michigan. Shoveling snow is off my to-do list for good."

Oh, gawd, she tended to ramble when nervous. "What about you? Let me guess. Born and raised here?"

The corners of his mouth curled in a slow rise until his pearly whites were visible. "Not quite, but almost. Houston was home until two years ago. My family's still there, but I can't imagine living in the big city again."

"Rush hour traffic sucks." Dang, did she really say that?

* * * *

She was so alive, full to the brim with wit and energy and vitality. He couldn't suppress a smile. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He couldn't imagine not seeing her again.

Time was running out. "Have dinner with me?"

Damn. Too soon, but the words were out and she looked taken aback.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push for more, but I'm enjoying your company and...I'm due in court in ten minutes."

"Okay."

"Is that yes to dinner, or yes I'm pushing too fast?"

"Dinner. But somewhere public."

"Of course. How about Tony's? Do you like seafood?"

She smiled. "Who could live on an island and not eat seafood?"

"Tonight at seven? Meet me there?" He handed her a business card. "I'll make a reservation."

* * * *

Chanci watched him jog across the street and disappear into the County Courthouse before getting out of her chair. She had a half hour before Mrs. Felix arrived for her cut and color, and she had some checking to do. If he really was who he said, she'd be able to find him on the web.

Her schedule was booked solid for the day, but her last client was at four. She'd have plenty of time to soak in a tub of hot water and relax before meeting tall-dark-and-handsome at seven. She hadn't missed having a romantic interest in her life until her best friend and business partner, Denise, got herself engaged to an accountant at the new casino. Lately, all the wedding talk had her thinking about dating again.

Now she hoped she remembered how.

* * * *

Will arrived a few minutes early and double-checked the reservation before disappearing into a shadowy corner. He wanted to see her when she arrived, but before she saw him. He needed to know if she wanted to be here, or if she felt obligated because of his job or his past. Some of the things on the Internet were damned unflattering, but there wasn't anything he could do to change them. If Miss Chanci didn't want to associate with him, so be it.

Warm air caught in his chest when she came through the entrance. Wrapped in a dress the color of autumn leaves, she was stunning. The russet, olive, and yellow blended together and showcased the rich red of her hair as it flowed down her back. Her face was radiant with anticipation as he moved out of the shadows to greet her.

"I'm glad you came."

A small smile played across her lips as they were seated. "Did you think I'd stand you up?" she asked.

 "Did you check me out online?"

Her brow lifted, and her head tipped to one side. "Some serious sh—stuff out there about your past. How much is true?"

"Some. Less than a third of what's there, from my last look."

"Lucky for you I don't put much store in most of those sites."

"Most definitely lucky for me," he agreed as the waiter arrived.

* * * *

Chanci shivered when they stepped outside. Night had fallen and taken the temperature with it.

Will pulled off his sport coat and draped it over her shoulders. "Where did you park?"

She pointed to the left and his hand gripped hers, heat emanating and warming her. The meal and conversation had been wonderful and she wanted to see him again.

"Thanks, Will. I had a great time tonight."

"So did I. Will I see you at Starbucks in the morning?"

"Oh, I'll be there," she replied.

He lowered his head, his eyes on hers and then back to her mouth as he moved closer. She swiped her tongue across her bottom lip and he hummed right before they made contact.

Soft, firm, but surprisingly gentle lips pressed against hers for a moment.

He kissed her again, their bodies barely touching while their mouths merged. When he lifted his head, they were both breathless.

Will waited nearby until she backed out and waved. The ride home was quick and uneventful, a good thing since she was mostly on autopilot.

The man sure could kiss.

* * * *

Will walked into Starbucks the next morning to find Chanci leaning against the counter, coffee in hand while she chatted with the barista. She looked up and her conversation paused midsentence when their eyes met. She flushed and turned back to Marci, giving him an unintentional look at her ass in skinny jeans. The sexy, slinky top was a bonus. Who wouldn't appreciate her lovely body?

Marci nodded in his direction and he ordered his usual.

"I had fun last night."

Her soft comment when Marci walked away caught him by surprise.

"Me, too."

Her finger traced the edge of her cup, her eyes everywhere except looking at him. "I wasn't sure you'd want..."

"To see you again? Or to advertise that we're dating?"

She lifted that cute little arch of a brow and he took her empty hand in his. "Yes to both if you're okay with it."

"I am."

"You are—what?" Marci set Will's coffee on the counter and took his money. "What am I missing here?"

"Chanci and I are catching a movie tonight."

"Great. Have fun."

Marci walked away and Will leaned close. "Can I pick you up tonight, or do you prefer to meet me at the theater?" Her expression while she thought about it gave him hope. His shoulders relaxed when she flipped her coffee receipt over and scribbled her address and phone number.

"I work until six. Text me with details."

"Will do. Right now, I have a full desk to clear." He lifted her hand and squeezed. "Have a good day, Chanci." Damn, he wished he could take the day off, but his calendar was packed

* * * *

Chanci stared after him, thinking about what she'd wear and what might happen after the movie. She'd so missed dating. Her little daydream popped when Marci grabbed her arm.

"Girlfriend, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"What? He's a nice guy."

Marci's eyes widened and she did that thing she did with her mouth when she drank lemonade.

"I've seen the stories online. What his family did ten years ago has nothing to do with who he is."

"Apples don't fall far from the tree."

"How do you know all this?" Chanci's hip made contact with the counter and her arms crossed. "Wait. Does he...has he picked up other women in here?"

"Not that I've ever seen."

"Then I'm not going to judge him until he gives me a reason." Chanci stood and smiled at her friend. "Scissors call. See you later."

* * * *

Fall moved into winter, the blustery, rain-swept weather interspersed with sunny skies and cold wind filled the days while the evenings were set aside for dinners out and movies and cuddles in front of the television. She was falling hard for him, letting him into her life and her bed after they'd dated for a month. Will hadn't pushed or complained about the slow warm-up to sex, just shown up every morning for coffee and a chat. They texted daily and spent most evenings together.

"How did you end up in Galveston?" Chanci put her hand on his thigh. "I've read all the stories and I know that's not you. But why Galveston? I'm just curious."

"I grew up in Houston. My dad walked away from the family when he went to Texas A&M's vet school. But I wanted law school, and my uncle offered to pay for Harvard. When I graduated, I went to work for Uncle Joe. A year after I passed the bar, he was indicted for tax fraud, money laundering, and a slew of felonies too long to list. Everyone was investigated, especially if their name was Roberts."

"Not fair at all." Chanci turned her body to face him and took his hand.

"True, but that's life. I was dating a socialite at the time and we were in the paper a lot. She ditched me quick, and as soon as I was cleared, I moved back home. Took the Texas Bar and started looking for a job on the other side of the fence."

"Do you like prosecuting criminals or was it because of what happened in Boston?"

"I wasn't wild about helping people get away with bending the law, so, yes; I like what I do now. And with my name, I'd rather be associated with the District Attorney's Office than with my distant relatives."

"Smart. And for the record, counselor, I'm glad you moved to Galveston."

"Well, thank you, ma'am." Will leaned in for a quick kiss, and one led to a few more.

"Did you ever think about changing your name?"

"Once or twice, right after I was cleared, and then again when work was scarce. But, it's part of who I am, and I won't hide my less than honest relatives. I'd rather make a new reputation."

"Seems like you already have," she said with another kiss.

* * * *

The tree was out and up, branches wide and waiting while she opened the first box of ornaments. The door chime gave her a little shiver. Will had promised to bring a fresh wreath for her door and she was looking forward to seeing him. He'd been at a conference for the past week and she'd missed their coffee kisses and quiet dinners.

The wreath was in his hand when she pulled the door open. Will leaned in for a quick kiss and then placed the fragrant greenery on the hook he'd put up last week.

"Oh, it smells so good. The only thing I miss from Michigan is the smell of the trees."

Will's hand stroked her hair from crown to shoulder and kissed her cheek. "Yeah, but you don't miss the snow."

She giggled and snuggled closer, feeling the heat of him. "Maybe we should close the door before the neighbors get an eyeful?" she whispered.

Will reached behind him and pushed the door, making it swing to a thud of a stop and the wreath bounce against the wood with a soft thump.

"Better?" he asked, his mouth lifting at the corners.

"Perfect."

"Not quite," Will said, lifting a gift bag between them. A red ribbon hung over the tissue sticking out of the top. "Go ahead. Pull it out, sweetheart."

She tugged on the ribbon and the tissue rose until it escaped the bag and fell away, leaving a bundle of mistletoe hovering in the air, the red ribbon swirled around the stems and ended  with a little bell at the bottom of the bunch.

"Oh, my," she said and laughed. "You came prepared."

"I most certainly did." He wrapped his arm around her and held the fronds over her head. "Tradition dictates that you kiss me."

Chanci tried and failed to keep the smile off her face. "I was going to do that anyway, mister." She laughed a little, going up on tiptoe to mesh her mouth with his. He enveloped her, body to body, lip to lip, and tongue to tongue. God, she loved him like life itself. Her heart squeezed in her chest while her body pressed against his, the kiss lasting until they were both out of breath, begging for air and not wanting to let go.

"I love you." She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Damn it, she hadn't meant to say that. It was too soon to admit her feelings. Too soon to be sure. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that," she whispered.

Will was somber, his eyes looking into her soul. His arms left her body, and the red and green gift bag appeared between them. He shook it and picked up her hand, wrapping her fingers around the paper.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

She stuck her hand inside.

"What? I thought we were going to wait until Christmas."

A bundle of tissue paper surrounded a light package. With careful hands, she unwrapped the paper, revealing a plastic coffee cup from their favorite shop.

"What, no coffee?"

"Open it," he whispered.

The depth of his gaze sent waves of heat to her chest. With fumbling fingers, she popped the lid off and tipped the cup, spilling the contents into her hand.

A small purple velvet pouch landed in her palm and the coffee cup and lid fell to the floor. "Will?"

"Open it, Chanci."

Her fingers went to the drawstring, untying it and working the gathers loose. She tipped the pouch and dumped the contents onto her palm.

A gold band lay warming her skin, a sparkling marquis cut diamond on one curve.

For one precious moment, the world around her came to a complete stop, the air in the room and in her lungs frozen in time.

Her eyes met his and he spoke.

"I love you, too, Chanci, more than I ever thought possible. Will you marry me and let me love you for the rest of my life?"

## Sophie's Choice

A futuristic love story

Arline Todd

Copyright 2013
Sophie's Choice

The red and gold autumn leaves crumbled beneath Sophie's feet as she moved out of the forest into a clearing and started up the final rise that hid the dome of the City from her view. The sun, a fiery blaze in the clear sky, was welcome in the tangy air, and she shivered pleasurably in its enveloping warmth. For weeks she had been traveling through the mountains to reach this last city in what was once the state of Texas . . . back before the Ice Age had changed everything.

"Why do I do this?"

Her soft whisper in the silence was a forlorn echo of other years.

The elders in the colony disapproved of her long journeys, yet they never tried to stop her, for although her loss would be devastating to their small community, complete freedom was the right of all who had escaped the City.

Now she could see it. The massive, gleaming dome that guarded its inhabitants from the outside world filled the plain beneath her and spread on as far as her eyes could see, and she knew it sprawled even farther beyond the horizon. She eased the straps of the heavy backpack off her shoulders and put it down. On a grassy bank, she knelt and contemplated the hated dome. Had she hoped again to find that it had opened, that those within had finally rebelled? She knew better. She was one of the highly educated elite, a surgeon, and as such she understood well the thorough conditioning of the City's inhabitants. But she had hoped to encounter a few courageous souls—and one very special soul—who had tired of the tyranny and somehow found their way out of the city. A foolish hope.

Daniel was down there, still within the City. And this was as close as she could ever come to him. The only way they could be together again was if he came to her, and that, she knew intuitively, was only another futile hope.

"Daniel . . ." she whispered his name aloud.

Her eyes stung with tears as her thoughts went back to the day she had left him. Did he know how very much she loved him? Did her leaving cause him pain? And because she was alone, she let loose the anguish kept locked in her heart.

Those were her last conscious thoughts, her last words before the beam hit her. Lost in her painful reverie, she had not noticed the sudden flurry of the forest creatures, nor the patrol ship's almost-silent approach.

Slowly awareness returned. First she felt the unyielding manacles on her wrists, and then a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach that told her the ship was plunging toward the City. She tried to open her eyes to see the outside world, to glimpse the sun and the sky and the mountains just once more on this last day of her life, but she could not force her paralyzed muscles to obey.

They took her directly to the hospital, but she did not see the familiar, gleaming-white, towering building. She regained consciousness while they were in the special elevator that was taking them directly to the prison floors of the hospital, thirty levels below the surface of the City. Strapped helplessly on a stretcher, she was acutely aware of the tons of plasteel above her. Her deep blue eyes focused on one of the patrolmen, who stared at her intently.

They'll be glad to see you," he said smoothly and shook his head while his gaze wandered over her lithe body. "But what a waste."

"That's enough!" said the older of the two men, angry at the other's profane talk of waste.

There was silence then until the elevator stopped and the men floated the stretcher into the corridor. "An outsider," the senior patrolman said to the waiting orderly.

Those two words were sufficient. Sophie was taken into a receiving room where the retinal patterns in her eyes were scanned and fed into the hospital computer. Within seconds, her identity flashed onto the video screen at the console.

"A surgeon?" the orderly remarked in surprise. "You should have known better."

Sophie did not reply. It would have been useless. She knew that the charge against her was treason. There would be no trial—the penalty for treason was death. Her living body was now the property of the City. But she would not give these men the satisfaction of hearing her rail against the inevitable sentence that awaited her. Deliberately, she averted her cool blue eyes from the orderly's. And her composure angered him.

"You'll change your tune," he muttered as he roughly loosened the straps that held her captive and pulled her to her feet. Holding her arm firmly, he guided her down a long, brightly lit corridor and then paused beside a set of double doors.

"We'll go through this ward," he said, pressing a panel on the wall. "It's shorter."

Inside the doorway, she halted. The hot humid air of the room, redolent of antiseptics and drugs, was oppressive. Row upon row of naked bodies stretched before her, each floating lightly on a cushion of air. Here and there orderlies moved among the air beds, adjusting the mass of intravenous tubing that fed nutrients and medication into the patients' bloodstreams and checking the catheters that carried away their wastes.

"This is one of my favorites," the orderly commented, nodding toward a young woman whose long auburn hair spread out like a halo around her head. She was beautiful. Her smooth body was unmarked by scars; only the bandages over her eyes accounted for her presence on the ward.

Nothing was wasted in the City.

All prisoners under sentence of death became the property of the governing council and were used as living donors for as long as possible, the transplants from their bodies preserving the health and life of free citizens.

Sophie had never been to the stock wards before. She had seen the donors only when they were in the operating theaters, cloaked in sterile drapes and deep under anesthesia.

She walked slowly down the ward, forcing herself to scan the exposed bodies with a clinical detachment. A variety of scars and amputations met her gaze. And now and then a faint moan from one of the tranquilized forms tore at her heart.

She had been told the donors suffered no pain. The governing body of the City was humane—all of the prisoners were supposed to be kept under heavy sedation. But some of the orderlies were careless . . . and some were cruel. She had heard tales of what went on in the stock wards during the long night hours, but had dismissed the stories as malicious gossip.

Death, when it finally came, would be welcome here.

She permitted none of the thoughts racing through her mind to show on her face. She walked tall and straight and held herself with pride, her cool gaze expressing only a faint contempt at the orderly's attempts to unnerve her, and she was rewarded by a glimmer of respect in the man's eyes. But, inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief when the doors of the ward slid closed behind her and she stepped into the cool clean air of the corridor.

The orderly took her to a holding cell and left her alone behind the locked door, alone but watched by monitors mounted on walls and ceiling. Here, for the moment, she was safe from torment. Here she would wait until the computer matched the first part of her living body to be donated to a free citizen. Her reprieve could last for hours or days or weeks, for not until the first surgical procedure was completed would she be taken to the stock wards.

She sat down on the edge of a small cot that was bolted to the wall and buried her head in her hands. Alone in the silent room, she lost track of the time. When the door opened, she did not know if minutes or hours had passed.

She looked up and saw him. Their eyes met for a timeless moment. He had changed little—he was still tall and handsome, his hair still gleamed like leaf gold, and his eyes were still the same warm brown she remembered.

"Daniel," she whispered softly.

"Why, Sophie? Why did you go?"

She shook her head wearily. How could she make him understand now, when it was too late to matter anymore? "I had to go, Daniel," she said finally, aware of the absent listeners.

He stepped closer to her, and she looked up at him. His face was taut, his eyes dark with emotion, and his voice, when he spoke, was low and strained. "Was it worth it?"

Sensing that her answer was important to him, she considered his question carefully. The moments of silence passed into long minutes. How to tell him?

"Yes," she said gently. "It was worth it. I had to be free." She let herself remember the freedom to make her own choices, the joy and dignity in the simple life she had led outside the City. His angry voice drew her back to the present.

"There's no way out for you this time," he said harshly.

"I know," she said simply and without hope. The valuable stock were well guarded here. No prisoner had ever escaped from the hospital.

"Then why did you come back?" There was a note of helpless anger in his voice.

The words formed in her mind and, for one brief moment, hovered on her lips. But the years apart had not dimmed the empathy between them. Intuitively, she sensed it was pain that prompted his anger. In the end, she could not let herself add to his burden.

And so the words of love that should have been spoken were not. Like a barrier, her silence stood between them.

Once again he tried, speaking her name more gently, his hand touching her shoulder.

"Please go." With a part of her mind that rose above her own torment, she marveled at the cool composure in her voice. He stayed but a few moments longer and then the door closed quietly behind him.

He did not return.

In the empty room, Sophie stretched out on the narrow cot and turned her face to the wall.

* * * *

They drugged her food on the day of her surgery. Slowly, through the misty haze clouding her vision, she became aware that she was strapped down on a stretcher in a small room next to the operating theater. Everything looked blurred through her half-open eyes. She felt like she was floating, and the effort to keep her eyes open called for more strength than she could summon. She sensed a movement near her, and as her eyes closed she caught a fleeting glimpse of golden hair on the man bending toward her.

"Go to sleep." His lips brushed her cheek, his beloved voice pierced the deep fog closing over her. Daniel. He was going to help her. She knew there was only one way for that to happen. It would be easy—a scalpel slips and opens an artery that cannot be closed until she bleeds out. He knew she would prefer death to the hell of a living death that faced her. He must still care, for he knew the risk, the censure, the wrath he would face from the governing body for the waste of good stock.

"Thank you, my love," she whispered the last words and then heard no more. She did not feel the prick of the needle that put her into a deep, dreamless sleep, nor the strange hands that later prepared her for surgery.

* * * *

With a skill born of long practice, the surgical team had Sophie draped and anesthetized when Daniel, gloved and gowned, approached the operating table. He looked at the anesthesiologist, who nodded permission to start the operation. Daniel's hand closed firmly over the scalpel pressed into it by the nurse, and with deft hands he traced a long incision around Sophie's lower left rib cage to reach the kidney.

Swift and sure he used a laser to cauterize the small bleeders in the skin and then cut deeper through fascia and muscle. His assistant held retractors in place within the incision. "Hold it," Daniel ordered and leaned closer to the open incision. "I don't know how I could have missed this on the scans."

"What's wrong?" his assistant asked. His voice reflected the tension in the room.

"She has cancer. It's like a glaze all over the kidney and surrounding tissue. We'll have to close immediately."

The surgical team was speechless. Such a mistake in a surgeon of Daniel's skill was incomprehensible to his team.

His face impassive, Daniel completed closing the incision. "I'm sending her up to level twenty for a session in the healing tanks. It may take a few weeks, but we can't use her organs until she's free of the cancer."

"Well, at least there's no question of waste," one of the team commented in relief. Their loyalty to Daniel would not be shaken. "Just a minor delay, not worth the council's attention."

"Hopefully not," Daniel commented dryly.

* * * *

Sophie awoke slowly, a dull pain piercing her side. She became aware of a slight vibration through her body, and she was lying on some kind of stretcher. She felt a pang of fear; she was alive. She turned her head and saw Daniel smiling at her. She must be dreaming. "I'm alive?"

"Don't be frightened, Sophie. You're on a hovercraft." He caressed her cheek. "Our old friends, Paul and his wife Diana, are piloting the craft."

"I don't understand."

He smiled. "We're escaping and you need to tell us where to go."

"But Daniel, no one has ever escaped from the hospital prison." Bewildered, she looked around at the boxes packed into the hovercraft, looked through the side windows and saw open sky and wispy clouds.

"That's because no one ever had the chief of surgery and his pilot friends to help them. Trust me, Sophie. You're safe. Where should we go?" His voice held a note of urgency.

Despite her lethargy, she responded at once. "Fly east of the City, over the Ice Mountains. There are sheltered valleys."

Daniel called out the instructions to Paul.

"East it is," came the reply from the forward cockpit.

"Daniel, tell me what happened." She grasped his hand, both relieved and confused.

"Paul and Diane came to me with the pack you were carrying. They raved about how wonderful the food was—your travel rations no less." He smiled.

"We grow all of our food. It's fresh." She frowned in confusion. What was so important about the rations she had carried?

"Well, they showed me something more significant than your supplies. This note was in the bottom of your pack." He handed a cylinder to her and helped her unroll it. Her eyes filled with tears as she read the brief childish scrawl:

I miss you now mommy.

Find Dad and come home soon.

XOXOXOXO Daniel

"He's the reason you left."

She nodded, brushing the tears from her cheeks.

"I have a son."

She met his gaze. "You have a beautiful, marvelous son."

"Sophie, you should have told me. I would have left with you."

She shook her head. "Forgive me, Daniel. It was such a big risk. I was counting on mere rumors that a free colony existed over the mountains. If there is an underground in the City, and I think there is, they would never trust a surgeon, much less the chief of surgery. . . . I'm sorry. I couldn't face an abortion."

Gently, he gathered her in his arms. "It's over now, and you're safe."

"How did you get Paul and Diana to help?"

"After you left, things got worse in the City. The governing body extended the moratorium on births from ten years to an indefinite time when, according to them, the resources of the City could support an increase in population. And Diana had just discovered she's pregnant, which meant a forced abortion. They've been flying a lot of patrols trying to find a place outside the City where they could survive with a newborn. When they found your pack and the message, they came to me . . . I was so relieved to have their help. I had set up bribes to cover you in the healing tanks, but I thought I'd have to force a pilot to fly us out of there. And Plan B was even more drastic. It involved blasting part of the City's dome away."

Her heart filled with joy. "So this rescue isn't just because of our son. You were planning to save me all the time." She cupped his beloved face between the palms of her hands.

He took her hands and kissed each palm in turn.

"Of course I was. I love you, Sophie. I always have. I always will. Never would I let them hurt you." He drew her tighter into his embrace. "I know the governing body has done more harm than good. But for now we need to get settled in your colony, and I want to get acquainted with my boy . . . And then. . ."

He brushed her hair off her face, pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and met her gaze with a grin reminiscent of their son.

"Then maybe we need to take another look at Plan B."

## Blind Love

Kym Roberts

Copyright 2013
Blind Love

Boots.

He had on boots.

Un-frickin-believable. She was going to kill Tracy.

Boots were the one thing she couldn't tolerate on a man. And she'd made sure her best friend understood that before she'd agreed to this stupid blind date.

Shit kickers.

She hated them. Hated everything they represented. The ego. The sly grin. The " _I'll be notching my heels by the end of the night_ " bedroom eyes. Never mind the fact that in Texas it meant manure was imbedded into their soles.

She didn't care what he looked like. Channing Tatum could be the owner of boot swagger scuffing across the wood floors of the restaurant—if he wore cowboy boots, he was trying to get on the wrong saddle. That horse had never been in Jessie's town.

Tracy _knew_ better.

Jessie wanted to get up and walk out. Pretend the guy approaching her table from behind couldn't possibly be looking for her. But she was too late. Bad went to worse.

A yellow rose appeared in front of her on the table.

She held back the comment threatening to spew from her mouth like a bad drink of rotgut beer. Not only was he from a different time zone, he lived in a different era.

A yellow rose? Had she ever received a flower on a first date?

She should probably be flattered. Think it was sweet. Instead it seemed a little too old-fashioned. Like a back-forty hayride.

She thanked everything that was holy for the separation of numerous states she could have after this miserable night was over.  She could go back home to Minnesota, and he'd stay where his family roots could be traced back to the Paleolithic times, in Texas.

Jessie didn't want to look up. She knew what was coming. Boots—check. Yellow rose—check. Cowboy hat—just one glance away.

A huge star adorning a platter-size silver belt buckle would be the added bonus to turn this night into a full-blown nightmare.

Yet she couldn't sit there and ignore his gesture, as antiquated as it was. The sooner she looked up—and had the willies travel through her body—the sooner this disaster would be over.

She inhaled the rich scent of barbeque, now mixed with the sweet yellow rose of Texas, and a hint of clean masculinity, then plastered a polite smile on her face and swore to her best friend.

Tracy, you die one minute after midnight.

* * * *

Son-of-a—

Pink hair. Short. Pink. Hair. In what life had he ever looked twice at a woman with short pink hair? Other than to laugh at it.

He was going to kill Bill.

A slow, painful death. For every minute he spent with the Katie Perry-wannabe, Bill was going to be staked out across the middle of an ant mound. Not just any ol' anthill.

No, no. This mound was going to be the size of Texas . . . and as tall as Reunion Tower. With millions . . . if not billions of mean, flesh-eatin', nerve-crunchin' fire ants. Bill's entire body would be covered with bites full of more pus than all the pimples of this nation's teenage population.

And just for kicks, Carlos would throw a few scorpions down Bill's pants to get his point across—he didn't date this type of woman. She was probably already drunk or high and wanting to party through the night. Her breath probably reeked of cigarettes—the brown, skinny kind some people laced with illegal substances.

Bill was probably laughing his ass off right now.

Everything inside Carlos wanted to turn around and walk out that door. Leave before she got her sharp talons on his flesh. But he wasn't raised that way. He'd made a commitment, and he'd stick to it.

That didn't mean a pretend bout of food poisoning wasn't in his near future.

He nodded his gratitude toward the hostess named Jill, who should've  been the woman waiting for him across the dining room. Long blond hair and breasts a man could get lost in, that was his idea of a good date. It didn't matter that she wasn't a natural blond—at least her hair wasn't _pink_.

His date's designer combat boots and black hosiery with more holes than a sieve were the buildup to a punch line he wasn't going to enjoy. The tears in the transparent material covering her legs probably represented all the men she'd sent to an early grave.

God only knew what the rest of her outfit had in store for him.

Letting out a slow and steady breath, he walked over to her table, set the rose down in front of her, and waited for her to look up.

 Instead, she stared at his romantic gesture like he'd just tossed a dead carcass on the table.

Oh, this was going to be good.

* * * *

The boots were alligator skin.

She visualized predator killing predator—Swamp People style.

His belt buckle was surprisingly acceptable. For a cowboy. She'd be lying if she said his lean hips didn't have something to do with the tolerability of the brown strap of leather wrapped around his waist.

His shirt wasn't western, just a regular double-layered V-neck Henley untucked and pulled up high enough to show the leather of his belt on one side. It was nice—especially since it accentuated a broad, muscular chest and flat stomach.

Her eyes traveled past the height of one of her normal dates to the hat she'd expected. It was clean. One of those brushed felt hats that hadn't been worn on the ranch while roping cattle. At least he knew how to get cleaned up before a date.

But his face. His face was a game changer. It stopped her heart and pitched it into overdrive. It was movie star quality. And half of her reservations went right out the door.

Only half. Because he hadn't said a word. And his personality could still send her straight to the airport.

His high cheek bones and olive skin tone spoke of a Native American descent. His large, chocolate eyes were laced with lashes long enough to make any woman jealous in a delectable way. They were definitely bedroom eyes, intense and searing. But with her, he was obviously holding the charm at bay. His long, straight nose pointed to a strong mouth drawn into a tense smile.

And it hit her. Right smack-dab in the middle of the forehead. A light bulb of solar magnitude enlightened her thoughts.

She wasn't what he'd been expecting either. In fact, she was pretty sure his eyes hadn't gotten past her hair. She couldn't wait to see his reaction to her outfit. He obviously wasn't the type of guy to go out with women who wore bright pink and black bustiers with tiered miniskirts and combat boots.

Her tights would probably throw him into shock.

It was at that moment that compassion for her companion dissipated Jessie's irritation. She was not your average date.  And their friends had created a fiasco which left Jessie and her blind date on the same side of the crime scene tape—innocent bystanders gawking at the horrors of fix-up hell.

She smiled, picked up the flower, and breathed in its fresh, seductively wild fragrance. "Thank you. You must be my date."

"Carlos Reid, ma'am. Nice to meet you." The gleam of his straight, white teeth was hypnotic.

Wow.

* * * *

Sweet Mary.

He'd expected thick, black eyeliner surrounded by eye shadow in shades of gunmetal making her face into a mask of the undead. But what looked up at him turned his brain into shepherd's pie—thick and sizzling, with no desire to cool down.

She was girl-next-door cute. A fresh, rosy glow lit her cheeks and pale lipstick lined her full mouth. A delectably sexy tongue ran across the surface of her lips in a telltale sign that she liked what she saw as her eyes moved over the length of his body. A platinum hoop earring looped through one neatly manicured eyebrow. Then he got lost in the most crystal blue eyes he'd ever seen. Like sea glass—brilliant and sparkly. Windows to her soul that looked as pure as . . .

 Hell. Carlos didn't know if he'd ever seen anything so untouched that was so sinfully delicious. Cause that's what she was—the devil's angel—every man's dream. This blind date was no nightmare.

Sliding into the booth, he felt like he was in high school staring at the head cheerleader—who just happened to have the style of a rock star, leaving him all tongue-tied and nervous. How many years had it been since hormones made his brain malfunction?

"Jessie Platt." She reached across the expansive wooden table in greeting, and Carlos took her small, delicate hand in his, amazed at how fragile and strong it could be at the same time.

"The name fits you, Jessie."

"Oh?" As he held her hand, she seemed a little uncertain of his comment.

He smiled and examined her black nail polish with pink skull-and-crossbones decals before saying, "Definitely a rebel. You didn't rob any trains or banks on your way over, did you, Jessie?"

Although her laugh was hearty and full, it wasn't overbearing or rude. It was perfect.

"Let me guess. You come from a long line of lawmen. And there's a shiny gold star you're just dying to flip out of your wallet." Her eyes sparkled as her voice lowered to imitate him. "Sherriff Carlos Reid, ma'am. Let's start with just the facts . . . cause you're a far cry from my normal date."

He couldn't help it. He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed the devil inside . . . several times over.

"Fact. I'm not a police officer." He refrained from running his tongue across her fingertips. Barely.

"Fact. You're not at all what I expected from this date . . . but I'm very pleased that you're not." He looked up and saw the pulse point on her neck flutter. And smiled.

"Fact. I think this night will be more than what either one of us expected—at first glance." He released her hand, and gauging by her lack of desire to hide it in her lap, he knew she'd enjoyed his bold move as much as he had.

"So tell me, Mr. Reid, how does a woman like me—" He watched her hand go to her chest and nearly fell out of the booth when it laid across her rounded breasts as she pretended to swoon. "—get a man like you to order some food before she starves the death?"

* * * *

He had her eating out of the palm of his hand.

Maybe not literally, but figuratively she was gone the moment he started kissing the skulls on her nails.

Throughout dinner her fingers tingled from the kisses he'd bestowed upon them. Which of course made her watch his mouth as they talked. Dream about his tongue as they ate. And nearly claw out the hostess's eyes as she bent over him with her large breasts and a lame ploy of extra honey buns to bring her close to Carlos.

Thankfully, he was oblivious to hostess Jill. And he liked Jessie's girlie-rocker nails, especially when she raked them across her cleavage or wiped the corner of her mouth. Her trademark of pink skulls smiling across fuchsia bones represented everything there was to know about her and her boutiques.

And he seemed fascinated by them.

Which raised him one step higher on her ladder of acceptable dating material.

On this trip to Texas, she'd reached her goal—thirty stores nationwide by her thirtieth birthday. It had been a whirlwind trip full of deadlines, obstacles, and pressures she'd enjoyed conquering. After her latest grand opening, however, she'd reluctantly acknowledged Tracy's motto of _"All work and no play keeps the men at bay_."

Tracy was right. Jessie hadn't had a date in over a year.

But wow. If all her hard work and endless hours slaving to meet her goals led to the completion of her dreams—and a man whose touch brought her pure ecstasy—how could it not be worth it?

Carlos made her feel out of control, kind of like a college freshman away from home for the first time and ready to greet the world with no parameters attached. Despite her appearance, Jessie was not a woman on the brink of partying until the sun came up. Yet he made her want to. It was a foreign feeling driven by a desire to get to know him better. Much better.

"Tracy said you're in sales. Do you get to wear your hat while you're working?" She couldn't help the smirk tugging at her mouth as she thought of him selling lingerie in her store.

"Actually I do."

"Really?" So he was a full-time cowboy. At this point she wasn't sure that was a bad thing—he wore it well. "What do you sell?"

"Beer."

"Beer?" By his casual sip from the bottle in front of him, she could tell he'd received her reaction a time or two but was comfortable with his profession.

"Yup."

"Do you work for a distributor?"

"Something like that."

She took a drink of her own lite beer and held up the bottle. "Do you sell this kind?" She'd fallen in love with the local beer the first time Tracy had taken her out for ribs at Bea's Barbeque. It was the reason she'd chosen the restaurant for their date—if Carlos had been a dud, at least her palate would be content.

"You could say that." It was his turn to smirk, and Jessie couldn't help but smile at his hidden joke.

"You're being kind of vague. Maybe I should be wondering if you're on the wrong side of the law—are you a beer bootlegger?"

If she'd been walking, Jessie would have stumbled at the sight of his alluring grin. Instead, she picked up her drink to cover her reaction.

I actually make that beer. Package it. Then sell and distribute it to my customers. I can assure you, my business has Uncle Sam's blessings."

Her bottle stopped as it touched her lips.

For the second time, she vowed to kill Tracy.

She had sat at this very table drinking the same beer—his beer—while her best friend had said she knew the perfect guy for Jessie. Not once had Tracy mentioned the man she planned to set her up with had developed an entirely new breed of beer geared toward women—Wendy's Lite Blueberry Ale. The beer that spoke to the taste buds of women.

Like its maker.

He knew what women liked. From the tip of his cowboy hat to his alligator boots and everywhere in between, this man could make a woman salivate.

His brew—with its sweet blueberry aroma and hint of caramel-and-wheat carbonation—cut through her mouth like a chilled blueberry pie. It was like his body—it made her relish every aspect. His ale was in a league of its own. Just like the man who made it.

She couldn't stop her tongue from running across the open bottle. This was his beer. Somehow the hint of salt added a whole new dimension to the drink she hadn't discovered until that very moment. His eyes flared with heat as he watched her tongue caress the rim of the bottle. Then he cleared his throat before gaining control and bringing his eyes back to hers.

"I take it Tracy didn't share that little tidbit with you."

"No, she didn't."

"Does it bother you?"

"No, I'm actually very impressed."

"How so?"

"You know what women like."

A hint of sinfully wicked pleasure passed through his eyes. "I learn from my mistakes."

"Has this dinner been a mistake?" She hoped he didn't think so.

"No. This dinner has been the biggest success of my week." He paused. "My month. Maybe even my year."

Her heart surged forward into uncharted territory. They were moving fast. She should tell her hormones to jump off a bridge and into a frigid river. But she wasn't in Minnesota. She was in Texas, where the water temperature didn't drop that low. Besides, she knew Carlos was trustworthy—Tracy and her fiancé had handpicked him.

He stood and held his hand out to her. Another antiquated gesture that she would have laughed at a couple of hours earlier. Now, it was the opportunity she'd been looking for—she got to touch him.

* * * *

He hadn't planned on it.

Certainly hadn't expected it when he'd caught sight of her pink hair. But now . . . all he wanted to do was run his fingers through her rosy, uneven layers with their spiky tips framing her adorable face. Her style would be the death of him—and he would love every second.

They walked out of the restaurant like they'd been together forever. Hand in hand, her body brushing his as they crossed the parking lot toward his car. Leaning against the passenger door, he reached for her other hand. Gently pulling her body against his own, he waited for her to jerk away. She didn't.

Everything about her enticed him. It seemed like he waited a lifetime to kiss her—the woman he never thought he'd want. The woman his body knew before his mind recognized.

"I think you would look great in a pair of combat boots." Her breath tickled his lips as her mouth closed the distance between them. An inch before she sealed his fate, she stopped and waited for his response, her eyes searching his.

"Funny you should say that. I was thinking your legs would rock a pair of pink cowgirl boots with your skull and crossbones design on the side."

Then Carlos chose his destiny. And as their lips finally met, he kissed the woman of his nightmares . . . who turned them into a dream.

## Fishing

Clover Autrey

Copyright 2013
Fishing

The old pond didn't look any different from how he remembered it. Maybe a bit smaller, the vegetation and trees more overgrown. But this. This scrubby little smelly backwater hole in Frankincense, Texas, was exactly what he needed.

Jake hadn't been back here in ten years, not since he'd turned eighteen and signed up with the navy. Life had been a full-throttled adrenaline rush since: earning his wings, earning his dare-or-die reputation, and breaking hearts up and down every coastline of the good old US of A.

Yet his own heart had never been broken, and up until this week when he'd started his three week furlough and found his current girlfriend, former Miss Canowick Falls, doing the jungle mamba with some long-haired guitarist on his kitchen counter, it hadn't bothered him. What did bother him was that he really wasn't unsettled by it in the least. In fact, was relieved to have an excuse to send former Miss Canowick Falls packing.

What did that say about him?

That he didn't want a relationship? Because he was fairly certain that he did. Marriage, kids, the whole nine. He'd just never been able to see it with the string of groupies that cropped up around the pilot bars.

So he'd tossed his clothes back in his duffel and driven, concluding somewhere along the highway that what he needed was the calm and relaxation that came from a fishing trip.

And there was only one pond that would do.

He couldn't really say if it was a conscious decision as he passed the worn welcome sign to Frankincense and turned into the first hardware store he came to in search of fishing gear and bait.

Now he sat in a new camp chair, one leg propped up on a cooler, his cowboy hat perched low, and a shiny new rod secured between a pile of stones he'd pushed together, enjoying the late-afternoon breeze and the quiet plop of turtles poking their heads out of the green algae. He wondered if Old Snagglesnout still prowled the pond or if someone had finally caught the ancient catfish while he'd been away.  He and his pals had only come close once.

_"Gotta be at least thirty pounds," Scuff had informed them, his pointed chin lowered between his knobby knees as he concentrated on placing the hot dog just right on the hook. "Today's the day I'm gonna get him."_

_"Not with that hook." True eyed Scuff's handiwork critically, crouched down beside him, several strands of her wild hair unraveling from the loose braid trailing down her bony back. "It will never get through Snaggle's thick mouth."_

_Scuff huffed. "Like you know anything."_

_True slammed her palms in the dirt and pushed to her feet. "I know I'll catch Old Snag before you do. It's so true."_

So it had gone every summer, his childhood friends quarreling over who was going to catch the monster fish although none of them ever did.

Scuff came close once with a bigger hook and an epic battle between boy and thrashing fish that ended when Snagglesnout dragged him in and ripped the hook from its mouth so hard it left a mean slice as long and jagged as the Grand Canyon.

Jake grinned at the memory, thinking he might just give Scuff a call and pull him away from his pawnshop for a few hours. It'd been a couple years. It'd be good to catch up.

"Um, excuse me," a feminine voice jolted him out of his reverie. "I've been baiting this hole for weeks."

Too relaxed to stand, Jake pulled his hat off and tilted his head way back to squint at the incongruous sight. Pinched angry mouth. Mirrored sunglasses reflecting the shine of light on the water. Severe kind of updo pulled back off a pale face. Tight skirt. Shiny blouse. She looked ready to PowerPoint her way through some high-functioning boardroom affair instead of standing here beside _his_ fishing hole, giving him grief about little nets of bread she'd been leaving in the water to get the fish accustomed to feeding where she wanted them to.

The contrast was so odd that he lowered his head and turned to face her straight on.

Hands on hips, she frowned at him. Wow. She really was in mousy business attire, from unflattering bun down to her . . . He grinned. Bare feet with glossy pink painted on her toenails.

His stomach took a slow little dip. The combination was sexy as sin. He lowered his shades just enough to glance over their frames for a sharper look-see. "Seems you missed the turnoff for the company picnic, missy."

The toes of one of those dainty little feet curled into the soft dirt with the woman's hiss of exasperation. Now this _was_ fun and relaxing.

She ripped her sunglasses off to glare heatedly down at him. "Now look here, mister. I've had a long and arduous day working with a load of jackasses. I'm in no frame of mind to deal with one here. Especially not here. So if you don't mind . . ." The stiffness in her shoulders deflated. "There's another pond half a mile south down the road. It's even stocked. Please, for the love of . . . I don't know, chivalry or something, could you please just take your gear and go?"

Playing the gentleman card, was she? That was pretty low, although admittedly in any other place or circumstance it would work on him.

"Sorry, but I believe my claim supersedes yours. This has been my hole since I was a kid, so if you don't mind . . ."

Her nose scrunched, and her head canted to the side as she looked hard at him.

"Jake?"

He frowned. Did he know her? He searched his memory, sifting through all the uptight, pinched-lipped, bossy girls and couldn't place her. Not that he'd made a habit of hanging around the starch-in-their-drawers types.

"It's me. Shelly."

Shelly? Did he know a . . . wait. "True?"

Never in a million years would he have guessed that the adventurous, thrill-seeking kid who could outrun, outspit, and outclimb any of the guys would become the prim pantheon-to-society creature before him in a lackluster business skirt.

Before he could form a coherent greeting over that shock, she was in front of him, pulling on his arms. Numbly, he let her drag him out of the chair and found himself thoroughly enveloped around the waist in an enthusiastic hug.

Warmth crested inside his chest, pushing away the surprise, and he had to admit it felt nice. He brought his hands up along her spine and squeezed back, more content than he'd felt in a long time. This. This was what he needed. A simple embrace by someone he'd once known, who accepted him as him, not as the hotshot pilot the base groupies wanted to notch on their headboards. He doubted True even knew what he did for a living.

"I can't believe you're here. What are you doing here?" Her cheek pressed into his sternum while she talked a mile a minute, and Jake found himself quite content to stay right there, was actually disappointed when she pulled back, breaking the embrace, and slipped a flat leather bag like most business types used for their laptops off her shoulder.

He grinned when she pulled out a second pair of clothes, still rambling on. He wondered if she realized he hadn't yet answered any one of her questions.

"I made a beeline to get here as soon as I left the office. Didn't even stop at the apartment." Bent way over, she stepped into a pool of cutoffs. Pink toenails disappeared fleetingly. "I've had the most horrendous day." The cutoffs were tugged upward, pushing the hem of the skirt high as they made their journey, revealing silky legs that kept going up, up, up while Jake's mouth went dry, dry, dry. "My client will just not cooperate for his own sake. I know he's innocent, but he's so nasty and hardcore it's going to take a miracle to get any jury to believe that." The skirt dropped to her ankles. Stepping out of it, she folded it neatly and exchanged it in her magic briefcase of tricks for a pink T-shirt. "He's so damn annoying I almost wish he was guilty." The silk blouse was replaced with the little pink top, though Jake had no idea how that happened. He'd watched the entire time—intently—catching flashes of skin and the cup of a nude bra while every single . . . damn . . . muscle in his entire frame locked up agonizingly tightly.

He doubted he could take the strain. He knew his jeans couldn't.

"Jake?"

His eyes snapped up to her face.

"You all right?"

No. He most definitely wasn't. He was lusting after one of the best friends he'd ever had in his life. That was not all right.

Nodding, he sucked in a breath. Let it out. And True pulled the knot out of her hair and shook it free.

The blood rushed from his head so fast it nearly dumped him on his ass.

All curves, long legs, and tumbling hair, True could give any calendar babe adorning half the mechanic's walls from here to New York a run for their money.

It was time to punch out and pull the chute. The pond down the road was looking like a safer option. "Man, True, it's really great to see you and all . . ." She had no idea. "But I gotta be heading out."

Her forehead crinkled, same as it had years ago, and warmth and nostalgia hit him in the gut. "You sure? It's not me, is it?"

Sure as hell it was her. She was just too gorgeous. And warm. And sunny cheerful. And knew him as just Jake, or at least had known him, and he wanted that, wanted that familiarity. And she was his friend.

Looking at her, he realized he wanted that in his life so damn bad it crashed through his carefully constructed lifestyle with the force of a wrecking ball.

He'd never find what he wanted within the target-rich environment of the pilot-groupie pool.

What he needed was standing right here with the letters USA stretching across her pink shirt, and he lacked the training in how to navigate around it.

Damn. Because, well . . . damn.

Fight or flight. He didn't know what to do.

True was staring at him in concern.

He stared back, running through strategies . . .

And the line on his rod joggled. Water splashed. Both of their gazes jerked to the pond just as a huge flubbery spine crested the surface. Large.

"Snagglesnout!" they cried simultaneously, both diving for the pole as it was yanked out of the pile of stones.

True grabbed it first, sliding on her knees. Jake's leg collided with her thigh, snagging the very end of the rod.

Together they pulled back, feeling the resistance of the granddaddy fish.

"Snag's still out here?"

True laughed. "Not much longer."

"Let out the line," he told her.

"I got it." She expertly let the reel turn. Thirty pounds of angry fish thrashed beneath the surface, jerking the line.

"Not too much."

"Gah." A huge tug and True was yanked forward.

Jake caught her around her middle, surprised at the play of firm muscles beneath satin skin where her tight top rode up. True was turning out to be an exciting combination of textures and possibilities.

With both of True's hands busy on the rod, Jake hauled her back, easing her into the vee of his legs, and brought his arms around to place over hers.

"That's right, nice and slow, honey." His cheek pressed against hers. Her wild hair tickled his jaw, and all thoughts of reeling in Old Snaggle filtered behind a dizzying blend of heady sensation and woman.

There was nowhere else on the planet or skies above he'd rather be. He hoped the battle with the monster fish lasted for hours.

Everything went quiet except for the frenzied splashing and the clicking of the reel spooling in. True leaned back into Jake's chest, and he leaned with her, their heartbeats synching up.

"I can't believe it, Jake." Grit and excitement flushed True's voice. "We're going to get him. We're finally going to land Snagglesnout. Grab your net."

"Sure?"

Snagglesnout was thrashing wildly, heaving into his last efforts. True's arms were clamped tight, guiding the fish to the bank like a pro. "Yeah, I got him."

Easing out from behind her, Jake grabbed up his never-before-used net—he hoped it was big enough—and ran to the muddy bank where Snag whipped halfway out of the mire.

He was huge, speckled gray, covered in gouges and nicks like a war-ravaged veteran. The slice in his hardened mouth rippled like edges of a clam shell. It was Snagglesnout all right.

Wading in, Jake got the net underneath the fish and nearly had his arms ripped out of his sockets just as the line broke. True dropped the pole and floundered in, grabbing onto the net.

It was a battle of wills, strength, and determination hauling the granddaddy in, but together they pulled the beast onto the bank, where it flopped, tangled in the net, flogging and rolling to get back to the water.

Jake and True sprawled in the muck, chests heaving, half on and half off each other, limbs tangled. Jake didn't know where he began and she ended. He stared down at her. Excitement suffused her triumphant, mud-splattered face, and Jake's heart cartwheeled into his throat.

Before he knew what was what, she lifted her face and kissed him. Long and sweet. Her hands curled around the back of his head and pulled him down.

His brain cells were pretty much shot when she released him, smiling up without an iota of embarrassment or apology. "I've been wanting to do that for fifteen years, Jake Mulligan."

He felt the smile curl through his entire body, taking just as long to crease his mouth. "Well damn, woman, what took ya?"

Her smile was swift and sexy as hell . . . and tasted even better as Jake bent in for more. A whole lot of more.

Only the sudden, loud splashing of water stopped them. Their heads snapped to the side, cheek to cheek, to find Old Snag had rolled his way back to the water's edge.

Without a word, Jake and True shared a knowing glance before crawling toward the water and unraveling the net.

As they watched Snagglesnout submerge, Jake took True's hand, thinking about new possibilities and the wondrous idea of beginning something substantial.

"Just so you know, Jake." Her mud-slick fingers squeezed his. "You, I'm not throwing back."

Catching her about the waist, he tipped her into his lap, looking into her eyes with all the seriousness he could muster. "Yes, ma'am."

Her lips tipped up in an unrepentant grin. "You know, we should have taken a picture."

"Next time." Jake bent in for another kiss because if he had anything to say about it, they'd have all the time in the world.

## Promise

C.A. Szarek

Copyright 2013
Promise

### Chapter 1

"Bella, Matt's here. Are you ready?" Andi called.

She twirled in front of the full-length mirror, her dress rustling. Bella blinked, touching a curl above her ear. Her usually straight, long dark hair was a mass of ringlets piled on top of her head, held in place by a million bobby pins and topped with a pearl-encrusted silver comb. She looked like she was destined for the red carpet.

Andi's gasp made her turn. Her pseudo big sister, a police detective, had a hand over her mouth, blue eyes misty. "You . . . you . . . look gorgeous. So grown up."

"Aw, don't cry, please." Bella smiled, taking a step forward.

Shrugging, Bella's friend swiped away tears and laid a palm on her distended tummy. "Stupid pregnancy hormones. Three more months. No idea how I'll cope if I get worse. But I'm fine, really."

Bella grinned. "Good. 'Cause if you cry, I'll cry, and then you'll have to help me with my makeup all over again."

Andi flashed a smile and drew her into a quick hug. "We can't have that. But really, Bells, you look amazing. That dress was the right choice."

Stepping back, Bella glanced down at the silver fit-and-flare her mom had insisted on buying her. It hugged her hips and made her look like she actually had boobs.

She loved the dress and how she looked in it, although it wasn't something she was used to wearing. She was a jeans and T-shirt girl through and through.

"It's . . . a bit much," Bella said.

"Not at all. You look hot." Andi's blue gaze pinned her. "But I expect you to behave tonight."

"Annnnndi," Bella whined, face burning. Leave it to Andi to want to lecture her about sex. "I'm not even thinking about that, really."

Andi sighed, rubbing her rounded tummy. "You're not, but _he_ is."

"Matt's . . . not like that. I love him."

Smiling, Andi reached for her hand. "Don't get me wrong. I like the kid. But boys are boys . . . especially the eighteen-year-old variety. I promised your mom I'd say something to you. I said it. I'll drop it. I trust you."

Bella nodded. What could she say? She'd told her mom she and her boyfriend of six months weren't having sex—and it was the truth. She was a virgin, and so was Matt. Though he'd sworn her to secrecy. The track star and quarterback had a reputation to uphold, after all. Matt didn't have any plans to change things just because it was prom night. Not that he'd shared with her, anyway.

"C'mon, we have to take pics," Andi said, heading back to the living room. She'd helped Bella with her hair and makeup at her house so Bella she didn't have to get ready alone.

Natalie, Bella's mom, got stuck with an extra shift at the hospital where she worked as a trauma nurse, but she'd told them she'd be home before the limo arrived.

"I thought Mom was gonna to do that," Bella said, trying to keep the reins on her disappointment. She wanted her mom to see her before they headed to Antioch's _one_ fancy hotel that was hosting their prom.

Andi threw a reassuring smile over her shoulder. "Her last text said she'd be home soon. I was just going to head things off at the pass."

"Okay, good."

The steady hum of two male voices made her step pause and heart pick up speed. Matt was talking to Cole, Andi's husband and former FBI agent.

". . . really love her, sir." Matt's voice shook.

So unlike her confident, gorgeous boyfriend.

"Geesh, kid. You've got it bad, all right. Relax, I'm not gonna eat you. Just had to . . . ya know, remind you of a few things."

Her whole body heated as Matt's words washed over her. She knew he loved her, but for him to say it aloud to Andi's husband—well, she melted on the spot. Bella hurried down the hall on wobbly legs. She needed to see him.

"Bell Bell!" Ethan saw her first and rushed to her. The four-year-old made her grin.

"Hey squirt," Bella said, reaching for his small hand.

"You look shiny," Ethan said, his voice full of wonder.

Andi laughed.

"Is shiny a good thing?" Bella asked, giggling.

"A . . . very . . . good . . . thing," Matt said, his Adam's apple bobbing as she met his hazel eyes. Bella's cheeks flamed, but she didn't look away.

"Roll your tongue back up, kid," Cole muttered, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Oh, leave him be before you scare him off," Andi admonished, swatting at her tall husband's bicep. One corner of his mouth lifted, and he winked at Bella.

Ethan said something, but all three voices faded.

There was only Matt.

His sandy hair was freshly trimmed, and a wide smile settled on his full mouth. Her heart skipped a beat. Broad shoulders, trim waist, he was so handsome in the black tux, even down to his dark cowboy boots. Cowboy boots? At least the embroidered silver scrollwork matched her dress. Bella swallowed a giggle. Somehow, they fit completely. Just like Matt.

Their gazes locked. His eyes were warm, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into him.

"Bella," he whispered, taking a step toward her. "You're so beautiful. Well, you always are, but tonight . . . wow." He brushed a kiss onto her cheek, and Bella almost combusted.

"You look . . . really . . .  _really_ great, too."

Matt's cheeks went pink, and she smiled. "Thanks," he whispered.

"C'mon guys, limo just pulled up. Let's snap some pictures so you can head out." Andi's voice pulled her back to reality.

Her stomach fluttered, and she smoothed the front of her dress. Matt pulled her against his side, arm around her bare shoulders. His warmth seeped into her, and Bella needed to be alone with him. To kiss him. Let him hold her. Did they have to go to the dance? She'd rather sneak off with him.

Ethan pushed his small hand into her free one, and Bella smiled down at the little boy as she slipped her arm around Matt's waist.

"C'mere, bud," Cole called. "Your mom's gonna take some pictures."

"Daddy, I wanna pic!" He jumped up and down, copper curls bouncing.

"He's fine," Bella said. "I want one with him." She'd been babysitting Ethan since he was born. He and his parents were family.

Cole nodded, and Andi aimed the digital camera.

Bella's mother appeared in Andi and Cole's living room, panting hard, dark hair disheveled. "What'd I miss?"

"Not much," Andi said at the same time Bella exclaimed, "Mom!"

She hadn't even heard the front door.

Natalie's eyes swept over Bella and Matt, a wide smile on her face. "My baby girl, all grown up. So pretty. I want to kiss you, but I'll wait 'til after the pictures. Matt, you look so handsome."

"Mom," Bella grumbled, looking away, her cheeks warm all over.

Cole muttered something about Texans and their cowboy boots, but no one paid him any attention.

"Thanks, Mrs. Russo," Matt said. He tugged on his jacket and shifted his feet.

Several pictures later and after a noisy kiss on the cheek from her mom, Matt helped Bella into the limo and slid in beside her.

Everyone followed them outside. Bella grinned at Ethan jumping up and down in front of his parents. Cole offered a wave with his free arm, as the other was wrapped around his wife's shoulders. Andi winked and waved as well, and her mom blew a kiss.

She caught it and sent one back like she'd done since she was little.

"Be safe!" Natalie shouted as the limo—courtesy of Cole—pulled away from the curb.

### Chapter 2

Matt grabbed Bella's hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her knuckles. Her stomach fluttered.

They were alone at last.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too."

Grinning, he leaned over and kissed her. But the quick brush of his lips wasn't nearly enough.

"I've been looking forward to tonight all year."

"Me, too." Bella's heart missed a beat as she met his gaze. He was so gorgeous and sweet. How did she get so lucky?

He was hers. At least until the school year was over.

Then all they had was the summer—he was going across the country to college in the fall. From Texas to Maryland. Her heart gave a pang, and she ignored it. She wouldn't think about that right now. Or how she would miss him. How her heart would break when he left.

"What's wrong?" Matt whispered.

"N—n—nothing." Could he read her mind?

He cupped her face, those hazel eyes of his burning into her. "Tell me, please Bells."

Matt's use of Andi's nickname for her lifted one corner of her mouth. "Just . . ."

"On second thought, don't think about anything but you and me. And tonight," Matt whispered when her pause slid into a long silence.

How did he know her so well? "Sounds like a plan," she answered softly, leaning closer. He took full advantage of the invitation and slid his hand to the back of her neck as his lips settled over hers.

Bella's heart went into overdrive as she opened for him, their tongues mingling. She slipped her fingertips into his hair, needing to be even closer. Body heating, she clung to Matt and kissed him back with all her might. She was lost to him as his warm mouth moved over hers.

He pulled away, leaving them both panting. She looked into his eyes, and Matt sighed, offering a slight smile. "I love you . . . and when you kiss me like that . . ."

"I know." Bella bit her bottom lip. Kissing him was never enough. Besides some over-the-clothing touching, they hadn't done more. Nor had they even discussed the next step.

_Was she ready yet_?

She wanted Matt to be her first—more than that, she wanted him to be her _only_ , her forever. Andi and her mom said she was too young to feel so strongly, but it wouldn't change for her. Matt was _the one_.

Caressing her cheek, he pulled away, leaving her chilly. Matt tugged his jacket back into place and cleared his throat. "Hope I didn't mess up your makeup."

Bella grinned, reaching for his hand. "I don't care if you did."

He laughed and entwined their fingers. "It wouldn't make you any less beautiful."

A blush heated her cheeks, and she looked away. When she met his eyes again, Matt's smile was tender.

"Have you thought about the camp thing?" he asked.

Matt had been offered a summer job as camp counselor for kids aged eight through twelve down in Livingston, a few hours south, and wanted her to go along.

"You don't have to go all summer. I'm not. They said they need help in mid-June, and it's in six-week blocks. Perfect timing so I can be home for a few weeks before I go to Annapolis."

Bella bit back a cringe. She didn't need the reminder. "I just want to be with you," she whispered.

Flashing a smile, Matt kissed her knuckles. "I know. I want to be with you, too. That's why I want you to go."

"My mom said it'd be good for me. But I don't want to miss Andi having the baby."

"Ah, hadn't thought about that."

What he left unsaid, his limited time versus Andi and her family being in Antioch, hung in the air between them. His disappointment made her decision.

Bella squeezed his hand. "I'm in. I want to go to Livingston with you." As she said it, the smile that bloomed on Matt's face warmed her all over.

"Good. We're gonna have a blast."

The limo pulled into the parking lot of The Covington, their small city's one fancy hotel.

Bella and Matt grinned at each other. "Showtime."

### Chapter 3

The atmosphere was almost overwhelming with the sparkling decorations, loud music, and excited kids, but it was perfect. It made her want to twirl.

Bella waved to her favorite teacher, Mrs. Thompson, who acted as a chaperone, and hugged her very giggly best friends, Jordan and Emma.

"You look awesome," Jordan said.

"You don't look so bad yourself," Bella answered, admiring her friend's short, royal blue sheath.

"A knockout," Emma agreed.

"Nice princess thing you've got going on there," Bella told Emma, gesturing to the puffy baby-pink gown. Both her friends grinned.

"Girls," Brock muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. Jordan smirked at her date, but he flashed a smile.

Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed her boyfriend, Jeremy's, hand. "Let's dance."

"Good idea." Matt nodded, reaching for Bella.

Being in his arms on the dance floor made the world fade as they swayed to a slow love song. Minutes slid into hours, and they danced until Bella's feet ached in the silver heels. But she didn't care. The night was a dream and would come to an end much too soon.

"Thirsty? I need a drink," Matt said in her ear as the latest song came to an end.

She nodded as he guided her to a table, and she slipped into a chair. Taking a deep breath, Bella surveyed the room and smiled. Jeremy was kissing Emma only to be scolded by Mrs. Phillips, the hundred-year-old librarian.

Matt pressed a cup of punch into her hand and followed her line of vision. "Serves him right." He laughed.

"Guess they should save it for later," Bella said, grinning up at him.

His brows drew tight, and Matt swallowed hard. Bella sat up straighter.

"Ah, about that . . . do you . . . want to go home with me when the dance is over?" He cleared his throat and looked away before meeting her eyes.

Her heart thundered. _Was this it? Was tonight the night?_

"I . . . didn't get a room here because I didn't want you to think . . ." He slid onto the seat across from her and reached for her hand.

"I wouldn't think badly of you, Matt. Ever. I love you."

He smiled and squeezed her fingers. "My parents are gone until Sunday. I thought . . . we could go back to my house. If you don't want to go alone, I could see if Jer and Emma want to come. Or Jordan and Brock, too." Both boys were close friends of his.

Bella shook her head. "No. Just me and you."

"I don't expect . . ." His cheeks flushed, and her stomach fluttered. "You know . . ."

"I do know. And it makes me love you even more."

Matt leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "I was going to wait until later, but . . ." He stood and pulled her to her feet, holding her close.

She looked up at him, her heart thudding at the tenderness in his eyes. She loved this boy more than words could express.

"Bella, I have to ask you something."

### Chapter 4

Matt got down on one knee, staring up, eyes intense. Bella swallowed hard. _What the heck was he doing_?

From behind his back he pulled a bundle of something. _Where had that come from?_ Bella's gaze darted to his hands before looking back at his face. She quickly fell into the depths of his eyes, which glowed almost golden in the dim light of the banquet hall.

"Isabella Marie." Matt paused, cleared his throat, and reached for her hand again. He kissed her knuckles but didn't let go.

A rose appeared from the bundle, then another, and another. One white, one red, and a yellow bloom between them. Wrapped with a silver tulle ribbon, a small black velvet box dangled from the bouquet.

Bella's heart stopped.

"I have to admit, my mom helped me with this one." His nervous laugh made her suck in a breath. She clung to his hand.

People were staring.

She should say something, but her voice evaporated. Frozen on the spot as if someone had glued her borrowed stilettos to the floor, Bella only had eyes for Matt.

Releasing her hand, he opened the box. The small diamond, a simple round solitaire, winked under the light of the chandeliers.

_Perfect._ Her favorite cut. How did he even know?

He took the ring out of the box and held it up. Her vision blurred as he took a deep breath.

"This is my promise to you, Bella," Matt whispered. "The white rose is because I will always be purely yours. The yellow one is because, above all, I want to forever be your best friend. And the red one is because I love you. Will you wear my ring?"

Bella bit her bottom lip and swallowed back a sob. Wiping away tears, she nodded and took the roses. Matt pushed the ring onto her left hand.

She stared for a moment, but then was enveloped by his warmth, his mouth crushing hers. People cheered, clapped, and catcalled, but no one broke them apart, even Mrs. Phillips.

Her legs wobbled by the time he pulled away. Matt had never looked more appealing, his sandy hair mussed, cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen. Bella's heart fluttered as he grinned.

"I love you," he breathed.

"I love you, too."

He grabbed her hand and peered at the promise ring as she put the roses to her face and deeply inhaled their lovely scent.

"It's only a chip. When we're officially engaged, I'll get you a bigger one."

Engaged? Bella's stomach flipped, and she grinned. "It's perfect and I love it. I don't need a bigger one."

"You're perfect." His lips hovered over hers. Matt kissed her again, and Bella melted into him.

No matter where they were, he would always be there for her. Texas or Maryland, and every state between. And she for him.

A future with him was a promise as sure as the ring he'd given her.

## The Contract

Jeanne Guzman

Copyright 2013
The Contract

### Chapter 1

July thirtieth ended as crappy as the day began with thick clouds and constant rain from morning till night. Hell, the rain continued inside the Fort Worth honky-tonk by way of a drunk asshole and a full glass of water.

_"Just wanted to see if those babies were real."_

The jerk was escorted out of the bar before Cassy's brain registered her embarrassment.

Face still red, she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking in the tiny lines standing out like beacons from the corners of her eyes. She ignored the natural glow of her skin as she absently applied a fresh coat of liner to her lips, as well as the natural swell of her God-given breasts as she arranged them in the new tank top.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she brushed away the lint left on her denim shirt by the paper towel she used to sop up the spill. She honestly didn't think the night could get any worse than having some drunk accost her before she could join in on the first line dance. Laughter still rang in her ears as she continued to pray for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

How could she go out and face all those people? She wanted to leave. Go back to her lonely townhouse on the outskirts of Dallas and forget this night ever happened. Cassy didn't even know how she'd been talked into coming to the bar in the first place. It wasn't like her life was going to change if she _didn't_ celebrate her birthday. It was just another day, after all, but her depression at turning thirty had gotten the better of her, ergo her current state of mind.

Happiness eluded her while despair hung like a constant weight around her neck, threatening to take her under. She was a successful CPA at Dallas's top accounting firm with a six-figure salary, a closet full of designer clothes, and a BMW sporting a clear title. Her client list included successful businesses from around the globe as well as a few well-known sports personalities, and both came with an expense account that took her to the most luxurious vacation locales on the planet.

It still wasn't enough. She wasn't greedy, not by a long shot, but what good did all her success do her if there was no one to share it with? The evidence of her failure to find _Mr. Right_ glared at her with the absence of a ring on the third finger of her left hand.

"Come on, birthday girl. You're perfect, as always." Terrie Beth gave Cassy a shoulder hug from behind and then snatched the soiled blouse from the counter and stuffed it into her oversized purse. "Let's have another drink and show these cowboys what they're missing."

Cassy couldn't help but smile at her best friend. Terrie Beth was everything Cassy wasn't. Five foot two, blonde hair, and blue eyes with an upbeat personality that would make a sane person ill. She was exactly what her so-called cowboys would want in a woman. Terrie Beth struck a pose, her red Stetson perched low over her forehead and her matching red boots kicking in time with the Keith Urban song coming from the overhead speakers. How could Cassy refuse?

"One more, PIC, and then I'm out of here." Cassy found it easier to laugh at herself when her _Partner In Crime_ was around.

"But the night's just getting started." Terrie Beth grabbed Cassy's hand and pulled her toward the exit. "Who knows how the evening will end?"

"You've got your husband out there to keep you company." Cassy's failure swamped her heart once again, but she forced a smile anyway. "Besides, I've got a client meeting first thing in the morning."

"You work too much," Terrie Beth shouted as they exited the bathroom and made their way through the crowded bar to their table.

Cassy's response to Terrie Beth's statement froze in her throat as she came face-to-face with her past.

"Jackson?" Her forced smile became real as she was lifted off her feet by thick, muscular arms. "I didn't know you were in town. Your father said you were on some secret mission." Jackson's father, known to everyone as Sr., was Cassy's boss. "Why didn't he tell me this morning when he came into the office?"

"He doesn't know." Jackson smiled as he placed Cassy back on her feet and stepped back. His grin melted her heart and had her heated blood heading south.

Cassy took in the view, eating up every inch of his six-foot-three frame from his jet-black hair that curled at the collar of his western shirt to the tips of his spit-shined boots. He'd filled out from the gangly seventeen-year-old boy with a bad complexion and spindly arms. The man before her was beautifully tanned with a body to make even Brad Pitt green with envy.

It was too bad they were such good friends. From the moment her father married his mother, they'd been close. Even after her father passed away and she was forced to move in with her paternal grandparents while he stayed with his mother, she and Jackson had remained as close as any siblings. Even through her crush stage when she couldn't think of anyone but Jackson, they'd been close. When he'd gone off to join the navy, they'd begun writing at least once a week, a habit they'd continued to this day.

"So, how long are you in town for?" Terrie Beth stepped in for her share of hugs and then grabbed Jackson's hand and pulled him to their table without waiting for an answer. "Jackson, I want you to meet the love of my life, Mike. Mike, this is Cassy's brother, Jackson."

"Stepbrother," Cassy clarified at the same time Jackson corrected, "Not her brother."

Cassy felt his rejection of their connection like a weight in the pit of her stomach, but his next words made her head spin.

"I'm her fiancé."

"Huh?"

### Chapter 2

Jackson grinned as all heads turned in his direction, but the confusion and shock on Cassy's face gave him his first taste of doubt.

He'd lived the last fifteen years of his life with the knowledge that she belonged to him. They had a contract, after all. Her idea. So he'd waited. Biding his time while she went through an endless line of suitors. But being here tonight, the feel of her in his arms still lingering through his heated blood, Jackson knew the wait was worth it. Cassy was worth it.

"Are you married?" he asked, keeping the rising panic from his voice.

"Um—no." Cassy swallowed as she collapsed onto her stool.

"Seeing anyone on a serious basis?" Jackson sat on the stool beside her.

"N—no." Her delicate fingers nervously shredded the label off her beer bottle.

"Then I'd like to invoke the contract." Jackson reached into his back pocket and pulled out the folded slip of notebook paper. The yellowed sheet was worn in places, the delicate edges smoothed out from years of handling. Whenever Jackson felt the urge to return home and steal Cassy away from whatever love she'd chosen, he would take out the contract and remind himself he was giving her this time to have a life.

That time was up as far as he was concerned.

Handing the note to Cassy, Jackson recited, word for word, what had been written fifteen years ago.

"We, the undersigned, do hereby agree that on the thirtieth day of July, 2013, if neither party is married or in a committed relationship, the undersigned will fly to Vegas to be married by an Elvis impersonator."

Jackson pointed at the signed contract. "That's your signature, right?" Jackson grinned again as Terrie Beth started laughing.

"Oh—my—God. I remember that. Look, that's my signature as witness."

"Um." There was panic in Cassy's eyes as she looked from Jackson to the contract and back again. "I can't. I have a meeting tomorrow with a new client."

Jackson knew she was scared as she bit her bottom lip, but he also saw the hint of excitement in her light brown eyes. "J. P. Presley, right?"

The color drained from her face, and the uncertainty that had lived in the back of his mind for the past two weeks rushed forward and stole his breath. Arrangements had already been made. Hell, he'd been making plans to marry the woman now standing before him since he was ten years old.

Her hand gripped the table, her knuckles turning white. "Um, I'm not feeling too good. Terrie Beth, can you take me home? Now?" Cassy strapped her purse over her shoulder and walked toward the exit.

"I'll take you." Jackson retrieved the contract, folded it, and carefully placed it in his wallet.

"That's not a good idea." Mike stood and put himself between Jackson and Cassie.

"Babe, let it go." Terrie Beth placed her hand on her husband's arm, pulling him back to the table. "Jackson isn't going to hurt her. Besides, they need to talk. It's best to get this discussion out of the way."

Mike looked past Jackson to where Cassy waited, and with a slight nod of her head, he rounded on Jackson. "You hurt her, I'll kick your ass."

The man was at least six inches shorter and about fifty pounds lighter. There didn't seem to be the slightest indication Mike even worked out. But Jackson wasn't going to point out that he was a navy SEAL and could snap Mike's neck without breaking a sweat. Instead he looked the smaller man dead in the eye. "Fair enough, but you need to know I've been in love Cassy for nearly my entire existence. I could never hurt the woman I intend to spend the rest of my life with."

Jackson turned toward Cassy, and with a gentle hand to the small of her back, he led her through the crowd and out into the parking lot. He didn't relinquish the simple connection until she was safely in the passenger seat of his rental car.

They were both quiet, but when the crowded streets of downtown Fort Worth were nothing but a memory in his rearview mirror, Jackson broke the silence. "I know you're pissed."

"What was your first clue?" Cassy snapped as she stared out the window.

"Hear me out." Jackson needed to get everything in the open before they got to her townhouse in Las Colinas. "Regardless of what you might think, I've never forgotten about you. You've been all I've wanted from the moment your father walked into my mother's house holding your hand and telling you I would be your big brother.

"John didn't realize it then, but he gave you to me that day. I became your protector, your confidant, and your shoulder to cry on. When he died, I was terrified I'd lose you too. When your grandparents took you away, I felt my heart break. You have no idea how happy I was when I ran into you at school. I knew God was giving you back to me. It was why, when you came crying to me the night before I left for boot camp, I didn't hesitate to sign that contract." Jackson took a breath, waiting for Cassy to say something, anything, but she remained silent while he maneuvered the car off the highway and into Las Colinas.

She remained quiet as she flashed her ID at the gate to her private community, refused to look his way even after he pulled into the visitor's slot outside her home.

"I love you, Cassy. I always have and I always will. We were meant to be together. All I'm asking is that you give me a chance. Give us a chance."

Still mute, Cassy opened her door and climbed out of the car. Jackson sat staring after the woman who was walking away with his heart.

### Chapter 3

Cassy pushed her key into the lock and opened her door. Jackson's words echoed in her ears. She'd never known the depth of his feelings for her. He'd never hinted once in all the years of letters and phone calls. The day he announced he was going into the navy, he'd broken her heart.

She'd tried, without success, to erase him from her mind, resigning herself to being the perfect pen pal. Anything to be a part of his life in some way. After graduating from UT Arlington, she inserted herself further into his world, interning for his father and securing a place in the family accounting firm. She'd kept tabs on Jackson through his letters and reports from Sr., but Jackson seemed always out of reach. The only time he would visit was when Cassy had been sent away to deal with a client or on vacation, always leaving before Cassy returned.

How was she supposed to react? Jackson, the man who owned her heart, was back and still carrying that silly contract. He'd confessed to being in love with her all this time, and yet he'd said nothing.

She had half a mind to march back out there, stop him from leaving, and demand to know why the hell he made her suffer all these years, but she was still too confused and pissed off. She needed time to calm down and plan out what she'd say.

Flipping on the light switch, Cassy walked into her living room intending to drop her purse on the sideboard and collapse on the couch. "Holy-cheese-on-a-cracker." Her mouth dropped open as she gazed into the room.

Roses. Dozens upon dozens of long-stemmed yellow roses covered every available surface in her living room. Hanging from the ceiling was a hand painted sign, and as she read, she felt her heart burst open wide.

Happy 30th Birthday, Cassandra Ann Butler!

Will you marry me?

Cassy turned to run after Jackson, but he was already standing in the doorway.

She held her breath as he locked the front door and crossed the room with a gleam of determination sparking heat in his overly bright blue eyes. He said nothing as he cupped her face in his hands and claimed her lips in a kiss that had her legs giving out.

When he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, she reached to tunnel her fingers in his hair, making sure there was no mistake that she was participating.

"You're mine." The words rumbled through his chest as he broke the kiss, lifted her in his arms, and carried her up the stairs. "It's time to claim what belongs to me."

"It took you long enough." Cassy pulled him in for another mind-blowing kiss, thinking today had to be the best day in her life.

Thank God for contracts.
