Just a Little Bit Married

by Teresa Southwick

  She lifted the flap and reached inside, expecting a packet of papers but instead pulling out confetti. Her gaze shot to his. “This is shredded.”

  “I know.”

  “How could you do that?”

  “There’s this handy machine and you just feed the paper in and it comes out like that.” He shrugged. “Easy.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.” Rose stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “Short version? I instructed my attorney not to file the papers with the court. We’re still a little bit married.”

  “That’s not the part I don’t get,” she said through gritted teeth. The urge to brain him with a vase of flowers was strong in her. “Why didn’t you sign them? I thought you wanted to divorce me.”

  “Not you.” His expression turned serious for the first time. “I wanted to divorce my past. My biological father and the reality of not actually being born a Hart. I wanted to be the man you thought you married.”

  “You are,” she protested.

  “I get that now and I’ve come to terms with the person I am. Thanks to you and my parents.”

  “What happened?” She set the envelope containing shredded legal documents on her coffee table.

  “I took your suggestion and saw my father.” He slid his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans. “He’s a decent man who is a victim of tragic love. It’s a ‘good news, bad news’ thing. The bad is he’s been married and divorced a few times but it’s because he’s trying to find a woman like my mother.”

  “So he’s a one-woman man,” Rose ventured.

  “Exactly.”

  “You were afraid you’d inherited the player gene from him,” she said.

  “Yes.” He smiled a little uncertainly. “I didn’t want to put you through being married to a womanizing jerk.”

  “You never were that guy,” she said again.

  “But I didn’t know that I wouldn’t turn into him. And I couldn’t take the chance. Not with you. I’d rather live with the pain of not having you than risk hurting you.”

  Her heart was melting as surely as ice cream in the sun. “And now?”

  “It seems I do take after him, at least in one way.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “I fell in love with you. You’re the only woman for me and there will never be anyone else.”

  “I can’t, Linc—” Emotion choked off her words and she looked away.

  “I know I’ve hurt you and you’ll never know how sorry I am for that. But you and I are meant to be together. The universe is telling us so. Look at all the signs. There was no divorce. You never found anyone else and neither did I.”

  “Linc...” She met his gaze and recognized the intensity of desperation in his eyes.

  “Do you know why neither of us connected with someone else? I can only speak for myself, but I’d wager my last dollar that the same is true for you. In fact you told me that you’d never stopped loving me. And I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Talk to me maybe?”

  “I get that now and I’m working on my communication skills. Starting with this—I love you, Rose. I always have. There will never be anyone else for me. Unlike my father, I met the woman of my dreams and was lucky enough to marry her. It was the smartest thing I ever did. After that I—” He shrugged. “Stupid mistake after stupid mistake. The best I can say is that my motives were pure. I was simply trying to protect you from the mess of my life. I just hope you can forgive me. Be my wife. Don’t condemn me to a life without you in it.”

  “Oh, Linc—” She caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Before you give me your final answer, you should know that I won’t give up. If you won’t let me move in here, I’ll pitch a tent outside. I’ll send flowers, rent advertising space on I-35 proclaiming my love. Along with a plug for your decorating business.”

  “What about your business in Blackwater Lake?”

  “I’ll commute. The condo will stay a shell unless you work your magic. No one but you will ever decorate it.” He looked down for a moment, then stared into her eyes. “If you can find it in your heart to give me another chance, I swear that I will never give you a reason to regret it.”

  Rose had never seen him so vulnerable, so not in control of his feelings. That was new and filled her heart with hope. And most importantly, trust.

  She took a step closer and could feel the heat of his body even though they weren’t touching. “Can I have my job back?”

  “Being my wife?” He frowned.

  “No.” She glanced down at the envelope on the table, then toyed with the button on his crisp, white shirt. “I never quit being married to you. I was talking about decorating your condo. And living there together.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a long breath before looking at her again. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he nodded. “With your special touch, it will be like having the essence of you wrapped around me. To my way of thinking that’s about as close to heaven on earth as a man can get.”

  “I love you, Lincoln Hart.”

  “Words with wow factor.” He grinned, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her into more than being just a little bit married.

  * * * * *

  Return to Blackwater Lake in August 2017, when Faith Connelly and Sam Hart are forced together by raging wild fires in the next book in THE BACHELORS OF BLACKWATER LAKE miniseries!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from KISS ME, SHERIFF! by Wendy Warren.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Special Edition story.

  You know that romance is for life. Harlequin Special Edition stories show that every chapter in a relationship has its challenges and delights and that love can be renewed with each turn of the page.

  Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Special Edition every month!

  Visit Harlequin.com to find your next great read.

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Join Harlequin My Rewards & Instantly earn a FREE ebook of your choice.

  Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever & whenever you shop.

  Turn your points into FREE BOOKS.

  Don’t miss out. Reward the book lover in you!

  Register Today & Earn a FREE BOOK*

  *New members who join before April 30th, 2017 will receive 2000 points redeemable for eligible titles.

  Click here to register

  Or visit us online to register at

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001

  Kiss Me, Sheriff!

  by Wendy Warren

  Chapter One

  For the folks who cared to rise early enough, 6:30 a.m. was as fine a time as any on Warm Springs Road in Thunder Ridge, Oregon. The twinkle lights that glowed steadily through the night were still on. The Valentine’s Day Decorating Committee met companionably at The Pickle Jar Deli for an early b
reakfast and a lively debate about whether to hang cupids or giant red hearts from the corner street lamps. And, next door to the deli, Willa Holmes opened the doors to Something Sweet, the bakery she’d been managing for the past two months. Her morning regulars typically arrived shortly after she flipped the “Done for the Day” sign to the side that announced, “Yep, Open.”

  Now, at precisely 6:32 a.m., Willa was at work behind the counter.

  “Can I tempt you with a fresh Danish this morning, Mrs. Wittenberg?” She smiled at the tiny woman whose white curls bobbed just above the top of the glass pastry case. “They’re still warm from the oven.”

  Baking since 3:00 a.m., Willa appreciated the early start time of her new job. The wee hours of the morning used to be for sleep or, back when she was first married, for lovemaking, but now she found late night and early morning to be the most difficult parts of her day. There was too much quiet time to think. And to remember.

  Having breads to proof, cookies to shape and food costs to calculate provided relief from the thoughts that kept her awake at night. Her only coworker in the morning was Norman Bluehorse, who was either fortyish or sixtyish—it was seriously hard to tell—and who worked with earbuds in place and spoke only when he needed to ask or to answer a direct question. A few years ago that might not have suited Willa, but these days she appreciated Norman’s unspoken you-mind-your-business-and-I’ll-mind-mine policy.

  Short on sleep due to the early morning and a restless night, she tried not to yawn. Mrs. Wittenberg peered closely at her.

  “Sweetheart,” the older woman said, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but is your red hair natural? I’m thinking about having a makeover. I used to have beautiful long hair, too. It fell out during The Change. Did you bake anything new this morning?”

  Actually I think of my hair as light auburn...yes, it’s natural... Your hair is lovely as it is...the pomegranate-orange bread is new. Willa only had time to think her responses before Mrs. W moved on to a new question or comment. This was their ritual six mornings a week. Mrs. W chattered brightly, examined every potential selection in the pastry case, then chose the very same thing she’d chosen the day before and the day before that—two lemon cloud Danishes and one large molasses snap to go.

  “I added a touch of ginger to the lemon clouds today,” Willa told the older woman, whose pursed lips were carefully lined and filled with a creamy rose shade even at this hour of the morning. “I think you’ll like them.”

  Mrs. Wittenberg wagged her prettily coiffed head. “I don’t know, dear. I think possibly I should choose something different this morning. It’s a very special day.”

  “Oh?” Before Willa could ask why, the door opened to admit her second customer of the morning. A zing of pure adrenaline shot through her veins with such force, she actually felt weak. While Mrs. W tapped her upper lip, trying to make a selection, Willa’s attention turned to the six-foot-two-inch sheriff of Thunder Ridge.

  She hadn’t interacted in any meaningful way with Derek Neel for the past couple of months, except to greet him and fill his order in the morning. She’d seen him around town, too, of course—he was fairly hard to miss, patrolling Thunder Ridge’s wood-planked sidewalks on foot, or making the rounds of the broad streets in his squad car. He didn’t just work in town, he lived here. Two weeks ago, she’d bumped into him in the cereal aisle of Hank’s Thunderbird Market on a Monday night at 9:00 p.m. Impossible to ignore each other when you were shoulder to shoulder, contemplating breakfast. He’d smiled easily, asked if she thought “instant triple berry oatmeal” sounded good and then tossed the box into his cart after she’d replied that, sure, it was worth a try (which had been a total lie, because instant oatmeal was an abomination of the real thing and never a good idea). While he’d strolled off, she had remained rooted to her spot in the aisle like the proverbial deer in headlights, her thoughts rushed and confused, her emotions in turmoil.

  Fact: she and the handsome sheriff had almost...almost...gotten to know each other in the biblical sense on one crazy, ill-advised night two-and-a-half months ago. It had been one of those evenings when sitting with her own thoughts had seemed painful, practically impossible. She’d been filling in for a sick waitress at The Pickle Jar, next door, and when a couple of the other servers mentioned they were heading to the White Lightning Tavern for a beer and a burger, she’d invited herself along.

  Derek had been there, dining with Izzy Lambert Thayer, who co-owned both The Pickle Jar, where Willa had worked as a server when she’d first arrived in town, and the bakery Something Sweet. Izzy’s new husband, Nate, had arrived at one point, and when he and Izzy got up to dance to The Louisiana Lovers, a visiting country western band, Derek had approached Willa’s table and asked her if she would mind dancing with someone likely to two-step all over her toes. His eyes had sparkled, his lips had curved in good-humored self-deprecation, his open palm had hovered, steady as a rock, in front of her. He had made it so easy for her to say yes. So easy to laugh as they’d danced (and he hadn’t stepped on her toes once). Easy to walk out the door with him later that evening, and easy—shockingly easy—to forget everything but the feeling of strong arms wrapped around her back as he’d kissed her.

  Now, as Derek stepped into line behind Mrs. Wittenberg, he filled the small bakery with his bigger-than-life presence, neat and handsome in a crisply ironed beige uniform, his thick black hair still damp from a shower. Charcoal eyes met hers.

  Just to prove she didn’t have a cool or sophisticated bone in her entire body, heat instantly filled Willa’s face.

  Ducking her head, she refocused on the woman in front of her. “So what’s the special occasion, Mrs. Wittenberg?”

  Blue eyes, pink cheeks, and the tiniest, straightest teeth Willa had ever seen, beamed with pleasure. “Mr. Wittenberg and I are celebrating our fiftieth anniversary today.”

  “Oh. Oh...” Wow. A stab of pure, unadulterated envy caught Willa off-guard. “That’s—”

  Amazing. A gift. A reminder that life does not deal equally with everyone.

  “Wonderful. That’s really, really wonderful. Are you celebrating with a party?”

  “No, dear. Our children wanted to, but Mr. Wittenberg and I have decided on a quiet time at home. Just the two of us. We’re going to take an early walk along the river. We got engaged there. This morning, we’re going to visit the very same spot. There’s a little rock shaped like a chair. I sat on it while Mr. Wittenberg got down on one knee and proposed.”

  It was impossible not to be swept along on the tide of Mrs. W’s pleasure and anticipation.

  “Are you going to reenact the proposal?” Willa grinned as Mrs. W nodded vigorously.

  “That’s the plan.” She giggled like a little girl. “Afterward, we’ll walk back home, have a leisurely breakfast... And then I’m going to take that man into the bedroom and seduce him.”

  Willa’s smile froze on her face. Her gaze shot to the sheriff. He was watching her. One eyebrow, as midnight black as his hair, arched in devilish humor.

  “Do you have something sexy I could serve?” Mrs. Wittenberg continued. “The Food Network says breakfast can be a potent aphrodisiac.”

  The mischief in the sheriff’s expression flared to a broad grin. A very sexy broad grin.

  Alrighty. Willa looked at the pastries she’d baked with fresh appreciation. Up until now, the most interesting question she’d fielded was, Do you make gluten-free strudel?

  “A sexy breakfast, hmm?” she said. “I have a chocolate chip babka Mr. Wittenberg might enjoy.” She pointed to a tall, dome-shaped breakfast bread filled to bursting with chopped chocolate and cinnamon sugar.

  Mrs. Wittenberg eyed the coffee cake. “It looks good.” Her penciled brows knit together. “I don’t know if it’s sexy enough, though.” Turning, she enlisted the aid of Thunder Ridge’s finest. “Sheriff Neel, do you think a
chocolate chip babka is sexy?”

  Appearing to give the elderly woman’s question his serious consideration, he drawled, “I don’t watch too many cooking shows, Mrs. W, but I like to think I’m a fair judge of desirable. If the Food Network thinks you need an aphrodisiac, they’re underestimating your charms.” Because he towered above her by more than a foot, he had to bend down quite a bit to whisper loudly in her ear, “You’re already irresistible. Just think of the coffee cake as an appetizer.”

  Turning back to Willa with a smile that seemed bigger than her face, Mrs. Wittenberg crowed, “I’ll take the babka! Can you put a bow on the box?”

  “Of course.” Willa’s glance lighted on Sheriff Neel. He winked. Once again, heat filled her face. Like I’m a teenager, she thought disgustedly, giving herself a mental shake as she went about the business of wrapping the coffee cake.

  Apparently Sheriff Neel was perfectly relaxed and comfortable continuing to have casual encounters with her after their episode of very heavy petting. It was, after all, the twenty-first century. Plus, there was no shortage of women in town who spoke frankly about their interest in bringing Thunder Ridge’s sheriff home for a night—or forever. What happened between him and Willa at the end of summer had probably happened to him a bunch of times.

  Well, all except the part where Willa had pushed him away, exclaiming, “I can’t do this!” and then ran away as if the devil were on her heels. That had probably been a new experience for him.

  “Here you are.” Handing Mrs. Wittenberg a white box with red lettering and a glittery gold bow, she said, “I added a couple of molasses snaps. For later.”

  “Oh, thank you so much, dear. I’ll let you know how it goes!” Showing her deep dimples, Mrs. Wittenberg hugged the box to her as she exited the store.

  Which left Willa alone with her next customer.

  It was too quiet, too still in the bakery. Willa made a mental note to ask her boss if she could play some music during the day. Even the large fan that pulled heat out of the kitchen sounded like nothing more than a faint hum.