To Hell in a Coach Bag
Page 22
The End
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Want more from M.J. Schiller?
Here's an excerpt from
DAMNED IF I DO
The Devilish Divas Series
Book Two
~
Yes, I'd been through Hell, but I was beginning to feel there may be a way out. I'd stumbled upon the roadmap in the form of one Tucker McCord. A gorgeous form, I might add. But, inexplicably, I'd pushed him away. Wadded up my roadmap and pitched it out the window to watch it roll like tumbleweed down the shoulder.
And now I was lost.
Tucker was the first guy I liked since my husband, Darren, died. Tucker was sweet, fun, and sexy as hell. From Lincoln, Nebraska, he possessed a sunny, country boy charm mixed with enough wow factor to make him irresistible. He was built, with blond surfer boy hair, long enough on top to fall into his eyes at times. And what eyes. They were a mesmerizing green-gray that often made me lose my train of thought. Tucker was the kind of guy you could wake in the middle of the night because your cat got stuck in a tree, and he would be there in minutes joking around with you and saving the day at the same time. To say I'd messed up is an understatement the size of Denver.
We met when Tucker threw me and my gal pal, Samantha, out of a backstage area at a Chase Hatton concert in Chicago. He was a roadie, and we didn't have passes. Even in those first few seconds I sensed something was different about him. But the moment I started having feelings for him beyond "He's so hot," the dreams began again. Dreams about the day Darren died in my arms. Yep, I was screwed up. But as my friend Kyle said, seeing the love of your life die? "That would mess anyone up."
And speaking of Kyle, he was the cute Canadian hockey referee Sam chased away on the same weekend I told Tucker I couldn't handle a relationship with him. At least I'd realized my mistake and went back to apologize to Tucker.
What a surprise to find he checked out of the hotel we were staying at.
After the initial shock, I eventually cut through the "I'll never see him again," haze in my mind and thought, okay, Lincoln is a big city, but I can find him. I had to believe that.
After going through nearly half of the McCords I could find online, (forty-five!), I had the brilliant idea of limiting my calls to lawyers' offices. Tucker only worked as a roadie to earn some extra cash for his kids' college education. His full-time job was as an attorney. Only fourteen of those were listed in Lincoln.
"Good morning," I said dully, becoming discouraged after only seven calls. I lay in my bed, watching my ceiling fan blades circle around and around, feeling as if that was what I did all morning. Spinning endlessly from one call to the next. I tried to brainstorm another way to find Tucker if this tactic didn't pan out. "I would like to speak with Tucker McCord, please." Maybe hire a detective? I was so distracted, her response didn't register at first.
"Are you a client of his?"
My heart flew into overdrive, and I sprung so quickly to a seated position I got a head rush. I put a hand to my head to steady it. "Actually, no. My name is Danielle Capodice. I'm a... friend of Tucker's. We ran into each other in Denver last week, and I forgot to get his number before he left." I thought fast. "And umm... I needed to try to pay for his dry cleaning. You see, he rescued a friend's purse, and fell into the creek in the process—"
The secretary laughed. "That sounds like something Tucker would do. He's left for the day, but... wait, you said your name is Danielle?"
"Yes. I—"
"He mentioned you." She sounded curious. "He said if anyone should call by that name he wanted to speak to her." She hesitated, and I held my breath. "If you can wait for a moment, I'll look up his home number."
I found him.
~
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Damned If I Do
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M.J. Schiller is a lunch lady/romance-romantic suspense writer. She enjoys writing novels whose characters include rock stars, desert princes, teachers, futuristic Knights, construction workers, cops, and a wide variety of others. In her mind everybody has a romance. She is the mother of a twenty-two-year-old and three twenty-year-olds. That's right, triplets! So having recently taught four children to drive, she likes to escape from life on occasion by pretending to be a rock star at karaoke. However... you won't be seeing her name on any record labels soon.