Excerpts

KISSES ON HER CHRISTMAS LIST

2011-11-21T11:12:00.000-08:00

Chapter 1

Shannon Raleigh turned to get a look at herself in the full-length mirror in the bathroom of her executive office suite and gaped in horror. The tall black boots and short red velvet dress she wore exposed most of her legs and the white fur trimmed “U” at the bodice revealed a sizeable strip of cleavage.

“I can’t go into a roomful of kids dressed like this!”

Even from behind the closed door, she could hear her assistant Wendy sigh heavily. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

“Because I know you’ll say I look fine, when I don’t. I can’t usher kids to Santa’s lap in a skirt so short I can’t bend over.”

“So don’t bend over.” Another sigh. “Look, Shannon, it doesn’t matter that you’re eight inches taller than Carlie. There’s nobody else who’s even remotely thin enough to fit into that suit. Carlie’s car is stuck in a snow drift. If you don’t play Santa’s helper there’ll be no one to–“

The ring of the phone stopped Wendy mid-sentence. The next thing Shannon heard was Wendy’s happy voice saying, “Raleigh’s Department Store. Shannon Raleigh’s assistant, Wendy, speaking.”

In the lull while Wendy obviously listened to the caller, Shannon cast another critical eye over her reflection. The little red dress was kind of cute. The color complimented her long black hair and made her blue eyes seem bluer. If she were wearing it anywhere else, she’d actually think she looked pretty.

A long-forgotten ache filled her. It was the first time in a year she felt pretty, sexy. But sexy wasn’t exactly the way a grown woman should dress in a room filled with babies, toddlers and elementary school kids.

The ache was quickly replaced by fear – which was the real reason she didn’t want to play Santa’s helper. How could she spend four hours in a room full of adorable children? She wanted a baby so badly it hurt, but she couldn’t have kids. And seeing all those sweet faces, hearing their cute little lists, would crush her.

“Um, Shannon?”

“I’m not coming out.”

“Fine. That was Tammy in the Shoe Department. No one’s come into the store for the past hour. Because she could tell the storm was getting worse, she checked the forecast on the Internet. They have no clue how much snow we’re going to get, but they aren’t shy about suggesting we might get another foot.”

“Another foot!”

Shannon raced out of her bathroom and pulled back the curtain behind her huge mahogany desk. Thick fluffy snowflakes cascaded from the sky, coating the tinsel and silver bells on the streetlamps of Main Street, Green Hill, Pennsylvania. It blanketed the Christmas lights that outlined shop doorways, and sat on the roof of the park’s gazebo like a tall white hat.

“Holy cow!”

Her gaze on the little red Santa’s help outfit, Wendy also said, “Holy cow.”

“Don’t make fun. We have a serious problem here.” Or maybe a way out. She turned from the window. “I think it’s time to admit that the storm is keeping shoppers away.”

“And most of the staff is scared silly about driving home. The longer we stay, the worse the roads get.”

“Okay, announce that the store is closing in fifteen and tell the employees they can go home. I’ll call the radio stations so they can add us to their list of closings. Then I’ll lock up.”

“Okay.”

As the announcement went out over the loudspeaker, Shannon called all the local radio stations and advised them to let listeners know Raleigh’s would be closed for the night.

Just as she hung up the phone from the final call, Wendy peeked in. “Okay. Fifteen minutes are up. Store’s empty.”

“Great. Thanks. Be careful going home.”

“My boyfriend’s coming to pick me up in his truck. I’ll be fine.”

Shannon smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

“If we can make it.”

“We better hope we can make it. The weekend before Christmas is our busiest time.”

Wendy shrugged. “If shoppers don’t get here tomorrow, they’ll just come on Sunday or Monday or Tuesday or whatever. Nobody’s going to go without gifts this Christmas. I’d say your profits are safe.”

Shannon laughed. Wendy waved and headed off. With a few clicks on her keyboard, she activated the building locks and the alarm system. Reaching for her coat, she peered down at her little Santa’s helper outfit. She should change, but knowing the roads were getting worse with every passing minute, she simply yanked her long white wool coat from the closet and ran out.

At the end of the hall, she pushed on the swinging door that led from executive row to Housewares. Striding to the elevator, she passed shelves and tables bulging with merchandise, all under loops of tinsel and oversized ornaments hanging from the low ceiling. On the first floor, she hurried past the Candy Department, to the back door and the employee parking lot. Putting her SUV into four-wheel drive, she edged onto the street and slowly wound along the twisty road that took her out into the country, to her home five miles outside the small city.

As she stepped out into the eighteen inches of snow in her driveway, a sense of disconnect shivered through her. Though it had been a year, it felt like only yesterday that she was married and living in sunny, happy Charleston, South Carolina – where people didn’t often see snow, let alone need winter coats and boots. Then she’d been diagnosed with stage-four endometriosis and forced to have a hysterectomy, her husband had unceremoniously divorced her and she’d returned home to the comforting arms of her parents.

But just when she’d gotten adjusted to being back in town and working at the store, her parents had retired and moved to Florida. Worse, they wanted her to sell the store to fund their retirement.

Once again, she was alone – and soon she’d be unemployed.

She trudged up the back steps to the kitchen door, scolding herself for being so negative. She knew what was wrong. The near-miss with playing Santa’s helper had rattled her. Four hours of ushering kids to Santa’s throne and listening to their sweet voices as they gave their Christmas lists to the jolly old elf would have been her undoing – a bittersweet reminder her that she’d never bring a child into this world.

Inside the cold yellow kitchen, she’d just barely unwound the scarf from her neck when the doorbell rang. Confused, she walked up the hall, dodging the boxes of Christmas decorations she’d brought from the attic the night before. She flipped on the porch light and yanked open the door.

A snow-covered state policeman took off his hat. “Evening, ma’am. I’m Trooper Potter.”

She blinked. What the devil would the police want with her? “Good evening.”

Then Trooper Potter shifted a bit to his left and she saw Rory Wallace. All six-foot-one, no-more-than-a-hundred-and-eighty-five-gorgeous pounds of him. His black hair and topcoat were sprinkled with snow. His dark eyes were wary, apologetic.

“Rory?”

“Good evening, Shannon.”

The policeman angled his thumb behind him. “I see you know Mr. Wallace.”

“Yes. I do.” How could she forget a dark-haired, dark-eyed sex god? While he dated her roommate Natalie their first year at university, Shannon had had a secret crush on him. With his high cheekbones, well defined chin, broad shoulders and flat abs, he had the kind of looks that made women swoon and Shannon wasn’t blind.

“Mr. Wallace was stranded on the Interstate. The hotels filled up quickly with travelers and now his only options are a cot in the high school gym or finding someone to take him in. He tells me that he’s in Pennsylvania because he has business with you on Monday and --”

“I came a few days early to get a look at the store on my own,” Rory interrupted, stepping forward. “But I ran into the storm. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me staying the night. Normally, I wouldn’t ask such a big favor, but as you can see I’m desperate.”

Mind? She almost laughed. She would bet that fifty percent of the women he met fantasized about being stuck in storm with him.

She opened the door a little wider. Not only would having him stay the night get her out of the doldrums about her life, but this had all the makings of a perfect fantasy. Cold night. Gorgeous guy. And wine. She had tons of wine.

“Daddy, I’m cold.”

Her fantasy came to an abrupt halt as she glanced down and saw a little girl standing beside Rory. She wore a pink ski jacket and carried a matching pink backpack. Little strands of yellow hair peeked from beneath her hood.

Her heart pinched with fear. Her breathing stuttered out. Did Fate think it was funny to let her dodge playing Santa’s helper only to drop an adorable child on her doorstep?

“You can see why I don’t want to stay in a shelter.”

Fear and yearning collided as she glanced down at the sweet little girl with big blue eyes and fine yellow hair. As much as she knew spending time with this child would intensify her longing for her own, she couldn’t leave Rory and his daughter out in the cold or ship them to a crowded gym with hundreds of other noisy travelers and a tiny cot.

She also couldn’t be a Scrooge or grumpy Gus. Her problem wasn’t their problem. She would be a good hostess.

She stepped back so they could enter. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Carrying a duffle bag and brief case as he squeezed into the foyer, Rory brushed against her, setting off a firestorm of sensations inside her. She ignored them. Not just because a man with a child was mostly likely married, but because she probably wouldn’t have made a pass at him even if he’d been alone. In the year since her divorce, she hadn’t been able to relate to men as anything other than employees. After her husband’s anger over her inability to have kids and the way he’d dropped her like a hot potato – no consideration for their five-year marriage, no consideration for her devastation – the fear of another man rejecting her paralyzed her.

Plus, come Monday, they’d be doing business. His family owned a holding company for various types of stores and Raleigh’s would probably fit their collection. That’s why she’d thought of Natalie’s old boyfriend when her parents decided they wanted her to sell the store. It could be a quick, painless sale. She didn’t want to jeopardize that.

But, wow. It had been fun to fantasize about being stranded with him, fun for the ten seconds before reality intruded, reminding her she wasn’t normal.

As Rory dropped his duffle bag, she said, “It’s a terrible storm.”

“Worst in ten years,” the trooper agreed, staying behind on the porch. “If you’re all settled, I need to get back on the road.”

“We’re fine,” Shannon said, as she began to close the door. As an afterthought, she added, “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Rory Wallace called out too.

Already on his way down her front steps, the trooper waved goodbye and trudged through the thick snow on the sidewalk to his car.

Awkward silence reined as Rory Wallace took in the foyer of Shannon Raleigh’s home. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d been forced to humble himself and ask shelter from a business associate, it appeared she was moving. Boxes blocked half the corridor that led from the foyer to the kitchen behind it. They littered the living room to the right and the dining room to the left.

Which made him feel even guiltier for being forced to ask for shelter. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

She smiled graciously. “You’re welcome.” Then she shivered, even though she wore a long white coat and the house wasn’t that cold, just chilled, as if the heat had been on low all day while she was at work. “Give me a minute to turn on the furnace.” She walked to a thermostat on the wall and adjusted it. “You might want to keep your coats on until it heats up in here.”

He unbuttoned his topcoat. “Actually, after spending ten hours in a car, your house is warm to us.” He stooped to help his daughter with her jacket. Realizing he’d never introduced her, he peeked up at Shannon. “This is my daughter, Finley.”

Crouching beside them, Shannon said, “It’s nice to meet you, Finley.”

Finley mumbled, “Nice to meet you too,” then she looked at him as if wanting to make sure he’d noticed that she’d been polite.

Sliding her arms out of her little pink jacket, he gave her a subtle nod of approval. Lately, she’d been something of a six-year-old diva. Disciplining her worked, but not always. And some days he was at his wits end with her. So he was lucky she’d been polite to Shannon Raleigh. He didn’t know how he’d deal with her if she insulted the woman who’d rescued them.

“This is the perfect night to be stranded with me,” Shannon said, taking Finley’s jacket to the closet behind her. “My parents will be home from Florida next Saturday and I promised I’d have the house decorated for Christmas. All these boxes are decorations they left behind when they moved to Florida. You can help me.”

While Rory breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t interrupted her moving, Finley’s nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed with distaste. Before he realized what she was about to do, she spat, “I hate Christmas.”

Shannon reared back as if someone had slapped her. Her pretty blue eyes widened in disbelief. “Hate Christmas? How can you hate Christmas?”

“How can you believe that a fat guy in a red suit brings you presents?”

Anger pulsed through Rory’s veins and he shot Finley a warning look. He wouldn’t yell at her in front of Shannon, but he did need to provide a few rules for behavior when imposing on someone they barely knew. He faced Shannon. “Why don’t you tell me where we’re sleeping and I’ll take Finley to our room and help her get settled in.”

Shannon winced. “Actually, there’s only one bedroom.”

“Oh.”

“It’s no big deal. We’ll give the bed to Finley, and you and I will use sleeping bags. You can put yours on the floor beside the bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Mortal embarrassment overwhelmed him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d be putting her out when he gave her name to the state policeman. “This is such an imposition. You can’t give us your room. Finley and I don’t mind sleeping in the living room.”

Finley stomped her foot. “I don’t want to sleep on the floor.”

He flashed Finley another warning look. “You won’t. You can have the sofa.”

“I want a bed!”

Rory’s head pounded. He understood that this time of year wasn’t easy for Finley. Her mom had left on Christmas day two years before. So every year, she got moody, and every year he indulged her by taking her on vacation from Christmas Eve to New Years. For a guy who’d also lost his marriage on Christmas Day, a vacation from the holiday was good for him too. But the foot-stomping and the pouting and the demands that everything go her way, those had just started. And he absolutely refused to get on board with them. He had to spend the next week looking at Raleigh’s Department Store for his family’s holding company. He couldn’t have her acting like a brat all week.

He turned to Shannon. “Would you mind showing us to the bedroom so I can get Finley settled?”

“Not at all.”

She led them into a small first floor bedroom that was as neat and clean as the rest of the house – minus boxes. A feminine white ruffled spread sat on a simple double bed. Red pillows on the bed matched the red shag carpet beneath it and the drapes on the double windows.

He dropped his duffle bag to the floor. “Wow.”

She faced him with a smile. Her shiny black hair was a wonderland of long, springy curls. In the years since university, her face had shifted just slightly and she’d become a softer, prettier version of the young girl he remembered.

“Wow?”

“I’m just a little surprised by your room.”

Her smile grew. “Really? Why?”

“The red.” He felt the same color rising on his cheeks. The room was girlie, yet incredibly sexy. But he certainly didn’t feel comfortable saying that to the woman giving him and his daughter shelter, especially not after Finley’s mini-tantrum. Still, he never would have guessed this sexy combination of color and style from the sweet Shannon he knew all those years ago at school.

“There’s a private bathroom for the bedroom.” She gestured toward a door to the right. “Over there.”

“Thank you.”

“Just come out when you’re ready.” She smiled. “I’ll start supper. I hope you like toasted cheese sandwiches and soup. I’m not much of a cook.”

“On a cold day like this, soup is terrific.”

She closed the door behind her and Rory crouched down in front of Finley. Smoothing his hand down her shiny yellow hair, he said, “You’re killing me.”

She blinked innocently “What?”

“Ms. Raleigh is doing us a favor by letting us stay. We should be polite to her.”

“I was polite.”

“Saying you want the bed while you stomp your foot is not polite.”

Her bottom lip puffed out. “Sorry.”

And this was why he had trouble disciplining her. The second he pointed out something she did wrong, she turned on that little girl charm. Batted her long black lashes over her pretty blue eyes.

Scrubbing his hand over his mouth, he rose. “I’ll tell you what. You stay in here for a few minutes, while I spend some time getting acquainted with our hostess.” And apologizing and doing damage control. “While I’m gone, you can get your pajamas and tooth brush out of your backpack and think about how you’d want a little girl to behave if she were a guest in our house.”

Apparently liking her assignment, she nodded eagerly.

“And don’t spend all your time thinking about how you’d spoil your little guest, because you wouldn’t. If you had to give up your bed for a stranger, you’d want her to be nice to you.”

Finley nodded again and said, “Okay. I get it.”

Rory was absolutely positive she didn’t, but he had to make amends to Shannon. He left Finley in the bedroom and walked up the hall to the kitchen.

The house was small, but comfortable. The furniture was new and expensive, an indication that Raleigh’s Department Store did, indeed, make lots of money. So maybe the trip to Pennsylvania might not have been the mistake he’d thought while sitting in his car for ten hours, not moving, on the Interstate?

He found Shannon in the kitchen. Still wearing her coat, she drew bread from a drawer and cheese from the refrigerator.

“Thanks again for taking us in.”

“No problem.” She set the bread and cheese on the center island of the sunny yellow kitchen with light oak cabinets and pale brown granite countertops. She reached for the top button of her coat. “Furnace has kicked in,” she said with a laugh, popping the first button and the second, but when she reached the third, she paused. “I think I’ll just take this out to the hall closet.”

She walked past him, to the swinging door. Wanting something to do, he followed her. Just as he said, “Is there anything I can do to help with supper?” her coat fell off her shoulders, revealing a bright red dress.

But when she turned in surprise, he saw the dress wasn’t really a dress but some little red velvet thing that dipped low at the bodice, revealing an enticing band of cleavage. Tall black boots showcased her great legs.

She was dressed like Mrs. Santa – if Mrs. Santa were a young incredibly endowed woman who liked short skirts.

His dormant hormones woke as if from a long winter’s nap, and he took a step back. These little bursts of attraction he was having to her were all wrong. He had an unruly daughter who took priority over everything in his life, including his hormones, and he was a guest in Shannon’s house. Plus, tomorrow morning, when the storm was over, they’d go into her department store as adversaries of a sort. She’d be trying to sell her family business to him and he’d be looking for reasons not to buy. He couldn’t be attracted to her.

He swallowed back the whole filing cabinet of flirtatious remarks that wanted to come out. “That’s an interesting choice of work clothes.”

She laughed nervously. “I was going to fill in for our Santa’s helper in the Toy Department.”

Ah. Not Mrs. Santa but Santa’s helper.

“Well, the dress is very …” He paused. He knew the dress was probably supposed to be Christmassy and cute. And on a shorter woman it probably was. But she was tall, sleek, yet somehow still womanly. He didn’t dare tell her that. “… festive.”

She brought the coat to her neck, using it to shield herself. “That’s the look we’re after. Festive and happy. And it actually works for the girl who fits into this costume. I was lucky Mother Nature saved me and I didn’t have to fill in for her tonight.”

Recognizing her acute nervousness, Rory pulled his gaze away from her long, slim legs. He cleared his throat. “I … um… just followed you to see if I could help you with anything.”

She motioned toward his black suit and white shirt. “Are you sure you want to butter bread or stir tomato soup in a suit?”

He took off his jacket, loosened his tie and began rolling up his sleeves.

And Shannon’s mouth watered. Damn it. She’d already figured out she couldn’t be fantasizing about him. Sure, his shoulders were broad, his arms muscled. And she’d always been a sucker for a man in a white shirt with rolled up sleeves looking like he was ready to get down to business. But as far as she could tell, he was married. That shut down the possibility of any relationship right then and there. Plus, she wanted him to buy her parents’ store. She couldn’t be drooling on him.

She hung up her coat, then scurried past him, into the kitchen and directly to the laundry room. Leaning on the closed door, she drew in a deep breath. God, he was gorgeous. But he was also married.

Married. Married. Married.

She forced the litany through her head, hoping it would sink in, as she grabbed a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from the dryer and changed into them.

When she returned to the kitchen he stood at the center island, buttering bread. “While we have a few seconds of privacy, I also wanted to apologize for Finley. I brought her because she’s on Christmas break from school and I hate to leave her with her nanny for an entire week. But I know she can be a handful.”

Walking over to join him, she said, “She’s just a little girl.”

“True, but she’s also recently entered a new phase of some sort where she stomps her foot when she doesn’t get her own way.”

Standing so close to him, she could smell his aftershave. Her breathing stuttered in and out of her lungs. So she laughed, trying to cover it. “A new phase, huh?”

“She’s was perfectly fine in pre-school and kindergarten, but first grade is turning her into a Diva.”

“Diva?”

“Yeah.” Smiling, he caught her gaze, and every nerve ending in her body lit up like the lights on the Christmas tree in central park. Spinning away from him, she repeated the litany in her head again.

Married. Married. Married!

“You know, I can easily handle this myself. You can use the den for privacy if you need to call your wife.”

He snorted a laugh. “Not hardly.”

She set the frying pan for the sandwiches on the stove and faced him again. “I’m sure she’s worried.”

“And I’m sure she and her new husband aren’t even thinking about me and Finley right now.”

“Oh.” Nerves rolled through her. He was divorced? Not married?

Their gazes caught. Attraction spun through her like snowflakes dancing in the light of a streetlamp. She reminded herself that they were about to do business, but it didn’t work to snuff out the snap and crackle of electricity arching between them.

She pivoted away from him. Pretending she needed all her concentration to open two cans of soup, she managed to avoid conversation. But that didn’t stop the chatter in her brain. As difficult as it might be to have a little girl around, she was abundantly glad Finley was with him. She might have had that quick fantasy of being stranded with him, but now that sanity had returned, she knew the sale of the store had to take precedence over a night of … she swallowed…passion? Good God, she hadn’t even thought the word in a year, let alone experienced it. She’d probably dissolve into a puddle if he made a pass at her.

BABY AT THE RANCH

2011-05-15T05:16:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1

Suzanne Caldwell shoved against the spot in the door of Amanda Mae’s Old West Diner where the “waitress wanted” sign filled the glass. The scent of fresh apple pie greeted her, along with a rush of noise. Though there were no more than ten people at the counter and in the booths, the place was as rowdy as a party. Women wearing jeans and tank tops sat with men dressed in jeans, T-shirts and cowboy hats. She didn’t get two steps into the room before the noise level began to drop. As if noticing the stranger, people stopped talking mid-sentence.

She clutched her six-month-old baby, Mitzi. There was nothing like walking into a roomful of staring strangers to make you realize how alone you were in the world.

And she was definitely alone. She’d run out of gas about a mile out of Whiskey Springs, Texas, and, literally, had no one to call for help.

No family. Her grandmother had died six months ago and her mom had died when Suzanne was six. Her dad, whoever he was, had never acknowledged her.

Her mom and grandmother were both only children so she had no aunts, no uncles, no cousins.

And no friends. The wonderful sorority sisters who’d vowed to be her ally for life had dumped her when she got pregnant by a popular university professor. It was her fault, they’d said, and had accused her of trying to ruin Bill Baker’s career. As if. The guy had gone on a campaign to seduce her and had wormed his way into her life because of her grandmother’s fortune. When Martha Caldwell made some major mistakes in money management and lost the bulk of her wealth, Professor Baker suddenly didn’t want to see her anymore. And he most certainly wanted no part of their baby.

So, yeah. She was alone. Alone. Broke. Desperate to make a home for herself and her baby. And she’d left Atlanta bound for Whiskey Springs hoping to find some help.

But after walking the last mile on a hot June day, her heels thumped in her black stiletto boots. Mitzi squirmed in her arms. Her heavy diaper bag was dislocating her shoulder. Still, she kept her head high as she made her way to the first empty booth. By the time she got there, the diner was dead silent.

A waitress shuffled over. “Help you?”

She cleared her throat. “I’d like a piece of the apple pie I can smell, a cup of coffee, a glass of milk and some pudding, please.”

“What kind of pudding?”

She swallowed. Not one person had turned back to his or her coffee or food. They just stared as if she were a zombie or vampire or some other mythical creature they’d never seen before. “What kind do you have?”

“Vanilla or chocolate.”

“Mitzi loves vanilla.”

Without so much as a word of acknowledgement, the waitress scurried away.

“You’re not from around here.”

Knowing the man could only be talking to her, she followed the voice and found herself staring into a pair of the shrewdest eyes she’d ever seen. Cool, calculating, so black the pupils were almost invisible, his eyes never blinked, never waivered as they held her gaze.

Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore.

“No, I’m not from around here.”

“What’s your business?”

“None of yours.” She turned away from the penetrating, unsettling eyes and shifted Mitzi on her lap.

To her horror, the man walked over and plopped down on the bench seat across from hers. His full lips pulled upward into a devilish smile. His dark eyes danced with pleasure. “Now, see. That’s not just a bad attitude; it’s also wrong.”

She should have been scared to death. He was big. Not fat, but tall and broad-shouldered. The kind of guy who could snap a little five-foot-five girl like her in two. But instead of fear, a very unladylike shiver of lust rippled down her spine.

“Everything that happens in Whiskey Springs is my business because this is my town.”

Not at all happy with herself for even having two seconds of attraction to an ill-mannered stranger, she said, “Your town? What are you, the sheriff?”

He chuckled. The people at the counter and in the booths around them also laughed.

“No. I’m Cade Andreas. I own this town. I bought all the buildings last year. I lease the businesses back to their proprietors, but I still own every square inch, including the one you’re sitting on.”

Oh, good God. This was Cade Andreas?

Fear and confusion immediately replaced attraction. Wasn’t the Andreas family broke?

She owned one-third of Andreas Holdings stock and hadn’t been able to sell it because the company was on the skids. What was he doing buying a town?

“And I’d like to know what brings you to my town.”

She raised her gaze to his face. A day-old growth of beard covered his chin and cheeks, giving him a sexily disreputable look. His lips were full, firm, kissable. His nose had been broken – undoubtedly in a fight – but it wasn’t disfigured, more like masculine. Definitely not dainty. There was nothing dainty about this man. He was all male. One-hundred percent, grade A, prime specimen sexy.

Finally, their eyes connected. Her chest tightened. Her breathing stalled. She could have blamed that on her unwitting attraction, but refused. A guy who bought a town had to be more than a little arrogant. Definitely past vain. Maybe even beyond narcissistic. And she’d learned her lesson about narcissistic men with Mitzi’s father. It would be a cold, frosty day in hell before she got involved with another self-absorbed man. So she refused to be attracted to Cade Andreas. Refused.

But she still needed a job. She might own stock worth millions of dollars, but nobody wanted to buy it. Potential didn’t sell stock these days. Dividends did. And in the past two years Andreas Holdings hadn’t paid any. So she was hoping that since she owned one-third of the company they could at least let her work there. The choice to approach Cade Andreas, the youngest of the three brothers who owned controlling interest of Andreas Holdings stock and ran the company, was simply a matter of practicality. Texas was driving distance. New York City, the headquarters for the corporate offices, wasn’t. Still, if they gave her a job, she’d get there somehow. She’d go anywhere that she could put down roots and make a home. Maybe find some friends.

“What brings you to my town?”

This time the words were harsh. Not quite angry, but definitely losing patience.
She glanced at the waitress who stood behind the counter, balancing a coffee pot and Suzanne’s piece of pie, obviously holding them hostage until she answered Cade.
She looked back at him. His already sharp eyes had narrowed in displeasure, and she had the sudden, intense intuition that if she told him who she was – in front of his adoring friends and the frozen waitress – he would not jump for joy. She would bet her last dollar that none of these people knew how much trouble Andreas Holdings was in and Cade would not be happy with the person who announced it.

There was no way she could say who she was and why she was here without talking about something he would want kept private, and no way she could explain her presence in this two-bit town so far from a major highway that no one was ever just passing through.

She glanced around, saw the sign in the door advertising for a waitress and grabbed the first piece of good luck that had come her way in over a year.

“I heard about the job for a waitress, so I came.”

“In your fancy boots, with your baby all dolled up?”

“We put on our best stuff --” she said, making herself sound as if she fit the part of a waitress. She regretted the deception, but if anybody ever deserved to be played, this guy did. Owned a town, huh? She potentially held the future of his family’s company in her hands just by whom she chose to sell her stock to, yet he’d never once considered that she might be somebody worthy of his time. “-- For the interview.”

A short, round, dark-haired woman wearing an apron scampered out of the kitchen. “You’re looking for a job?”

“Yes.” The truth of that brought her back to reality. Her purpose for coming to Whiskey Springs had been to get a job – from Andreas Holdings. Now that plan was on hold. She wasn’t exactly here to be a waitress, but money was money. And she needed some. Now. Today. She had enough cash to pay for her piece of pie and even buy extra milk for Mitzi, but after that she and Mitzi were sleeping in her car.

“I’m Suzanne Caldwell.” Because her grandmother had held the stock in a trust, her name wasn’t mentioned on any documents, so she could give it without worry. “This is my baby Mitzi.”

Mitzi picked that exact moment to cry. The little brunette scrambled over. “I’m Amanda Mae.” She shot Cade an evil look, causing Suzanne to immediately love her. “Real men don’t make babies cry.”

Cade held up his hands innocently. “Hey, I was on my own side of the booth the whole time. I didn’t touch her.”

“You’re threatening her mama.”

His face fell. “I never threatened her!”

“Just your voice is threatening.”

He sighed. “Yeah. Right. Whatever.”

She took the baby. “Would you like a bottle, little Mitzi?”

Suzanne said, “I ordered some milk and pudding for her.”

Amanda Mae looked horrified. “June Marie, where are you with this baby’s food?”

The waitress hustled over, set Suzanne’s pie in front of her and poured her a cup of coffee before she rushed away and got both the pudding and the milk.

Eyes narrowed, Cade studied the woman across the booth from him. She was a pretty little package. Eyes so blue they bordered on the purple color of the wildflowers that grew on his pasture in the spring. Black hair cut in a straight, blunt line at her chin, giving her a dramatic look that didn’t fit with a woman who needed a job as a waitress. And those boots. Black stilettos. The kind a man envisioned on his chest, pinning him to a bed.

He stopped those thoughts. She might be a pretty with her perfect nose and full, tempting lips, but he wasn’t interested.

Still, he had no doubt that he had to keep an eye on her. Something wasn’t right with her. It wasn’t just her city-girl clothes. Her demeanor didn’t fit. Waitresses didn’t have smooth hands, perfect posture, an unblinking stare.

He rose from the booth. “Well, seeing as how you got the job you wanted, I guess we’ll be running into each other from time to time.”

She only smiled. A cool, remote smile that heated his blood and all but challenged him to turn on the charm and see how long it would take to get that smile to thaw. Luckily, he was smarter than that.

Amanda Mae said, “Do you have someplace to stay, honey?”

She faced the diner owner. “I – No. Actually, I need a place to stay.”

“Hotel’s in the next town over,” Cade said, striding back to his seat at the counter and his now cold coffee.

Amanada Mae shot him another evil glare. “Or she could use the apartment upstairs until she gets on her feet.”

“I’d like that.” Suzanne pressed her fingers to Amanda Mae’s hand in a gesture of appreciation that stopped Cade cold. Maybe she was in need of a little help? Her crisp white blouse and fancy jeans could be the last good things she owned. He hadn’t heard a car drive up. He glanced out the big front window into the street. He didn’t see a car. She could be dead broke--

Nope. His business sense wouldn’t accept that. Something about her screamed money. Big money. If she was pretending she didn’t have any, there was a reason.

Damn. He was going to have to keep an eye on her.

Immediately after Cade left, Amanda Mae took Suzanne upstairs to look at the little furnished apartment.

“One of the waitresses always lives here,” she said, leading Suzanne into the tiny bedroom that barely had enough space for a crib and a double bed. “So we keep it furnished.”

Gratitude weakened Suzanne’s knees. At least now they wouldn’t have to sleep in her car tonight. She turned Amanda Mae to with a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Amanda Mae stuffed a few bills into her palm. “And here’s some money to go to the secondhand store down the street and buy some sheets and towels.”

Her face reddened. This time last year she was telling her grandmother she was three months pregnant and that her baby’s daddy wanted no part of her. Her wonderful, loving grandmother had taken her hand and told her not to worry. That everything would be okay. Even though she’d made some bad investments, they still had the Andreas Holdings stock.

A couple of months hadn’t just changed everything; they’d taken away her home, her only family. Instead of being a well-loved granddaughter, she was a broke single mom. So alone her only contacts had been lawyers and accountants, until her grandmother’s estate was settled. Then even they didn’t call.

Tears welled up. She caught Amanda Mae’s gaze. “I’ll pay you back.”

Amanda Mae squeezed her hand. “In good time. For now, I’m just happy to have some help for the breakfast crowd.”

Driving back to his ranch, Cade speed-dialed the number for his assistant.

“Hey, Cade.”

“Hey, Eric.” He’d hired Eric right out of grad school because he was sharp and educated, but also because he had total recall. If someone mentioned an aunt, cousin, sister, brother or long-lost friend even once in a conversation, Eric would remember him or her. “Have you ever heard of Suzanne Caldwell?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

Damn.

“Who is she?”

“Just a woman who came into the diner today. She took the waitress job, but something just didn’t seem right about her.”

“Ah. I’m guessing your business sense kicked up.”

He scowled at the phone. “Don’t poke fun at my business sense. It’s made me rich enough that I’d never have to work another day in my life. While you, on the other hand, still work for me.”

He disconnected the call. But when he though of Suzanne, the hair on his nape snapped up. Damn it! Why would a waitress activate his business sense? And why was he going back to his ranch when his instincts were screaming that he should be checking into this?

Slamming on the brakes of his Chevy Silverado, he manipulated it through a fishtail and headed back into town. He pulled his truck into a parking space at the diner, but when he walked by the huge front window, he saw that the new waitress wasn’t inside.

His instincts calmed, his intuition quieted and he cursed himself for being the suspicious fool that Eric hinted he was. But before he could turn around and go back to his truck, he saw Suzanne coming down the outside steps from the second-floor apartment, carrying her baby.

A hot rush of desire whooshed through him. Luckily, the hair on his nape also prickled the way it always did right before a negotiation went sour. The first reaction might have been attraction. But the nape prickle? That was his business sense. The one that told him he was about to get into a fight. Not a fist fight, but a disagreement, or maybe a battle to protect what was his. He slid into the alley between the general store and the hardware and watched her head up the street.

Unfortunately, the view from behind was every bit as stunning as her front profile. Her straight black hair fringed the collar of the crisp white blouse that hugged a trim, toned back. It slid along the indent of her small waist to an absolutely perfect behind that swayed ever so slightly with every step of her long legs – legs made to look longer and sexier by her stiletto boots.

Attraction hit him like a warm ocean wave and left him drowning in sensation. This time he had to admit it was only attraction. He tried to blink it away but failed. There was just so much about her that was geared to appeal to a man. No male alive could resist a nice waist curve that took him to a tight butt and long, shapely legs. Especially when the pretty little package had a face to match. Dramatic hair. Eyes that could very well glow in the dark.

He shook his head to clear the haze. Fantasizing would not do either one of them any good. He needed to figure out why she set off his business alarms or it would drive him crazy. Yes, that might make him a control freak. But he was a rich, successful control freak. And if his business sense said jump, his answer was always how high.

When he was sure she was far enough ahead that she wouldn’t see him, he followed her. When she ducked into the secondhand store, he stopped. He waited for her to get deep enough into the building that she wouldn’t notice him hovering beyond the display in the big glass front window.

Judy Petrovic, proprietor of Yesterday’s Goods, ambled over to her.

Suzanne turned and offered her a sweet, sincere smile, which nearly knocked Cade off his feet. He’d never seen her smile. Well, he’d seen her sassy imitation smile, but never a genuine smile until now. And he was glad. Had she smiled at him like that in the diner he worried he would have stuttered.

She handed her baby to Judy, then her heavy-looking diaper bag. Judy bounced the little girl as Suzanne dipped down and rummaged through a table of what looked to be sheets, maybe towels. Walking back and forth from the display to the cash register, she made a pile of linens before she grabbed a pair of secondhand jeans and a T-shirt, and several things for her baby. After Judy rang up her purchases, she paid with crumpled up bills that she’d been clutching in her left hand.

Cade pulled back and slid around to the side of the building, his chest tightening with regret. She’d said she’d come to Whiskey Springs for the job as a waitress and she’d taken it without a hint of regret. Now she was buying somebody’s old, worn sheets to fit on the old, worn mattress on a bed that had seen more years than most of the people in this town.

She really was broke.

And here he was spying on her like some old goof.

He was a goof. The truth was he wasn’t entirely sure that his sixth sense about her really was his business sense. It could be nothing but attraction. Lord knew, it had been so long since he’d been naturally overwhelmingly attracted to a woman that he might have forgotten the signs. He’d botched his first marriage so much that he stayed away from any woman who might inspire anything more than lust. And a woman with a baby wasn’t somebody a man should be fooling around with. Since he didn’t want to be attracted to Suzanne, he could be trying to kid himself into thinking it was his sixth sense. Rationalizing so he didn’t have to admit to anybody that he virtually tripped over his tongue when he looked at her.

A dry dusty breeze swirled around him, reminding him that he was hiding in an alley, spying on a waitress.

Good God. What was he doing?

SECOND CHANCE BABY

2011-04-15T05:14:00.000-07:00

SECOND CHANCE BABY

Chapter 1

“Your ex-wife applied for the job as your assistant.”

Nick Andreas glanced up at his current assistant, soon-to-be-retired Julie Farnsworth. He’d just flown back to North Carolina after six weeks in New York City. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to his beach house, get out of his monkey suit and take a nap on his hammock. He’d only popped into the office because he had a huge bid due to renew the government contract that was the bread and butter of his manufacturing plant. He had to get an assistant in now.
He just wasn’t sure hiring Maggie Forsythe as Julie’s replacement was the best way to go. When he had a bid due, his assistant worked with him – directly with him, at his side – ten hours a day, six days a week. No man wanted to spend that much time with his ex-wife. Not even an ex-wife he hadn’t seen in fifteen years. An ex-wife he barely remembered.

He tossed his pen to his desk. “You wouldn’t be telling me this if she wasn’t qualified.”

“She’s qualified. Over qualified in some respects.”

“And she actually applied?”

“Well, we certainly didn’t drag her in off the street.”

He laughed and leaned back in his chair. So Maggie wanted to work for him? He smiled skeptically as weird feelings assaulted him. He hadn’t thought about Maggie Forsythe in over a decade. Now, suddenly, he could vividly recall how the sun would catch her red hair and make it sparkle, her wide, happy smile, the sound of her laughter.

“Sorry if I’m finding all this a little hard to believe, but we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. Andreas Manufacturing should be the last place she wants to work.”

His sixty-five-year-old assistant caught his gaze with serious dark eyes. “She needs the money.”

She was broke? The way he’d been when they’d met?

Memories of his childhood and teen years cascaded through his brain like water spilling from a waterfall. Maggie at six, toothless in first grade, dividing her morning snack with him before they went into the building so no one in their class would see he hadn’t brought one. Maggie at twelve, fishing with him so he and his mom could have something for supper. Maggie at fifteen, hanging out in the souvenir shop where he worked, entertaining him on long, boring afternoons before the tourist season picked up. Maggie at eighteen, swollen with his child.

A long-forgotten ache filled his chest and made him scowl. The woman he was remembering with such fondness had dropped him like a hot potato when she’d lost their baby. She hadn’t loved him. She’d only married him because he’d gotten her pregnant one reckless night. Twenty minutes after they returned from the hospital after her miscarriage, she was out the door of his mom’s house. Out of his life.

“She should have as many reservations about working with me as I have about working with her.”

“Her stepmom died while you were in New York. Rumor has it that she came home for the funeral and decided her dad needed her. She quit her job and moved back permanently but in three weeks of looking she couldn’t find work – unless she wants to commute to the city.” Julie peered at him over the rim of her glasses. “Aside from tourism, you’re the only real employer in Ocean Palms.”

He picked up his pen again. “Hire her.”

Julie gasped softly. “Really?”

“Sure. We were married as kids. Fifteen years have gone by.” He wasn’t such a selfish, self-centered oaf that he’d let someone suffer because she had the misfortune of having a history with him. He knew what it was like to have no options. He’d spent his entire childhood living hand-to-mouth. He wouldn’t ignore the person who, as a child, had shared with him, helped him, even rescued him a time or two.

Plus, if Julie said Maggie was the person for the job then she was.

Julie rose. “Okay. She’s in my office. She said she can begin today. I’ll bring her in and we can get started.”

Nick sat up in his seat. Today? He didn’t even have ten minutes to mentally prepare?
Julie walked to his office door and opened it. “Come in, Maggie.”

A true southern gentleman, Nick rose from the tall-back chair behind his huge mahogany desk. Ridiculously, he couldn’t squelch the pride that surged up in him as he took in the expensive Persian rugs that sat on the hardwood floors of his office, the lamps from China, the heavy leather sofa and chair in the conversation area, the art from the broker in New York City. He was rich, successful, and his office showed it. He’d fulfilled the promise of his youth. He had brains and skill and he’d parlayed those into wealth beyond anyone’s expectations. One look at his office would tell Maggie he wasn’t the eighteen-year-old boy she’d deserted anymore.

The click of high heels on the hardwood announced her arrival two seconds before she appeared in his doorway. Her gorgeous red hair flowed around her, but it was shaped and curled in a way that framed her face, not straight as she had worn it when they were married. Her once sparkly green eyes now held soul-searching intensity. Her full red lips rose slightly in a reluctant smile.

Just as he wasn’t the eighteen-year-old she’d left behind anymore, she didn’t look a thing like his Maggie.

He relaxed as his gaze involuntarily fell from her face to her dress. A simple red tank dress that showed off a newly acquired suntan, but also couldn’t hide her only slightly protruding stomach.

She was pregnant?

He gave her tummy a more thorough scrutiny.

She was pregnant.

And suddenly he was that eighteen-year-old boy again. Seeing his woman, the love of his life, swollen with his child. More memories washed over him. The dreams he’d had for the kind of father he would be rose up as if he’d been lost in them only yesterday. Love for her, the woman bearing his child, burst in his chest.

But this wasn’t his child. She’d lost their child.

And she didn’t love him.

Hell, he no longer loved her.

“Come in,” he said. His voice was tight with a bit of a squeak but he ignored that, motioning to the chair in front of his desk.

Maggie took a few hesitant steps inside. Now trim instead of lanky, she wore her pregnancy the same way another woman would wear a designer dress.

That was when he realized she was probably married. Happily married. Not scared and hesitant, but with no other options because her stepmom had kicked her out of the house. But happy. Having a child with the man she loved.

He swallowed the knot that formed in his throat, reminding himself that these emotions churning through him were ridiculous. He was over her. Plus, they hadn’t even seen each other in fifteen years. The feelings weren’t really feelings. They were residue. Like cobwebs that had clung to the walls of his brain and would disappear once he got to know the adult Maggie.

“Julie wants to hire you but I have a few reservations.”

He didn’t even try to stop the words that flowed from his mouth. Though he’d already told Julie to hire her, now that he saw that she was pregnant, he had some concerns. Not about the “feelings” seeing her pregnant aroused, but her ability to do the job.

She gracefully sat on the chair in front of his desk, smiled softly. “You mean because we were once married?”

He snorted a laugh, but Julie’s hand flew to her throat. “You know, I think I’ll just go get us some coffee.”

Nick said, “She can’t drink coffee,” at the same time that Maggie said, “I don’t drink coffee.”

Julie said, “Then I’ll get some coffee for myself.” She fled the room, closing the door behind her.

Nick sat back in his chair, reaching deep inside himself for the calm that was his trademark. He had to treat her as any other employee and speak accordingly.

“For the next four weeks I need to work ten-hour days.”

“Six days a week. I get that. Julie told me.”

“Can you keep up?”

“Of course, I can keep up. I’m pregnant not sick.”

The room plunged into eerie silence. Memories of the day she’d lost their baby haunted him like menacing ghosts.

As if recognizing where his thoughts had gone, Maggie sighed. “Nick, I’m fine. Really. And I need this job. If you don’t hire me I’ll have to get work in the city and commute an hour each way.”

“An hour commute might be better for a pregnant woman than racing around the plant looking for documents I need, assembling information from different departments--”

He paused to catch her gaze and when he saw green eyes sparking with fire, everything he intended to say fell out of his head. He remembered that look very well, remembered how many times it had taken them straight to bed.

“I already told you I can keep up.”

He took in a quiet breath, reminding himself that Maggie was a married woman who wanted to work for him. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was how her fiery need for independence had played out between the sheets.

“Yeah, well, maybe I want some kind of proof.”

She smiled sweetly, calmly. “In a couple of months, I’m not going to be pregnant anymore. Then you’re going to be sorry you lost the chance to hire me.”

A laugh escaped. Dear God. This really was his Maggie. Fiery one minute, serene the next. And the common sense, logical Maggie could be every bit as sexy as the impassioned one.

But she was married.

And he was a runaround now.

Having a father who’d abandoned him had made him want commitments, but Maggie leaving him had set him straight on that score. And he’d changed. He wasn’t simple Nick Roebuck anymore. The guy who hadn’t taken his father’s name. The guy who wanted commitments. A wife. Family. Nope. Nick Roebuck was gone. He was now Nick Andreas, playboy.

“Besides, my father needs me.”

Shifting in his chair, Nick blew his breath out in a gusty sigh. Who he was didn’t matter. Who she was didn’t matter. She was off limits. “I’m sorry about your stepmom.”

“Thanks.”

“I was out of town or I would have paid my respects.”

Her gaze dipped. “I know.”

“Was everything – you know – okay?” He nearly bit his tongue for his clumsiness. But what could he say? How could he ask if she and Vicki had mended fences? If they’d ever gotten beyond the fact that Vicki had favored Charlie Junior over her? If Vicki had ever forgiven Maggie for getting pregnant? If Maggie had ever forgiven Vicki for kicking her out of the house?

“It was fine.” She shrugged. “Losing someone is always hard.”

Which told him nothing. Not that it was any of his business. He scrambled for something safe to say, but the only thing he could think of was, “Yeah. My father died last January. I know how hard these things can be.”

She smiled and her eyes brightened. “Oh, so you met your father? You had a relationship?”

“Yes and no.” He tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk, tamping down the sudden, unexpected urge to tell her everything. They weren’t friends anymore. She might act like the girl he’d known and loved, but she wasn’t. And he wasn’t the love-sick boy she’d married.

Still, he couldn’t ignore her question. “I met my father but we didn’t really have a relationship. Unless you call having dinner every other year a relationship.”

“That’s too bad.” Genuine regret colored her voice. “So how’s your mom?”

He chuckled. “She’s just like a little general at the daycare. Loves the kids, but keeps them in line.”

Maggie’s laugh was quick and easy. “God I missed her.”

“We missed you.” The words slipped out and he knew why. He was getting comfortable with her. And that was wrong. If they were going to work together, he had to draw lines. Be professional.

She looked away. “No point in staying once I’d lost the baby.”

Hearing her say that now hurt almost as much as it had the day she left. “Right.”

“Before I got pregnant, we both had plans.”

“Is that what you were thinking about while I was talking to my father’s attorney?”
For years he’d wondered. What kind of coincidence could it have been that the dad who’d ignored him his entire life suddenly wanted to give him a trust fund? Had it been a gift from fate to Maggie, or a curse of fate for him?

She caught his gaze. “Yes.”

When his heart squeezed, he swore at himself inwardly for asking the stupid question. He’d already reasoned all this out in his head. Gotten beyond it. There was no point going over it again. Certainly no point rehashing it with her. Fifteen years had passed and he loved the life he’d built without her.

If they were going to work together, the past would have to be forgotten. His only goal should be to make sure she really did have the education and experience to do the job.

“So you’ve have a business degree?”

“Yes.” She shifted on the chair. Her shoulders went back. Her expression became businesslike. “But I’m not looking down on this job. I think there are a lot of ways I can help you.”

“What did you do at your last job?”

“I was an analyst for a firm that put venture capitalist groups together with struggling businesses looking for investors or a buyer.”

“Do you know much about manufacturing?”

She laughed. “Most of the businesses looking for investors or buyout are manufacturing companies.”

He tapped his pen on the desk. He needed somebody and, as Julie said, Maggie was qualified. Now he and his ex-wife would be spending ten hours a day, six days a week together.

He looked over at her just as she looked at him and the years between them melted away. Her eyes weren’t as wary as they had been when she walked in the door. Her smile was genuine.

Doubt rumbled through his soul. In the sea of women that he’d dated since he’d hit puberty, she was the only one he’d loved. It had taken almost five years to really get beyond her leaving; years before he stopped hoping every ring of the phone was her calling; years before he stopped looking for her in crowds. One five-minute conversation had already brought an avalanche of memories. This was not going to be easy.

THE BABY PROJECT

2011-01-15T05:13:00.000-08:00

THE BABY PROJECT

Chapter 1

“The Andreas brothers have arrived.”
As the secretary’s announcement came through the speaker phone, attorney Whitney Ross turned from the window in her father’s law office. The gathering January storm clouds above the New York City skyscrapers concerned her, but the Andreas brothers’ visit would be every bit as tumultuous.
Gerard Ross pressed a button on his phone. “Tell them I need five minutes.”
He caught Whitney’s gaze, his green eyes bright with something she decided was a cross between trepidation and humor.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Not enjoying exactly.” He grimaced, leaning his round body back in his office chair. He rhythmically tapped the blotter on his cherry wood desk. “How about if we say Stephone used his will to accomplish a few important things?”

Though Whitney had never met Stephone Andreas’s sons, Stephone had been a close friend of her father’s. He’d come to dinner at least once a month from the time she was six, and had talked about “his boys” incessantly. So she suspected she knew what was going on. The senior Andreas had always believed his three sons needed a kick in the pants and it seemed he’d finally found a way to give them one.
“You persuaded Stephone to use his will to force them to grow up.”

“This is about more than growing up. All three are smart. All three are good businessmen. Any one of them could take over the family holdings. But not one of them has a sense of loyalty or family.”

“And this is where the will comes in?”

“Yes. Stephone gave everything important to his oldest son, Darius. Whether or not that divides them for good or forces them to unite all depends on whether Darius takes the reins like a true leader and unites them.”

He rose and headed for the black leather sofa in the comfortable meeting area in the corner of his big law office. After he sat, he patted the spot beside him, indicating this is where she should sit for their upcoming meeting.

“But before I bring the brothers in, there’s something you need to know. Missy had something put in her will for you that Stephone agreed would also go into his.”

Whitney took the seat he’d offered. “Missy put something in her will for me?” She wasn’t surprised. Missy Harrington had been her roommate from the time they were freshman at university the whole way through law school. With an alcoholic mom and a dad who’d left when Missy was young, Missy had adopted Whitney’s family. For seven years, she’d shared every holiday and most of her vacations with the Rosses. Though Whitney had hardly seen her since she introduced Missy to Stephone, when they’d run off to Greece together, Whitney and Missy had a strong bond.

“She didn’t exactly leave you something. In accordance with Stephone and Missy’s wills, you and Darius got shared custody of their son.”

Her stomach squeezed. “What?”

“Okay. Look. It’s been three years since the accident that took Burn and Layla. And though I hadn’t known Missy and Stephone would die so soon when I let them put this provision in their wills, it’s still time you came back to the land of the living.” Her dad pulled a small envelope from one of the files in the stack on the coffee table. “She left this note for you.”

Her hand wrapped around the envelope and she paled.

“Stephone wanted Darius to raise their son, but Missy was adamant about you having joint custody. The Andreas brothers are rich and spoiled. And they don’t even know their father had another son. It’s anybody’s guess how they’ll react when they find out. I believe that Missy made you co-guardian to assure Gino was also in the hands of someone she trusted.”

“But I don’t know Gino either! When Missy and Stephone moved to Greece, we lost touch. I’ve never met Gino. I’ll be no better for this baby than his brother.”
He caught her hand. “You might not know Gino, but Missy knew you. She knew you had a sense of family. A sense of right and wrong. You’ve also been a mom. You’ll get to know Gino and, as young as he is, Gino will grow accustomed to you too.” He squeezed her fingers. “Besides, you need this.”

She tried to bounce off the sofa, but her dad held fast to her hand. When she faced him her eyes were blazing. “No! I don’t need this! I’m fine!”

“You’re not fine. Otherwise, getting custody of Gino wouldn’t make you angry.”
He pressed a button on the phone on the coffee table that sat in the center of the circle made by the sofa and three black leather chairs. “Cynthia, bring in Gino, please.”

Whitney’s heart stopped. Her stomach rolled. Her head spun. For the past three years, she’d avoided even being near a baby. The scent of baby powder, the feel of snuggly blankets, the sight of someone so tiny, so helpless, and so beautiful would have been her undoing. And now her father wanted her to take a baby into her home?

The side door opened and Cyndy Smith walked in carrying six-month-old Gino Andreas in a baby carrier, along with a diaper bag and duffle.

Her father squeezed her hand again. “Your mother and I have been keeping Gino during the Andreas funerals, but it’s time you took him.” He rose and accepted the baby carrier from Cyndy. “Thank you, Cyn.”

She nodded and her blonde hair bobbed. “You’re welcome, sir.”

As Cyn left the room, Whitney’s father set the carrier on the sofa, pulled Gino out and presented the dark-haired, dark-eyed baby boy to her. “He’s yours, Whitney.”

Knowing there was no arguing with her father or he’d send her back to therapy, Whitney slid the envelope into her jacket pocket and took the six-month-old with shaking hands. He immediately began to cry.

“Don’t cry, sweetie,” she crooned, automatically pressing his head to her shoulder to comfort him. “It’s okay.”

Her instinctive response to his crying amazed her, but she wasn’t surprised by the pain that sliced through her – the memories that flashed through her brain. Her daughter had been a tiny blonde with huge blue eyes. She’d rarely cried. Except when she missed her mother. She’d loved bananas and puppies. To Whitney she’d seemed the smartest baby on the face of the earth.

Tears filled her eyes. Her stomach tightened.

She couldn’t do this.

Maybe she did need more time with Dr. Miller?

But before she could say anything to her dad, the office door opened. Wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a cable knit sweater, Cade Andreas entered first. Behind him was Nick, the dark-haired, dark-eyed brother who most resembled the senior Andreas. And finally Darius. Taller than their father, but with eyes and hair as dark as his, striking in his expensive business suit, Darius was very clearly the leader of the group.

Their expressions were solemn, yet strong. Almost arrogant. The head of the Andreas family was dead. They now controlled one of the largest shipping conglomerates in the world.

Or so they thought.

She glanced at the baby in her arms. For the first time in three years she felt a swell of protectiveness only a mother could feel, and she understood why Missy had given her custody along with Darius. The Andreas men were strong. Maybe too strong. And babies needed love.

The question was did she have any left to give?

“Are you kidding me?”

Darius Andreas gaped at Gerard Ross, his deceased father’s attorney, then his daughter Whitney Ross, a tall, cool blonde with gray-blue eyes who looked nothing like her short, round father. The pair sat on the black leather sofa. The Andreas brothers sat across from them on three black leather chairs. Beside Whitney was a baby carrier and inside the carrier was a baby boy who looked to be only a few months old. His black hair and dark eyes marked him as an Andreas as clearly as Gerard Ross’s pronouncement did.

“I assure you, there’s no joke.” Gerard leaned back, getting more comfortable. “This little boy is your father’s final son. There are four of you now.”

He picked up the will and began reading again. “It is my wish that the remaining two-thirds share of Andreas Holdings be divided equally among my four sons: Darius, Cade, Nick and Gino.”

Gino.

A baby.

His final half-sibling was a baby!

Darius sucked in a breath, forcing that to sink in, but it wouldn’t. His brain had frozen. He was stunned, speechless, and working not to lose his temper over something he couldn’t change. Silent Nick and Cade appeared to be equally shell shocked.

Finally, the business sense Darius had trusted his entire life came to his rescue. “I want a DNA test.”

The smooth leather sofa sighed when Gerard sat forward. He looked down at his entwined fingers then caught Darius’s gaze. “Your father might not have married Missy Harrington, but he’s named on the birth certificate as Gino’s father. Had Missy not died with your father, you might be fighting her for the company right now.”

“I still want DNA.”

“I understand you’re surprised—“

“Surprised? How about shocked? First, our father calls us to the hospital after the accident to tell us that he gave one-third interest in the company to his first administrative assistant. So we’ll never fully own our own damned company. Then he tells us we have no sense of family and unless we pull together we’re going to lose everything he built. Then he dies. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Now you’re telling us there’s a fourth brother?”

“Mr. Andreas, the very fact that you didn’t know your father had another child is proof that your sense of family leaves a bit to be desired.”
Darius nearly cursed. Who was his womanizing father to tell him that he had no sense of family? His father had abandoned his mother. Hell, Stephone had abandoned him until he was in his teens. And then he’d only appeared in Darius’s life because he wanted to assure that Darius went to a good university so he could be groomed to work for Andreas Holdings.

“For decades our father preached that we shouldn’t take family troubles to outsiders.” He rose. “Yet it looks like that’s exactly what he’s done.” He reached for the baby carrier. Now that the shock was receding, things were beginning to sink in and make sense. He didn’t really need DNA to tell him this was his brother. His father had been living with a thirty-year-old woman. It was no shock she’d gotten pregnant. Gino had all the physical markings of an Andreas. With his father’s name on the birth certificate and Gino’s name in the will, this little boy was family. And his father wanted him to care for him. So he would. Unlike his two brothers, Darius always did want their father asked.

“We’ll take our brother and go now.”

Whitney held back the carrier. “Dad?”

Gerard said, “There’s more.”

Darius just barely controlled his rising fury. “More?”

“You, Darius, get custody of Gino but you share it with Whitney.”

He turned his heated gaze on her.

Her yellow hair was probably pretty, but she had it rolled in a tight, no-nonsense bun at the back of her head. Her gray suit hid any hint of the body beneath it. He caught the gaze of her blue-gray eyes. In spite of the fact that she dressed to downplay her appearance, Darius felt a click of attraction. And it was mutual. He saw the flicker in her pretty blue orbs.

“It’s up to you how you divide Gino’s time. If you want to have him three days a week and Whitney four, or if you want to have him for two weeks a month and Whitney two, whatever you choose is up to you two. But she will vote his share at your board of directors meetings.”

This time Darius did curse. But he quickly pulled in a breath, struggling to rein in his temper, and glanced again at Whitney. The click of attraction he’d felt when he’d first looked into her eyes turned into a current of electricity that zapped between them. They were definitely attracted.

If this were any other day, any other time, any other circumstance, he would have pursued her. Peel off a few layers of clothes, take down her hair and he was just about certain he’d find paradise.

But those eyes, those pretty Persian cat eyes, told him to forget it. It didn’t matter if they were attracted to each other. They had a job to do. Raise Gino.
Together.

Whitney stayed perfectly still under Darius Andreas’s scrutiny, though warm, sweet attraction hummed through her. She ignored it. He was a gorgeous man with his dark, brooding good looks, tailored suit made to accentuate his broad shoulders and trim hips, and commanding personality. Any woman would react to him. Simply from the way his other brothers hadn’t even spoken since introductions were made, it was clear that Darius was the brother in charge. And that was very sexy.

With piercing his onyx eyes boring into hers, she suppressed a shiver. But she wasn’t worried about falling victim to the attraction. Attractions frequently grew into relationships and relationships made people vulnerable. The pain that had followed the loss of her husband had been indescribable. She’d never put herself through that again. She’d never even let herself get close. She couldn’t be attracted to Darius Andreas. She refused.

Darius squeezed his eyes shut in disgust and popped them open again. “All right. Fine.” He motioned for Whitney to follow him. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“If this baby’s on the board, he’s working for a living.”

Whitney’s dad laughed. “Very funny, Darius.”

“I’m not laughing. My father left the company in a sad state. There’s work to do. And nobody’s excused. Since your daughter has his vote, she’ll pull his share of the duty.”

“That’s preposterous—“

“Dad,” Whitney interrupted her father. “It’s okay. I’ve never been one to shirk my responsibilities.” She straightened her shoulders and looked Darius in the eye, accepting his challenge. If he thought he’d intimidate her on day one, he was sadly mistaken. She could handle a little work. “If everybody’s working, then I will too.”

“All right,” her dad agreed, “but before anybody leaves there’s one more thing.”

Darius turned. His dark eyes were ablaze now.

Whitney’s dad looked from Darius to Cade to Nick and back at Darius again. “With your father’s former assistant in possession of a one-third share of Andreas Holdings, and four brothers sharing the other two thirds, you don’t have to be a math scholar to know that individually none of you has controlling interest in the whole company.” He glanced from Darius to Cade to Nick again. “Your father has instructed me to allow the benefactor of the final one-third interest to remain anonymous until she decides how to handle her position. She’s in her seventies, so she may simply want to sit back and enjoy the profits. But if she decides she wants to be active in the company, you had better be united or Andreas Holdings will end up being run by somebody other than an Andreas.”

Don't forget to go to susanmeier.com to read What Came Before...The beginning of Darius's story!

A Fairytale Christmas

2010-11-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

A Baby Beneath The Christmas Tree

Excerpt

Chapter 1
For as long as Gwendolyn MacKenzie could remember the old timers in the tiny town of Towering Pines, West Virginia had whispered that Teaberry Christmas Tree Farm was enchanted. The rumor was that if you touched one of the Teaberry trees while wishing, your wish would come true.

Driving up the fir-lined mountain road that took her to the farm, Gwen glanced around in amazement, understanding why the legend had formed. Majestic evergreens punched into a vast indigo sky. Fat fluffy white snowflakes pirouetted around the green pine branches, falling heavily, like frosting on sugar cookies, creating a magical world.

But when she reached Teaberry mansion, Gwen’s mouth dropped open in dismay. Two rows of tall windows with thin black shutters dominated the huge red brick home, but the shutters tilted drunkenly from age and neglect. The Teaberry family hadn’t even visited for at least a decade. It didn’t surprise her that the house was in disrepair. But she’d thought Andrew Teaberry, her new boss, would have called ahead to have the place prepared to be used. If the house was this bad on the outside, she feared it would be worse on the inside.

Still, a wisp of smoke rose from the red brick chimney, disappearing into the inky sky, proof that the caretaker, Max Peabody, had started a fire in preparation for the owner’s return. At least she and her daughter wouldn’t spend their time shivering, while they waited for Drew Teaberry to arrive.

She got out of her beat up little red car and opened the back door, reaching in to unbuckle the car seat of her three-month-old baby. When she’d gotten pregnant by a boyfriend who’d bolted the very second she told him, Gwen and her twin sister Gill had both worried that she might fall into the same trap their mom had. Ginger MacKenzie had married the man who had gotten her pregnant. But when twins were born, he’d panicked, saying one baby was difficult enough to handle, two was impossible, and he’d left town. Leaving Ginger to raise the girls alone, watching out the window, longing for him to come home.

Six months after her mom’s sudden death, finding herself in a position very close to Ginger’s, Gwen had quickly shaped up. She didn’t want to be one of those women who wasted her entire life pining after a man who didn’t want her. She stopped believing in miracles. She stopped believing wishes came true. She packed her dreamy side away. And she now only dealt in facts.

Which was why she was at this rundown old house, about to start a job as the assistant for a man she’d never met. She had to pay her own way, support a child and finish her degree. This job might be temporary, but it paid enough money that if she watched how she spent, she could keep herself and Claire through her last semester of university.

“Hey, Claire-bear,” she said, lifting the little girl and rubbing noses. Bundled in her thick pink snowsuit, with the white fur of the hood framing her face, chubby, happy Claire really did look something like a stuffed pink bear.

Using the key sent to her by Andrew Teaberry, Gwen unlocked the front door and stepped inside. A huge curving mahogany staircase greeted her and Claire. But so did cobwebs. A layer of dust coated the banister and the stairs.

“Wow. We could be in big trouble, Claire-bear.”

Walking from room to room, her dismay grew. Though the lights worked, the sinks had water and the kitchen appliances had been plugged into electrical outlets and hummed with life, the house was filthy. Drew Teaberry might have instructed the caretaker to get the utilities turned on and the furnace working, but he’d forgotten about cleaning.

Discovering a suite in the back that had probably at one time been maid’s quarters, Gwen set Claire’s baby carrier on the dusty bare mattress of the single bed but lifted it back up again. She’d arrived an hour early, hoping to make a good impression but Drew Teaberry hadn’t yet arrived. If she hurried, she could race home for a vacuum cleaner, mop, broom, soap and dust cloths, and still have time to clean this suite enough that Claire could sleep here.

Two hours later, Andrew Teaberry pulled his shiny black SUV into the circular driveway in front of his family’s old homestead and his face fell in disgust. Pressed for time on this spur-of-the moment trip, he’d thought ahead enough to hire an assistant and have the caretaker open the place, but he hadn’t considered that Teaberry mansion might not be habitable.

“So this is the fabulous Teaberry Farm.” In the passenger’s seat of the SUV, Drew’s sixteen-year-old son Brody glanced around and snorted with derision. “Looks like a rat hole to me.”

Drew nearly squeezed his eye shut in frustration. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he had to move into this old monstrosity while he negotiated the purchase of a local manufacturing company, his ex-wife decided to get remarried, forcing Drew to keep their son for the entire month of her honeymoon. So while he negotiated to buy the business of crusty old Jimmy Lane, a West Virginia entrepreneur who only wanted to sell his business to someone who lived in West Virginia, he was saddled with a sassy sixteen-year-old.

Inserting the key into the back door lock, he glanced behind him at Brody, who was so engrossed in whatever he was doing with his cell phone that he didn’t even watch where he walked. Wearing a black knit cap over his yellow hair and a thick parka that seemed to swallow him whole, Brody was the complete opposite of his dark-haired, dark-eyed, always observant dad. The kid was going to step into traffic one day.

Brushing up against one of the pine trees beside the kitchen door as he pulled the key out of the door lock, Drew prayed that they both survived this month. He pushed open the door, stepped into a kitchen that looked like something out of a horror movie and froze.

“Mr. Teaberry!” The woman standing by the dusty kitchen counter winced. “I’d say welcome home, but I’m not sure that’s exactly appropriate, given the condition of the place.”

Drew blinked at yet another surprise this morning. Unless she was Max Peabody, the caretaker, this had to be his temporary administrative assistant, Gwen MacKenzie. In their phone interview, she’d told him she had one more semester of university to finish, so he’d pictured her as being a petite blonde sprite, someone who’d look only a little older than his son. Instead, he’d hired a classically beautiful woman with thick dark hair and catlike green eyes, who was built like every man’s fantasy come to life. A bright red sweater accented her ample bosom. Dark, low riding jeans caressed her perfect bottom. Her shoulder-length hair swung gaily when she moved.

He slid his laptop to an available counter, glancing around at the nightmare of a kitchen. The oak cabinets were solid, but coated in dust, so were the kitchen table and the four chairs around it. But, like the cabinets, the furniture and the ceramic floor tiles looked to be in good shape. The house wasn’t really falling apart, just dirty.

“Good morning. Sorry we’re late. We couldn’t get on the road until hours after what we’d planned.”

She batted her hand in dismissal. “Not a problem.”

Brody pushed into the kitchen behind his dad, not caring that he’d bumped into him. “Hey, babe, thought for sure you’d have muffins and coffee waiting.”

Drew blanched at his son’s disrespect. “Not only is Gwen not our cook, but we don’t call employees babe.”

“All right. Great. No babe.” Brody pulled his sunglasses down his nose and peered over the rim at Gwen. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“We don’t call employees sweetie, either!” Drew said, his temperature rising. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the kid was deliberately antagonizing him. “How about an apology?”

Brody glared at his dad. “Fine. I’m sorry. Why don’t you just write a list of rules so I know what the hell I can and can’t say this next month!”

With that he stormed through the kitchen, all but knocking the swinging door off its hinges as he punched through it.

Though Drew knew he should go after him, he had no idea what to say to this new version of Brody. That was part of the problem. Sixteen years ago, when his ex had moved herself and their son to Colorado, two thousand miles away from Drew, he’d protested. But in the end she hadn’t budged and his visits with Brody became something like two-week vacations spent on tropical islands or ski resorts.

They’d always gotten along well. Until this trip. Now, Brody was suddenly obnoxious. Drew had absolutely no idea what the heck was he going to do with him for the entire month of December. One-on-one in a house so far out in the country that it didn’t get cable, they were going to be miserable. Especially since Drew wasn’t even sure when or why Brody had turned into such a mouthy kid or where to start with discipline.

He did, however, know exactly what to say to an embarrassed employee. He turned to Gwen. “I apologize for my son’s behavior.”

“Not a big deal,” she said with a laugh. “He’s what? Fifteen? Sixteen? He’s testing the water. All kids do it.”

A steamroller of relief rumbled through Drew. At least the relationship with his temporary administrative assistant would be normal. Then she smiled at him, her pretty green eyes shining, her full lips winging upward, and everything male inside of Drew responded. Her thick, shiny dark hair framed a heart-shaped face with bright eyes, a pert nose and generous lips made for kissing.

Involuntarily, his gaze swept down the red sweater and tight jeans. He rarely went out and, when he did, the women he dated were nothing like Gwen. They were tall, cool blondes. Sophisticates. Models. Starlets. But there was no denying that this gorgeous brunette ignited a spark inside him, made him wonder what it would be like to kiss her--

He groaned inwardly. He wanted a normal working relationship with this woman! Plus, even if he was the kind to dabble in affairs, she was too young for him and an employee. If those weren’t enough, he had responsibilities as the Chairman of the Board of his grandfather’s conglomerate. The pressure of holding the top position in a global company left him no time for anything but work. That was why he’d only spent vacations with Brody. Why Brody had had time to change without Drew even realizing. Why he had to figure out how he’d handle him for the four long weeks in December.

“I think I’ll grab Brody and get our bags.”

Coming in July 2010...MAID FOR THE MILLIONAIRE

2010-04-08T15:10:00.001-07:00

MAID FOR THE MILLIONAIRE

2010-04-08T15:03:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1
Pink underwear?
Cain Nestor tossed his formerly white cotton briefs into the washer and slammed the door closed. Damn it! He should have stopped at the mall the night before and bought new, but it had been late when his private plane finally landed in Miami. Besides, back in Kansas he had done his own laundry plenty of times. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten so much in twelve years that he’d end up with pink underwear, but apparently he had.
Tightening the knot of the towel at his waist, he stormed out of the laundry room and into the kitchen just as the back door opened. From the pretty yellow ruffled apron that was the trademark of Happy Maids, he knew that his personal assistant was one step ahead of him again. He’d been without a housekeeper since February 1 – three long weeks. Though Eva had interviewed, he’d found something wrong with every person she’d chosen – his maid lived in and a man couldn’t be too careful about whom he let stay in his home – but the lack of clean underwear had clearly proven he’d hit a wall.
Leave it to his assistant to think of the stopgap measure. She’d hired a cleaning service. Ready to make an apology for his appearance, Cain caught his once-a-week housekeeper’s gaze and his heart froze in his chest. His breathing stopped. His thigh muscles turned to rubber.
“Liz?”
Though her long black hair had been pulled into a severe bun at her nape and she’d lost a few pounds in the three years since he’d seen her, he’d know those catlike green eyes anywhere.
“Cain?”
A million questions danced through his head, but they were quickly replaced by recriminations. She’d quit a very good job in Philadelphia and moved with him to Miami when she’d married him. Now, she was a maid? Not even a permanently employed housekeeper. She was a fill-in. A stopgap measure.
And it was his fault.
He swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”

Liz Harper blinked a few times, making sure her eyes were in focus and she really was seeing her ex-husband standing wrapped in only a towel in the kitchen of the house that was her first assignment for the day. He hadn’t changed a bit in three years. His onyx eyes still had the uncanny ability to make her feel he could see the whole way to her soul. He still wore his black hair short. And he still had incredible muscles that rippled when he moved. Broad shoulders. Defined pecs. And six-pack abs. All of which were on display at the moment.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “You could start by saying, ‘Excuse my nakedness. I’ll just run upstairs and get a robe’.”
Remarkably, that made him laugh and myriad memories assaulted her…
The day they met on the flight from Dallas to Philadelphia…
How they’d exchanged business cards and he’d called her cell phone even before she was out of the airport...
How they’d had dinner that night, entered into a long-distance relationship, made love for the first time on the beach just beyond his beautiful Miami home, and married on the spur of the moment in Las Vegas.
And now she was his housekeeper.
Could a woman fall any farther?
Worse, she wasn’t in a position where she could turn down this job.
“Okay. I’ll just—“
“Do you think—“
They stopped. The scent of his soap drifted to her and she realized he hadn’t changed brands. More memories danced through her. The warmth of his touch. The seriousness of his kiss.
She cleared her throat. “You first.”
He shook his head. “No. Ladies first.”
“Okay.” She pulled in a breath. She didn’t have to tell him her secrets. Wouldn’t be so foolish again as to trust him with her dreams. If everything went well, she wouldn’t even have to see him. “Are you going to have a problem with this?”
He gripped his towel a little tighter. “You working for me or chatting about you working for me while I stand here just about naked?”
Her cheeks heated. The reminder that he was naked under one thin towel caused her blood to simmer with anticipation. For another two people that might be ridiculous three years after their divorce, but she and Cain had always had chemistry. Realistically, she knew it wouldn’t simply disappear. After all, it had been strong enough to coax a normally sensible Pennsylvania girl to quit her dream job and follow him to Miami, and strong enough that a typically reclusive entrepreneur had opened up and let her into his life.
“Me working here for you until you hire a new maid.” She motioned around the kitchen. The bronze and tan cut-glass backsplash accented tall cherry wood cabinets and bright stainless steel appliances. “Is that going to be a problem?”
He glanced at the ceramic tile floor then back up at her. “I’ve gotta be honest, Liz. It does make me feel uncomfortable.”
“Why? You’re not supposed to be here when I am. In fact, I was told you’re typically at the office by eight. It’s a fluke that we’ve even run into each other. And I need this job!”
“Which is exactly why I feel bad.”
That changed her blood from simmering with chemistry to boiling with fury. “You feel sorry for me?”
He winced. “Not sorry, per se—“
“Then sorry, per what?” But as the words tumbled out of her mouth she realized what was going on. Three steps got her to the big center island of his kitchen. “You think I fell apart when our marriage did and now I can only get a job as a maid?”
“Well—“
Three more steps had her standing in front of him. “Honey, I own this company. I am the original Happy Maid.”

THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS, EXCERPT

2009-12-13T08:23:00.001-08:00

Saturday, October 17, 2009
The Magic of a Family Christmas
I thought it was very appropriate that my November release was titled THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS.

For me, the "holiday" season begins in November. It used to begin in August! Back when my kids were younger, I'd "layaway" everything they needed for Christmas and gave myself months to pay for it. By the time I picked it up, the gifts were even a surprise to me because I'd forgotten most of what I'd bought. LOL

But as my kids and I get older, I really don't begin preparations until November. If you start too early, you stretch the mood too thin. But, if you "open the season" in November, beginning with shopping for and preparing a wonderful Thanksgiving meal for family, you open a season that continues for the next four weeks with shopping, parties, wrapping gifts, attending parties, visiting and baking . . . and ends with a New Years Eve party!

You get six or so weeks of wonderful time with family and friends that really does feel like a holiday!

My mother hosts one of my favorite holiday traditions. The day after Thanksgiving when lots of my nieces and sisters are shopping for those Black Friday bargains, my mother hosts her grandkids and greatgrandkids in a cookie painting day.

She bakes "shaped" sugar cookies and prepares different colored icings for the kids to paint onto the cookies. There's a segment about this in the back of THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS, including my mom's recipes for both the cookies and the icings.

Anyway, when the cookies are iced and cooled, they loop ribbons through them so they can be hung on her cookie and candy tree in the family room. It's a fabulous tradition that has become one of the most special memories for all my mother's kids, grandkids and great grandkids!

To me that's the real "magic" of Christmas. Don't get me wrong. I love a good gift! But the get togethers are more fun for me. The traditions that bring us back to our roots and reminds us of all the good things in our lives...the good things we've had for decades. So that we can appreciate them and each other.

That's why I was so thrilled with the title of my November release. THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS...I couldn't have said it better myself!

susan

* * *

NOVEMBER WRITING TIP!

A few years ago, I wrote a workshop called, THIS IS THE YEAR YOU WRITE THAT BOOK! When I was looking through my writing material for something to share with you this month, I realized the first lesson COMMITTING, is actually a mini goal setting workshop. Because we're coming up on the beginning of a new year when many of you may want to set some new goals, I thought this might have some insights for you as you ponder new goals for 2010!

Enjoy!

Lesson One: Committing

The first step you must take to assure that this is the year you will write your book is to make a commitment. Believe it or not, you're already halfway there. How do I know that? Well, nearly all the pundits agree that there are seven steps to goal setting.

1. Decide what you really want
2. Write your goals out on paper
3. Determine the price you have to pay
4. Make a plan
5. Take action immediately
6. Do something every day that takes you to your goal
7. Resolve in advance that you will never quit.

When you signed up for this class, technically you were telling yourself that you wanted to write a novel, an entire novel, this year.

You did step 1. You…Decided what you wanted. Then you did step two. You wrote it out on paper (cyber paper when you signed up for this workshop). You determined the price by paying a workshop fee and recognizing that you were committing yourself to four weeks of lessons, as well as the price of one year's time. (To write your book!)

You're pretty much depending upon me for some assistance with number four - - the "plan" end of things, and I'm going to hold to my end of the bargain by giving you tons of information in the next seven lessons. You will get both motivational ideas and crafting tools that will enable you to create your plan to write a book this year.

But to cement your commitment, you need to finish the seven steps.

The three things left for you to do are:

5. Take action immediately
6. Do something everyday that takes you to your goal
7. Resolve in advance that you will never quit.

So, pause, raise your right hand and repeat after me. Today, I will take action immediately on my book. I also promise to do something everyday that will take me closer to my goal of completing a novel this year. And I also resolve, not promise, not hope, but resolve that I will never quit.

Put your hand down and realize that unless you intend to break another promise to the most important person in your world (you) you're going to write a book this year.

But before I tell you to get the heck off the Internet and start writing, let's talk a little bit about why I want you to promise me you will take some sort of action immediately, do something everyday that takes you another step closer to your goal and also to resolve in advance that you will never quit.

Why do I believe steps five through seven are the most important steps of goal setting?

Because anybody can know what they want, anybody can write out those goals on paper, anybody can determine the price he or she has to pay and anybody can make a plan. But not everybody can take action immediately, discipline himself to do something everyday and resolve in advance that he or she will never quit.

These last three steps, taking action, disciplining yourself to do something every day and resolving never to quit are the hardest part of any goal because they are the engine of the goal.

Let’s start by examining step five: Take action immediately.

Why is that so important? Why is that part of the engine of your goal setting process? Because, quite simply, by actually taking action on your goal, you physically say you are committed. You tell yourself you believe you can do this.

If you don’t take action immediately, there’s always a question mark. Sure, you said you could write your book this year, but you haven’t even turned on the computer, so do you really think that you can write a book this year? Or were you wishful thinking again? Do you really have faith in yourself? And if you don’t…why the heck did you torture yourself by making a promise you don't believe you can keep?

I think you know you can do this. I think you know it's physically possible to write a book in a year. After all, at one page a day, you would have 365 pages at the end of a year. That's not hard at all. It makes writing a book very doable.

Taking an action immediately is like saying: I know it's possible so I'm going to take the first step. I can do this.

So… Do it!

But there’s another reason to take action immediately. The beginning of any project is the hardest. Once you set your goal and then take action by doing something, the difficult hurdle of “beginning” is handled. Your goal no longer seems like something off in the distance. Instead, it’s something you’ve already started.

It becomes real, manageable, and you begin to feel the sense of ownership necessary to commit for the long haul.

Simply put, step five, take action immediately, speaks of self-confidence and commitment!

But so does Step six: Do something every day to take you closer to your goal. Except it doesn’t merely speak to commitment, it also has two other advantages.

First, doing something every day, a piece of your project every day, breaks your work down into manageable increments and pieces, and teaches you that any task can be completed when taken one step at a time.

Second, working on your goal every day keeps you involved in your goal. You can’t forget it. But more than that, you can’t fall behind. At least not so far behind that you feel overwhelmed. Working on your goal everyday keeps you active, involved and moving toward the prize.

And that usually ends procrastination. Do you know why? Because most of us procrastinate out of a feeling of overwhelm. Consistently and consciously doing something everyday that takes you toward your goal eliminates overwhelm. And if you're never overwhelmed you'll probably have no trouble getting yourself to sit down every day and write at least one page.

But if you begin talking yourself out of your daily portion, if you don't do something everyday, then that work begins to stack up. When you sit down to write, instead of having one page to write, your quota is now one page for today and one for yesterday. And then your portion doesn't seem so easy anymore, and then you might just blow off another day and another until you're so far behind you can't work at all. You're paralyzed. (Sound familiar?) Instead of floating along, maybe even getting ahead because some days you can write more than your quota, you find yourself in yet another uphill battle!

So the trick is…Do something every day to take you closer to your goal. Don't let yourself miss a day!

Step Seven: Resolve in advance never to quit. No matter how difficult things get.

This step is the best. The resolution to keep going, no matter how defeated you feel, no matter how far your faith has depreciated, will actually walk you through the hard times. It will get you through the times when you want to quit, when you feel like it’s pointless, when your back has been broken by criticism or a rejection.

Face it. You are going to have days when you don’t feel like doing your daily portion. You will have days when your plan seems insane. You will get rejections, hear of friends who sold or got agents, get poor critiques, lose contests and face every form of hurdle known to writerkind.

But… If you’ve made the vow that you will not quit, that you will stick it out for your year -- or until your book is written -- then you will see yourself not merely face, but also overcome (or outlast) hurdles that might have otherwise defeated you!

Truthfully, I face a "hard time" every week. Every darned week something potentially work stopping happens at my house!

For instance, my husband has so many vacation days that he surprises me by taking weeks off. Weeks. Entire weeks! Weeks when I have deadlines and don't want him under foot!

My children have gotten sick. Editors have quit. Manuscripts have gotten lost. Chapters haven't worked the way I thought they would. Endings have been wrong. Outlines haven't worked. But I didn't quit. (Otherwise, I wouldn't have over forty books published.) I had made a promise to myself years ago that I would provide my share of the income (in the form of the monthly mortgage) as a writer and I have done it by keeping that promise that I made to myself.

That's commitment. Doing what you say you are going to do. Keeping the promises you make. The funny thing is we CAN AND DO keep promises that we make to our kids, the PTO, our parents, our pastor, even the bank, but we don't follow through on things like watching our weight, taking vitamins, maintaining an exercise program, pursuing our art -- the very promises that should be the most important to us because they don't merely sustain our physical person, they also nurture our souls.

Then we wonder why we're tired, depressed, defeated.

If you do nothing else this year…for once…keep the promises you make to yourself.

And that takes us to today's assignment. Make your commitment to this book this year. Really make the commitment. Don't merely pay lip service. Realize that your goal of writing, revising, polishing your book is possible. It's not a stretch. It's an accomplishment, but you've got an entire year and you can break your project down whatever way it needs to be broken down, and work incrementally. Realize also that you are worth a couple of hours every day. You're worth the effort.

Take your first action toward the goals you’ve set. Make the initial calls, write the first few pages, start a synopsis, buy the crafting book, find the Internet sites for research…Take all those first steps.

Then resolve to continue to do something every day.

And then resolve never to quit.

Keep this promise you've made to yourself. Not for anybody but you. Not for any reason other than you count. So does your book. Somebody might be waiting for it.

* * *

What you missed...

If you haven't been to susanmeier.com lately you missed...

A recipe from my sister at the Homecooking Blog...
As well as my "made up" Easy, Peasy Ham Pot Pie recipe...
The story of the sprinkle we gave for my mother...
A blog about eliminating writer's block...

The announcement that HER BABY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS tied for first place in the MORE THAN MAGIC CONTEST!

The announcement of my new 3-book contract.

My 2 new speaking engagements for next year...2010 Written in the Stars Conference in Louisiana March 5th and 6th and the WRW conference in April.

* * *

CAT TAILS!!!

Last month the spotlight was on Sophia. Today, it's Fluffy's turn. Fluffy's real name is Fluffy Doodle...like Yankee Doodle, without the feather in the cap or the macaroni.

Sarah and I had both longed for a cat, but my husband didn't really like cats and he constantly vetoed us. Then a week after Sarah got her driver's license I sent her for tomato sauce and forty-five minutes later she hadn't returned. I'd promised to take her to the mall to get her new "cheerleading" shoes so I knew she wouldn't dilly dally.

I started calling the hospitals and we found Sarah at Conemaugh. Furious that no one had contacted us, we raced to the hospital where they told us we had to wait to see her. We sat for an hour, totally convinced by this time that she was dead or dying.

Finally, we ventured up to the nurses station and asked about Sarah and the nurse was surprised no one had called our names. We could go right back.

We were so relieved we raced back and when my husband saw Sarah he blurted, "Anything you want you can have it!" (Silly man.) Though she had a concussion and torn ligiments, Sarah had the presence of mind to say, "Can I have a cat?" And my husband was stuck!

We got two cats, Fluffy and Basil. We had to put Basil to sleep a year or so later, but that's another Cat Tails.

Anyway, Fluffy is absolutely Sarah's best guy. He sleeps on the foot of her bed, waits by the door for her when it's time for her to come home and knows the sound of her car! It's amazing.

Fluffy is also the inspiration for Creamsickle, the cat with the bell in THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS.

* * *

EXCERPT from THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS!

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Wendy Winston twisted the key to silence her small car and turned to the boy on the seat beside her. Six-year-old Harry Martin blinked at her from behind brown-framed glasses. A knit cap covered his short yellow hair. His blue eyes were far too serious to be those of a child. A thick winter coat swallowed his thin body. His mittened hand clutched a bag of toy soldiers. "I'm really sorry to have to bring you to work." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "S'okay." She wanted to say not really. It wasn't okay that he'd be forced to sit and play with his plastic soldiers for God only knew how long while she worked. It wasn't okay that he'd lost his mom. Or that Betsy's lawyer had been out of town when she'd died. It had been four weeks before Attorney Costello had finally called to tell Wendy that Betsy had granted her custody of Harry in her will, and another few days before social services could pull him out of his foster home and give Wendy custody—and then only temporarily.
Regardless of what Betsy's will said, Harry's biological father's rights superseded her custody bequest. But no one knew where Harry's dad was, so, for now, Wendy had a child who needed her, and, for the first time in two years, she had someone to anticipate Christmas with. Though social services was searching for Harry's dad, Wendy believed she and Harry could have as long as a month to shop, bake cookies and decorate. If it killed her she would make it the best month before Christmas this little boy had ever had.

She smiled. "I promise I'll make this up to you."

"Can we bake cookies?"

Her heart soared. It seemed that what he needed done for him was what she needed to do. They were the perfect combination. Maybe fate wasn't so despicable after all.

"You bet we can bake cookies. Any kind you want."

Wicked wind battered them with freezing rain as they raced across the icy parking lot to the executive entrance for Barrington Candies. Juggling her umbrella and her purse as they ran toward the door, she rummaged for her key, but before she found it, the right side of the glass double doors burst open.

Cullen Barrington stood in the entryway. Six foot three, with black hair and eyes every bit as dark, and wearing a pale-blue sweater that was probably cashmere, the owner of Barrington Candies was the consummate playboy. He was rich, handsome and rarely around, assigning her boss Paul McCoy the task of managing the day-to-day operations of the company while he handled the big-picture details from the comfort of his home in Miami. Cullen was also so tight with money that no one in the plant had gotten a raise since control of Barrington Candies had been handed to him by his mother.

Scrooge.

That's what she'd taken to calling the man who'd summoned her to work on a Saturday afternoon. Even though he'd surprised everyone with his offer to fill in for her boss so Mr. McCoy could take an extended Christmas vacation, Wendy wasn't fooled into thinking he'd changed his ways and become generous. Though he'd probably called her in today to prepare before he took over on Monday morning, he'd paid no thought to the fact that she would lose her day off. She'd lose precious minutes with Harry. She'd lose the chance for them to enjoy whatever time they had together, and maybe even the chance for her to show him life wasn't entirely bad, just parts of it.

Even if, some days, she didn't quite believe that herself.

Occupied with her thoughts, she slipped on the ice and plowed into Cullen. She braced her hand on his chest to stop her forward momentum and it sank into the downy cashmere covering the hard muscle of his chest. His body was like a rock.

Confused, because she thought all rich men were soft and pampered, she looked up. He glanced down. And everything inside Wendy stilled. She swore the world stopped revolving. As dark as moonless midnight, his eyes held hers. Her femininity stirred inside her.

That confused her even more. She hadn't felt anything for a man since her husband's death, and Cullen Barrington was the last man on the planet she wanted to be attracted to. A playboy from Miami? No thanks. She'd glimpsed him a time or two in the four years she'd been working for his company and never felt anything but distaste at the way he treated his employees. She had no idea what was going on with her hormones, but it had to be an aberration of some sort.

She stepped away, and as the door swung closed behind her a bell rang.

Funny, she didn't remember a bell being on that door.

She turned to investigate and sure enough someone had tied a bell to the spring mechanism at the top of the door.

Probably Wendell, the janitor, making sure he'd be alerted if one of the executives sneaked in to check up on him.

"Why did you bring your little boy?"

She pulled off her mittens. "Oh, I don't know. Because I wasn't supposed to be working today? Because it's such short notice that I couldn't get a sitter?" She shrugged. "Take your pick."

His gorgeous eyes narrowed. He obviously didn't like her speaking so freely with him.

Wendy almost groaned at her stupidity. A single woman who might get custody of a little boy couldn't afford to be fired!

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just cold and I had things to do. So tell me what you want to work on and we can get started."

"I'd like to catch up on what's been going on, so I'll need production schedules and the financials. Once you help me find those, you can go home."

He didn't smile. Didn't give any reason at all for her heart to catch at the smooth baritone of his voice, but it did. Her entire body felt warm and soft, feminine in response to his masculinity.

She stepped back. She did not want to be attracted to him. It had taken her two long, miserable years to get over Greg's death. And she refused to go through the misery of loss again by being attracted to a playboy who—as sure as the sun rises every day—would dump her.

Of course, she might not be attracted to Cullen as much as she was simply waking up from the sexual dead. It had been two years. And she had been feeling like her normal self for at least three months. Maybe this was just a stage?

She peeked at Cullen, knowing that beneath that soft sweater was a very hard male body. Something sweet and syrupy floated through her. Moving her gaze upward, she met his simmering dark eyes and knew she could get lost in them.

She swallowed. Nope. Not a stage. It was him. She was attracted to him.

He turned to walk back to the office. Following him, she caught Harry's hand and brought him along with her.

"As far as the financials go, I don't want those fancy reports that go out in the annual statement. I want the spreadsheets. The nuts and bolts."

She stopped with a frown. She had access to everything, but if he was looking for the whys behind the line entries, she couldn't help him. "Why didn't you call Nolan, the accountant?"

He faced her. "Are you saying you can't get me the financials?"

"No. I have them. Everything is in my filing cabinet. But—"

She stopped talking. First, his eyes were simmering sexily again and her whole body began to hum—which made her want to groan in frustration. Second, she was making this harder than it had to be. All she had to do was find a few documents for him. The faster she found them, the sooner she'd be at home making cookies.

She squeezed Harry's hand. "I can get you anything you need."

"Thank you."

Cullen turned and resumed his walk to the executive suite. Wendy and Harry scurried behind him.

In her office, she stripped off her coat and removed Harry's. Cullen stood patiently by her desk as she rummaged through her purse for the key to the filing cabinet. Walking over, she noticed the door to her boss's office was open. Papers were strewn across his desk.

"Oh, you're already working?"

Cullen nodded. "I typed a few letters. But there isn't a printer in the office. I'm guessing I have to send my things to a remote printer, but I'm not sure which one is which."

"E-mail them to me and I'll print them."

"Why don't you just come to the computer with me and show me which printer to send them to?"

Okay. So he didn't want her to see what he'd written. No big deal. Whatever he wanted to print was probably personal. Not her business. She not only got the message; she also agreed. The less she knew about this man and the faster she got away from him, the better.

She unlocked the cabinet, pulled out the accordion file that contained the backup documentation for the financials for the year that had passed and handed it to him.

He glanced at the packet, then back up at her. Her stomach flip-flopped. His eyes were incredible. Dark. Shiny. Sexy. And the perfect complement to his angular face. He had the look of a matador. Strong. Bold. Everything about him was dramatic, male.

"Is the forecast in here?"

With a quick shake of her head, she rid herself of those ridiculous thoughts, not sure where the heck they kept coming from but knowing they were absolutely wrong. She returned her attention to the open drawer and pulled the file folder for the five-year plan. "Here you go."

"Great."

Cullen took the folder from her hands and stepped back. He'd thought that bringing in Paul's administrative assistant would make his life easier, but this woman wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. For a widow, she was young and incredibly good-looking. Long, loosely curled red hair fell to the shoulders of her thick green cable-knit sweater. Her cheeks had become pink in the cold, accenting the green of her eyes. Low-riding jeans hugged a shapely bottom.

He wasn't sure what the heck had happened when she'd fallen into his arms after she'd slipped on the ice. Their eyes had met and he'd felt a jolt of something so foreign it had rendered him speechless. He couldn't blame it on the fact that she was attractive. He knew hundreds of gorgeous women. Women even prettier than she was....

MAID IN MONTANA June 2009

2009-04-15T14:14:00.000-07:00

After checking to make sure Brady was in a deep sleep, she slid into her one-piece bathing suit and the matching terrycloth cover-up then grabbed the portable baby monitor from the bedside table and walked through the sitting room to the door of her suite. She opened it slowly, not wanting to run in to anyone since her cover-up was short and she felt uncomfortable walking around only half dressed.

Common sense told her she had no reason to fear. It was late. She was on the first floor. Her boss’s suite of rooms was on the second floor. Slim had a cabin behind the homestead. Only a few hands actually slept in the bunkhouse, but even they were so far from the house that no one would see her – if they were awake. She was perfectly safe.

She took a breath, stole down the short hall that led to the kitchen and then slipped into the family room with French doors that led to the pool. In another two steps, she was standing on the stone patio.

Silence descended on her like a warm blanket. The city always had sound. Background noise. A person might grow accustomed to it and not "hear" it, but it was always there. On this ranch, so far away from civilization, she learned the meaning of the word silence.

Removing her cover-up, she glanced around in awe. Except for dim lights illuminating the blue water of the pool, this world was also inky black. Remembering something about seeing stars in the country, she quickly glanced up and sighed.

"Oh, my gosh."

"Oh, my gosh what?"

On gasp, Sophie spun around to find Jeb walking out of the shadows behind her. Anger rose like hot lava in her veins and her first instinct was to turn and walk away. But the closer he got, the more her anger was replaced by confusion. Water flattened his thick black hair and droplets cascaded from his shoulders and down his broad chest, making trails through whorls of dark hair leading to six-pack abs. Wet black swimming trucks clung precariously to lean hips and a butt made for a woman to sink her fingernails into in the throes of passion.

Even as her mouth went dry, she groaned inwardly. How could she be attracted to the man who had just fired her?

"Oh, my gosh what?" He repeated his question as he walked over to her, stopping within arm's reach.

Awareness shimmied through her. With her cover-up in her hand and wearing only her bathing suit, she wasn't quite as naked as he was, but they were both scantily dressed, alone, in the darkness.

She pulled in a breath, reprimanding herself. Not only were they were both sufficiently covered, but also she was furious with him and he clearly didn't like her. She didn't intend to continue their argument, but she wouldn't cower from him either.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "The stars. There are so many."

"You have big city syndrome," he growled, back to being the grouch boss. He looked up into the star spangled darkness and back at her. "The sky is always lit over a city, blocking one of nature's greatest gifts. A starry night."

He took another glance up at the sky and her gaze skimmed his broad chest and perfect tummy. He was, quite literally, the sexiest man she'd ever seen.

"Yeah. We certainly don't have stars like this in the city." She swallowed, desperately trying to will away her attraction. He was a self-centered grouch, who had fired her. He was the last person she wanted to feel anything for. But she couldn't deny that being this close to him, her whole body hummed. She told herself it was just plain foolish to be attracted to a man she didn't even like. Yet, here she stood, her breathing erratic, her nerve-endings on red alert, just from standing close to him.

"I’ll just go back to my room now."

He snatched a huge green towel from a nearby chaise. "No, I'll go. I'm done with my swim. In about ten seconds the patio will be all yours."

A nervous laugh bubbled up from her. There was no way she'd let him leave his own swimming pool on account of her. No way she'd give him another thing to complain about. "No. That's okay. You stay. I only came out here to get a breath of fresh air."

She watched his gaze move from her face, down her one-piece suit, pausing on the length of leg exposed beneath the high-cut bottom.

"If you only came out for fresh air, then why are you in a swim suit?"

Her breathing, which had been erratic, stalled in her chest. His voice might have been strong, detached, but the look he'd given her had been long and slow. He'd taken in every square inch of her and lingered on the part of her that usually drew a man – her legs.

She swallowed.

Not sure what to think, she tried to fall back on humor. "All right. You caught me. I'm guilty as charged. I wanted a quick swim, but I didn't realize you were using the pool or I wouldn't have come out."

He took a step closer. "I didn’t picture you as the one-piece suit type. I figured you more for a bikini girl."

Another nervous laugh escaped her. If he made a pass at her, she wasn't sure if she would melt or faint. They both knew she was leaving in three weeks. And maybe that was why he was suddenly behaving so different with her? If he made a pass at her, nothing would come of it but an affair.

She took a breath. One little look shouldn't have her automatically assuming he was after an affair! She had to stop jumping to conclusions. So far he hadn't said or done anything out of line. She might have even misinterpreted the look he'd given her. What if he wasn't attracted at all, but actually confused by her choice of swimwear?

"Why a bikini?"

"Don't you surf?"

"No."

"Hum. A California girl who doesn't surf. Another myth debunked."

Relief skittered through her. She had been correct. He wasn't attracted to her but confused by her. She could breathe again. "You think all California girls surf?"

He caught her gaze, his pale eyes soft and serious in the moonlight. "Yes."

Realization of how close they were slid over her. He was a very different man when he wasn't yelling at her. In fact, from the way he was looking at her she'd never guess he had a problem with her at all.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, feeling reactions and emotions that were more instinctive than conscious. Her eyes desperately wanted to move down again, soak in the beauty and masculinity of his chest, and she struggled to keep them locked with his. Her nerve endings sparkled like the stars overhead. Her breathing became forced, labored.

He stepped back, his gaze still locked with hers. "You'd do well to remember that I'm a grouch and check to make sure the pool isn't occupied the next time you want to swim."

Embarrassment poured through her in a rush of heat. Good grief! So much for him behaving differently! Why did she keep making mistakes with this guy? Normally, she was a better judge of character. Yet, this was the third time she'd totally misread him.

"I"m sorry. Next time I want to swim I'll ask."

"There's no reason to ask. Just remember that I swim every night around ten-thirty and don't come out and we'll be fine."

Though his words were appropriate, his voice went back to being soft, hypnotic, resurrecting the sprinkle of gooseflesh that covered her body. She peeked at him, confused again. What was going on here?

She took a breath, reminding herself it didn't matter. She'd be gone in three weeks. Dropping her cover-up to the chaise, she turned to the pool. Before she dove in, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him walking toward the French doors. Her sigh of relief was swallowed up by the splash she made when she plunged into the water.