by Bird, Peggy
“I’m glad, Zane,” Georgeanne said. “It worries me, making you drive almost an hour every morning and evening, when we could have just moved into your apartment.”
“Not likely, when we have this house in the country. I wanted to live here with you since the first day I saw the place. Not to mention the fact that Roscoe and Jack probably wouldn’t adapt very well to life in the city.” He watched her spoon up oatmeal with close attention.
“The dogs wouldn’t know how to act in an apartment,” she agreed dryly.
“And I wouldn’t want you to be the one on the road twice a day, so don’t even think about it,” Zane said. “I’m going to maintain an office here and one in Pasadena for the next few years. Eventually, I’ll close the office in Pasadena and move my practice here. I’ve decided I like country living.” He watched her lips as she sipped coffee. “So what are you doing today?”
Georgeanne moved the tray off her lap and put her arms around his neck. “I’m going to work, of course. Then I’m coming home and cooking a special dinner for you.”
“In that case, I’ll try to get home early.” He looked into her eyes and gave her a smoldering smile. “Maybe you can model that new yellow bikini for me.”
“I’ll wear anything you want, Zane,” she promised, smiling. “But I can’t promise I won’t blush while I’m wearing it. It’s really tiny.”
“I’ve missed seeing you blush. Since Denise has taken over as Fritzi Field, your complexion has stayed on an even keel.”
Georgeanne laughed softly. “In that case, I’ll add some fancy dancing to the display of the bikini. I can guarantee you’ll see plenty of blushing.”
“I can’t wait.”
Neither could she. Still amazed at her own thoughts, Georgeanne laid her open palms on Zane’s shoulders. She almost felt she owed the world a follow-up book entitled something along the lines of Finding Mr. Right, but what could she say that hadn’t already been said?
Unless, of course, she decided to title the book, Love Means Never Having To Fake It Again.
On second thought, Georgeanne decided as Zane sought her lips for a long, tender kiss, she would let well enough alone. Denise had already turned in an outline to Alice Anson for a follow-up to Faking It, and Georgeanne had high hopes for her outline of The Story of The Saturday Clinic. She didn’t have time to write a book on finding Mr. Right. It was enough that she had actually found him.
Zane sat back and studied her figure appreciatively. “You’d better eat all your breakfast or there won’t be anything left of you to fill out a bikini.”
Georgeanne’s heart thrilled at the caring possessiveness in his voice, even though she had regained half of her lost fifteen pounds. “Are you saying I’m looking a mite peaked, Doctor?”
“Darned right I am.” Zane touched her cheek. “In fact, you look like a woman who needs a doctor.”
Georgeanne looked at him with her heart in her eyes. “Then it’s a good thing I married one, isn’t it?”
“The doctor is always in for you, Georgie.”
She saw the same vision of the future shining in Zane’s eyes that she hoped he saw in hers, a future of shared love and laughter.
Together, they were strong — strong enough to make a difference in other lives, because of the power of their love.
About the Author
Kathryn Brocato is a lifelong reader and writer of romance who lives with her husband, dogs, and chickens in Southeast Texas. Learn more about her at www.kathrynbrocato.com, and visit her Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/pages/KathrynBrocato-Author/130436237088005.
Jade’s Treasure
Ana Krista Johnson
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Ana Krista Johnson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 1-4405-7175-9
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7175-6
eISBN 10: 1-4405-7174-0
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7174-9
Cover art © 123rf.com
To my parents, Jim and Janet Johnson, who have put up with me the longest!
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my parents and family, The Last Minute Poetry Club (past and present members), Paul Kreiling, Chris Frank, Jake, Zoe, and of course the love of my life, Patrick.
Chapter 1
D-o-n-e. Done. Done. With. Men. Jade hefted the axe above her head again and let the blade fall with a satisfying thwack into a log resting on the old, scarred stump. The stump had served as a chopping block for the Lakehaven Cabins for the past forty years. The year her grandfather had purchased the place the old tree had been struck by lightning, forcing William Sawyer to chop down the beautiful old elm. Jade smiled at the thought of her poppa telling her the story of the thunderstorm—how rare a lightning strike was and how that made it a special stump. This was only one of the many interesting stories surrounding Lakehaven.
She reached for the split wood and threw it onto the growing pile. She tried to focus on the fresh mountain air and the stretch of her shoulders as she grabbed another log for the chopping block, but she couldn’t help it—her mind went back to today’s mail. Maybe if she imagined Nick’s head on the stump or, better yet, Stacy’s, she might feel better. The log split cleanly. Her smile flashed wickedly.
They were getting married. She should have expected it, really. Nick had been her fiancé and Stacy her roommate when she’d caught them kissing on campus. Since then, Jade had seen them from time to time—the university was a small community and her dad worked there. When she did run into them, everyone managed to be awkwardly polite. Now, three years later, they sent out a “Save the Date” invite on cream card stock with graceful black script. Nick and Stacy were getting married. They had, no doubt, invited her parents to the schmoozefest and felt obligated to include her as well. Jerks. Jade felt petty for being angry. A better person would be over it by now. Three years was a long time to hold a grudge.
She shook her head to clear the memory and set herself for the next assault on the log. She had been chopping for about twenty minutes now. She could’ve had Jeff or Ben do the work, but Jade needed to expend the energy. She blew out a breath, and her bangs lifted off her forehead. Three years passed quickly. She had left the university, run back to Lakehaven, taken some metalworking classes, dated a little. Three years.
A light sheen of perspiration glistened on her forehead, and a small trail of moisture showed through her shirt. Her jacket hung from a nearby tree, forgotten. The exertion of her chore kept her warm enough; the only proof of the early autumn chill was her cheeks, flushed pink. Jade widened her stance and swung the axe in a wide arc above her head and down to
ward the next log, letting the momentum and weight of the blade split the log cleanly. They were getting married. Crap. She couldn’t successfully navigate a date, and they were getting married. Clearly, she lacked the skill set necessary to date. There was no point in trying. Ergo, done with men.
• • •
Matthew McLaughlin skillfully maneuvered his SUV around the curved dirt road toward Lakehaven Cabins. He gritted his teeth as the tires skimmed the edge of a hole, dropping the passenger side nearly ten inches lower than his side of the vehicle. He shook his head. The website had made Lakehaven look like a luxury mountain resort—granted, an isolated one—but he had expected pavement at the least.
This path could barely pass for a road. He guessed it had looked much the same four hundred years ago. The terrain was beautifully wild from a romantic’s point of view; visions of men on horseback—fur traders, trackers, guides—filled Matt’s head. He smiled at his fantasy. He had always been a daydreamer, and hours reading tall tales and legends about Lakehaven were heady fuel for his imagination. A harsh jolt surprised him out of his reverie. Matt had seen some pretty big potholes in Manhattan, but these were obscene.
It was only for a week, then back to civilization. Matt smiled to himself. Calling New York City “civilized” might be a stretch. The fact that you could get food delivery at three in the morning almost made up for the concrete jungle mentality. Oh well, one week without late night takeout was hardly roughing it. As if on cue, “Sabotage” by the Beastie Boys blasted out from his cell phone. It was Samantha calling.
Matt flipped open the phone with one hand. “What?”
“Niiiice greeting.” Sam’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Yeah, what?” Matt repeated.
“Can’t I just check up on you?”
“Without raising suspicion?”
Sam laughed. “Okay, I kind of told your mom I’d check up on you.”
“Sam, you’re my manager, not my babysitter.”
“For some writers it’s the same thing.”
“Not this one,” Matt said.
Sam sighed. “Yeah, I know. She’s your mom. She worries. Unfortunately, she’s also my godmother, so I get to relay the message.”
“She worries about me finding an appropriate wife, about me being seen in the right places, about me circulating in the correct social circles.”
“She just wants you to be happy,” Sam said.
Matt took a deep breath and blew it out. “I know, and I am. But it’s just not enough anymore. It feels like … something’s missing.”
“Please tell me this is not going to be one of those rich-successful-famous-writer-whines-about-his-fabulous-life speeches.”
Matt laughed at himself. He was doing precisely that. Thankfully, Sam never let him get away with any of that garbage “Okay, you’re right. Life is good. Maybe just some time away from that fake social crap will give me some perspective.”
“Okay, I get it. Peace and quiet.”
“Yeah,” Matt agreed softly.
“And this wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with some crazy treasure legend?”
Matt grinned. Sometimes Sam knew him too well. “No! Absolutely not. Just tell my mom I’m fine. I’m working.”
“Riiight. Okay, can do. As far as she’s concerned you’re doing great and researching the next book.”
“Thanks, Sam. You’re the best.”
“Don’t you forget it.” There was a long, comfortable silence on the phone, just Matt breathing and Sam breathing, a moment of easy companionship. Then Sam broke the silence. “Let me know if you need anything else?”
“Just time to think, for now.”
Matt could almost hear Sam smiling on the other end of the line. “Check in in a few days, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
Sam laughed. “No you won’t, but I’ll call you.” Matt chuckled as he shut his phone. Samantha Parker was younger by two years, but it was kind of like having an older sister checking up on him. He slightly resented it, and at the same time, loved the fussing. It was nice to be fussed over, sort of.
He took a deep breath of fresh air through the open windows of his SUV. You didn’t get to do that in the city. Matt smiled as he made his way down the dirt road that led to sanctuary. It was a beautiful sunny day, cool and crisp with the tang of fall in the air. The sun filtered through the trees lining the drive and dappled the windshield. It was quiet and peaceful and the perfect retreat to give him some space. The city had taken on a claustrophobic feel lately. Matt normally loved the buzz and hum of city life, but recently the success, the social whirl, the obligations had started to close in on him.
He felt like he was living a double life: one as himself, just plain Matt; and the other as his alter ego, the famous M. Riley McLaughlin. Despite career success, notoriety, and his pick of beautiful women, lately neither identity was enough. Or at least not enough of what he really needed. Whatever that was. He rolled his eyes at his own pathetic thoughts. At what point had being the M. Riley McLaughlin become such a burden?
As Matt navigated the minefield of rocks and potholes, he scanned the road and did his best to avoid any damage they might do to the truck chassis. The road opened out into a parking lot of sorts where he guided the SUV to a nearly silent stop. He noticed a young figure about a hundred yards to his right, wielding an axe with proficient strokes, and clearly at home in this environment. Must be the caretaker. He appreciated the scene: a palette of greens and browns with the lone figure, in jeans and a cream-colored shirt, chopping wood. The image was picturesque and somehow lyrical.
Matt grabbed his laptop case and duffel from the passenger seat before sliding out of the driver’s side. He stretched his legs, stiff from the long ride up, and looked around.
The lake stretched out in front of him, a deep olive color surrounded by the brighter shades of the various conifers. Trunks and branches of leafless oaks, elms, and maples made grey-brown hatch marks through the green of pine needles. The still waters of the lake reflected a heavily clouded sky, putting a silver sheen on the water. Matt knew from the website that there were eight cabins and a main house dotting the lake’s edge, but they were well hidden. It was extremely isolated and a perfect setting for the novel he was beginning to write. The lack of distraction would help his writing if he could stand the quiet. Living in the city, he was accustomed to a certain level of noise: traffic, yelling, sirens, music.
Somewhere in his consciousness, Matt registered that the rhythmic thud of chopping had stopped. The silence was strange, eerie. He turned toward the caretaker who was removing leather work gloves and slapping them against a slim thigh. Matthew narrowed his eyes as awareness bloomed in his gut: the graceful, small movement of her hands, the delicate curve of her spine, the fluid rolling of her shoulders as she worked the kinks out …
In the time it took for her to turn and face him, he knew. Shit. He had left the city to get away from distractions, and she was definitely a world-class distraction: slim torso, high breasts, muscled thighs that Matt could easily imagine … Okay, back to reality, Matt thought. He watched her tuck her gloves into the back pocket of her loosely fitting jeans and stop by the tree to pluck her coat from the branches. From this new angle, Matt could see her black ponytail twitching from side to side in rhythm with her gait. Her steps were quick and light as her small frame approached.
• • •
Oh great, Jade thought. She watched the tall, lean, and definitely male figure exit a sleek black SUV that had pulled into the Lakehaven parking lot. And just like that, all of the extra energy that she had worked off by chopping wood suddenly sparked back to life. Jade blew a quick breath out and narrowed her eyes. I’m sooo not interested. This guy has heartbreaker stamped all over him. Not to be trusted. Damn, but he looks good enough to … oh, whatever.
He was tall, just over six feet, and broad-shouldered with sandy hair tipped with gold. A hard-muscled chest, evident under his grey t-shirt and black
leather jacket, tapered down to narrow hips, then long, lean thighs that had her stomach doing little somersaults. It was all she could do not to lick her lips. Jade pleaded to the heavens. God, why me? Why now? She nibbled on her lower lip nervously. Not interested. She focused on her life mission, which was, at the moment, keeping Lakehaven running smoothly. Great service at a peaceful mountain resort. No drama. Just be friendly, that’s it, friendly and professional. She dragged her eyes from his gorgeous biceps.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you pull up or I would’ve stopped sooner. I’m Jade. You must be Mr. Connor. We’ve been expecting you.” She swiped at a fringe of black bangs and wiped a sweaty palm on her jeans before extending her hand toward his.
• • •
Matthew smiled at Jade’s use of the fake last name. Samantha always wanted him in the public eye, claimed it made the PR team’s job easier. She was firmly in the “all publicity is good publicity” camp. From a business standpoint, he could wholeheartedly agree. From a personal one, it sucked. That was the problem with celebrity. You always brought your work along with you. It followed you like a cloud. It was a running argument between them—Matt preferred his anonymity, and Sam preferred he be high profile. But on this occasion, Sam had reluctantly agreed that they wouldn’t be missing out on any great opportunities by going covert in a small, isolated place like Lakehaven.
Jade’s handshake was firm, energetic, and warm. Her skin was creamy and tinged with pink; her eyes were green. Matt felt like the wolf coming upon Red Riding Hood, instantly alert and up for the chase. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.