Holding it in her hand, Dusty felt a sense of contentment steal over her. She’d seen the broach before. She’d worn it on her ballgown on the tour. It was the same as the one in the painting, the one she’d found dropped on the stairs. Now it was back in the case and she hadn’t put it there.
Dusty frowned. She didn’t understand. But much of what had happened defied explanation. How could Danielle, the widow who’d waited for her lover, have been wearing the broach? Danielle, the woman in Hattie’s tale. Who had written the tale and passed it on to Hattie?
“Thank you, my dear,” Hattie’s voice said softly. “The ghost story was real. It came from my great-great-grandmother’s diary, my ancestor, Danielle. Telling the story was all part of the plan to bring the lovers together at last, to close the circle, to make the past and the present complete. And you did it—for me. I always knew you would, from the first time I saw you.”
Dusty understood finally why Hattie had never found her ending for the tale. She didn’t, couldn’t have been certain. She could only set the events into motion and wait for them to be resolved.
Wait for Danielle and Clay to find each other through Dusty and Nick. Wait for the past, the present, and the future to be made right.
“But what about you, Hattie?” Dusty said, clasping the broach in her hand. “What do you want?”
“You’ll figure it out, child. You know what to do.”
And Dusty did.
She placed the caftan on Nick’s bed. After a quick shower she dressed, made up her face, and arranged the final portion of her plan.
By the time she heard a car pulling into the drive, she was dressed and ready. Dinner was in the oven and the table was covered with a white lace cloth, crystal wineglasses, and china plates rimmed with black and gold. And in the center of the table was the black ghost box, tied to a bunch of silver balloons with orange and black ribbon.
The sound of footsteps on the back porch announced Nick’s arrival. She knew it was Nick, for the two of them were the only ones who came and went from the back of the house.
Dusty took a deep breath and switched off the overhead lights, leaving only the candles flickering in the shadows. She hoped that she hadn’t made a mistake.
The door opened and Nick came to a stop, sniffing the aroma of food and—honeysuckle? He turned his head until his eyes found the silhouette of the woman standing by the table.
Dusty had come home. He hadn’t been certain that she would. His heart began to thud as he walked toward her. “Hello, wildcat. I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.”
Nick gathered Dusty in his arms and held her, content to feel her against him. He tangled his hands in her hair, rubbing his chin against her cheek, breathing in the lush sweet scent of the woman with whom he intended to spend the rest of his life.
“I like your outfit. It’s very unusual.”
“We’re dressing up tonight, Merlin. You’ll find something special on your bed. After we eat, will you put it on?”
“I’m more into taking off than putting on, Dusty. Could we delay dinner for just a while?”
He stole her breath with his kiss and her mind with his touch. Dinner waited. Time stopped, and a fat harvest moon rose over the treetops as Nick and Dusty made hungry love. Later, when they’d circled the stars and returned to earth, Dusty told him what had happened.
“I’m free now, Nick. I can be with you without bringing you shame.” Dusty reached up and touched the scar on his face. It had faded so that it was almost nonexistent.
Nick glared down at her, his dark eyes snapping dangerously. “I could never be ashamed of you, Desirée O’Brian. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, inside and out. If you were a criminal on the lam, I’d still want you.”
“You would?”
“I would. I want you again, now. Do I have to tell you?”
“No,” she said in a low voice, thick with passion, “just show me. I’m a sucker for a magic man.”
It was very late when they donned their satin robes and ate dinner.
“Actually,” Nick said, as he drained his glass and looked across the table at the woman whose eyes were filled with love, “actually, I rather like the feel of this satin against my skin. Are you sure this is what Merlin wore?”
“Well, he probably had something underneath his, but otherwise you’re pretty authentic.”
“And you are my helper?”
“We’re a team, Merlin, from now on. Though to be a wizard’s helper, I would probably have been a man.”
“I’m glad you’re not. When do I find out why I’m dressed like this?”
“Now. The time has come for us to send Hattie and Siggy away.”
Dusty removed the broach she was wearing and held it out so that Nick could see it.
“Say, isn’t that the broach in the picture, the one you wore on the tour?”
“It is.”
“How—”
“Hattie arranged it. I don’t know how, but it belonged to her great-great-grandmother Danielle.”
Nick watched as Dusty placed the broach inside the ghost box and retied the ribbon holding the balloons.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Come with me.” Dusty took Nick’s hand, and they walked out the back door into the yard. “We’re going to send Hattie’s spirit into the heavens.”
“But the top to the box, you left it inside.”
“Of course. That’s so the empty space inside the box can be filled with stardust. Take hold of my hand, Nick. I’d like to release it together.”
Nick placed his hand over hers and together they let go, watching as the balloons sailed up into the night sky, over the treetops, toward the stars. A quick little breeze caught the ribbons, swaying the magic conveyance for a moment, then whisking it across the face of the moon.
Nick’s arm went around Dusty, and she laid her head back against his shoulder.
After a long peaceful silence the speck of black disappeared into the night sky.
“Let’s go inside, Nick,” Dusty said. “We have to talk about what I’m going to now.”
“You’re going to become a police officer again,” he said, “and you’re going to spend the rest of your life loving me.”
“I think what I want to do is work with children,” she said. “Sick children, abandoned children, children in pain who need someone like Hattie in their lives.”
“Do you have something in mind?”
“Maybe we could use Hattie’s house for a safe haven. Those babies you operate on, their families, those who don’t have anyone to care. We could take them in until they’re well. Would you mind terribly, sharing Hattie’s house?”
“Not with you. The solution is perfect,” he said, and started toward the back door.
“No,” she said, “not the back door, not anymore, Merlin. From now on, we’re going in the front. Both of us. What do you say?”
Standing there, holding hands, in the shadow of the big magnolia tree that towered over the house and filled half the postage-stamp front yard, Nick knew that what Dusty was proclaiming was a lot more than just a way into the house. They were announcing to the world that they’d found their place together.
After a long moment he nodded, opened the front door, and they stepped inside. Nick switched off the porch light behind them. Only the waning glow of the candles illuminated the room.
“The smell of honeysuckle is gone,” he said. “Does that mean that we’ll never hear from Hattie again?”
“I don’t know,” Dusty replied, staring at an object in the center of the foyer. “But I think she’s left us a present. Look.”
It was a very old cradle made of oak, its headboard tied with orange and black ribbons. As they watched, there in the candlelight, it began to rock.
Across the trees, the plantation caretaker glanced up at the moon and caught sight of the balloons sailing past. “Who’d believe it?” he whispered as he felt a shiver ripple down
his spine. “It’s some kind of ghost ship, and it’s headed toward the stars.”
WHAT ARE LOVESWEPT ROMANCES?
They are stories of true romance and touching emotion. We believe those two very important ingredients are constants in our highly sensual and very believable stories in the LOVESWEPT line. Our goal is to give you, the reader, stories of consistently high quality that may sometimes make you laugh, sometimes make you cry, but are always fresh and creative and contain many delightful surprises within their pages.
Most romance fans read an enormous number of books. Those they truly love, they keep. Others may be traded with friends and soon forgotten. We hope that each LOVESWEPT romance will be a treasure—a “keeper.” We will always try to publish
LOVE STORIES YOU’LL NEVER FORGET BY AUTHORS YOU’LL ALWAYS REMEMBER
The Editors
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
I have a little secret: when I’m shopping for gifts, I can never resist buying myself a little treat as well—usually in the form of a sexy and romantic read. If you’re like me, then you’re in luck because we have some exceptional books on sale this month. Like Juliet Rosetti’s CRAZY FOR YOU, the next book in her fun and sexy series featuring Mazie Maguire, everyone’s favorite escaped (but exonerated!) felon, and her hilarious capers. For historical romance fans, there’s Samantha Kane’s DEVIL IN MY ARMS, the last installment in her Saint’s Devils series which is heaping with steamy intrigue and mystery. Then there’s Lauren Layne’s LOVE THE ONE YOU’RE WITH, the next book in the clever and sassy Sex, Love & Stiletto series—which reminds me so much of Sex & the City, with the story of two high-powered magazine writers who find love amid a war of words. And don’t miss Toni Aleo’s BLUE LINES; if you’re not already a Toni Aleo fan, you will be after this book. Sports romance are so hot right now—and Toni’s sexy hockey book will have you craving for more sports in your life.
So treat yourself; you won’t regret it!
And, you can’t miss these classics:
Two sizzling books from Ruth Owen: TAMING THE PIRATE, where a woman in danger must hide the truth about her past from the sexy PI who’s bent on protecting—and loving—her, and, LAST AMERICAN HERO, where a seductive cowboy loner learns a lesson in love; GREAT AMERICAN BACHELOR, Adrienne Staff and Sally Goldenbaum’s story of a small-town girl who shows a high-powered bachelor that some things in life are more important than the perfect deal; Iris Johansen’s mesmerizing WINTER BRIDE, about a woman who risks her life to win the love she’s always dreamed of; IMAGINARY LOVER, a haunting love story and HANNAH’S LOVER, a scorching hot fantasy—both from Sandra Chastain; and as a special treat, we’re also releasing Connie Brockway’s McClairen’s Isle trilogy featuring the restless, daring and proud Merrick siblings as they find a love as wild and glorious as the Highland isle they claimed as their own: THE PASSIONATE ONE, THE RECKLESS ONE and THE RAVISHING ONE.
Be swept away with Loveswept!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from Maggie McGinnis’s
Accidental Cowgirl
Chapter 1
“Roadkill? Again?” Kyla braked to steer around the third animal in as many miles, but this time, the ancient rental car jolted the other way, yanking her hands right off the wheel as it beelined for the carcass.
“Eww! No! Bad car!” She stomped on the brake pedal with both feet, but instead of slowing down, the car jerked back to the right with an ominous clunking sound that grew louder as she death-gripped the wheel. For a long half-mile she thought she might be the next body to litter this deserted Montana highway, but finally she managed to muscle the car to a stop in the breakdown lane. A loud hiss preceded another thump, and as the car leaned suddenly to the right, steam billowed from the hood. She looked in the rearview mirror, fully expecting to see pieces of metal strewn in a path behind her, but the highway was empty.
She whacked the wheel. “Seriously, car? You couldn’t think of a more original way to die?”
Kyla looked out the open driver’s-side window, where the shimmering August sun was heading toward the horizon. Perfect. It was about to be dark, she was still probably an hour south of the rent-a-ranch, and now her lemon of a rental car had imploded.
Never take the last car on the lot, she could almost hear Gramps chiding her. There’s a reason it’s still sitting there. She sighed, wishing he had added, And also, never agree to marry a man who’s planning to steal millions of dollars, send it to the Caymans, and set you up to take the fall.
For a moment, she pictured the seedy hotel she’d spotted as the plane landed at the tiny airport. Even with hourly rates and a neon sign missing half its letters, it was looking better right now than this barren landscape. Too bad it was now two hours behind her and she had no way of knowing what was between here and the dude ranch her two best friends had booked for the next two weeks.
She dug her phone and AAA card out of her carry-on, but the phone’s empty bars just taunted her. Uh-oh. No signal. Prickles spiked the crown of her head, creeping downward toward her ears as she looked at the empty landscape. She tried to force her shoulders to relax as she exhaled again.
It was okay. She could handle this. It was just a little case of Dead Car. On a deserted highway. In freakin’ God’s Country, Montana, which was only about twenty-five hundred miles from her tiny Boston apartment. No problem.
She pushed the door open and stepped out gingerly to check the car, hoping maybe there was a way to milk it to the next town if she drove really, really slowly. The steam was clearing, but as she came around the rear, she saw that the back tire was so deflated the rim was practically touching the gravel shoulder of the road. She looked down at her silk blouse, pencil skirt, and heeled sandals. She was still dressed for court, not for doing a tire change on a dusty highway.
She took a deep breath and pulled on the trunk latch, trying to keep the panic at bay. So she was alone. So it was getting dark. She wasn’t helpless. She knew how to change a tire. She didn’t need any big, strapping AAA mechanic, right?
She opened the trunk and sighed as she viewed the contents. Her friend Hayley had promised big skies, fun, and cowboys. Kyla looked back at the setting sun, then up at the pink clouds. Big skies? Check. Too bad they were getting darker by the minute. Fun? Not yet. Cowboys? One with a lug wrench would be really handy right about now.
Once she had Gramps’s old army duffels lined up on the grass, she reached into the trunk and pulled on the loop that should have revealed the spare. Instead, all she found in the wheel well was a pile of fluff that looked suspiciously like a mouse nest. She shuddered and closed the hatch before a set of twitchy whiskers could appear.
Kyla walked around to the right side of the car to take another look at the tire, wondering how far she could get on just the rim. No way was she going to sit out here on this highway all night long with no way to get hold of anyone. How long would Hayley and Jess wait before they got worried and came looking for her?
She grimaced. When she’d called from the airport, they’d been headed out on a twilight trail ride. They wouldn’t get back to the ranch and find her missing until after dark.
Kyla muscled the duffels back into the trunk and slammed it shut, taking in one of the deep breaths her PTSD therapist was always advising. At least this time, she wasn’t trapped inside her car at the bottom of a ravine. At least this time, she could still walk. At least this time, her fiancé—ex-fiancé, that is—was in jail, rather than emptying her bank accounts while she lay unconscious in the hospital. So really, she was ahead of the game, right?
She glanced toward the sunset, trying to estimate how much daylight she had left. Unfortunately, she was used to gauging time by where the sun was in relation to the Prudential building, not an actual horizon. It looked like there was nothing but rolling prairie between her and the mountains in the distance.
She kicked off her heels and hoisted herself up on the t
runk to see if she could get a better view from up higher. “Damn, damn, double damn,” she muttered as she looked around. The view was stunning, and if circumstances were different, she’d be awed by the darkening grass rippling toward the jagged Rockies.
As it was, she tried not to think about just how many animals emerged out here at dusk, hoping for a human-sized snack. She clambered up the back windshield to the roof, hoping against hope that she’d see something useful from that vantage point, but no. Still just grass.
Kyla looked up at the purpling sky and decided to try out her very rusty praying skills. “If I promise to be really, really good this entire vacation, could you please just send someone to help me, like maybe one of those cowboys in the brochure?” Right. Like those existed outside of a Madison Avenue studio shoot.
As she circled slowly on the roof, a low hum made her jump. She peered back toward where she’d come as the hum slowly grew louder. She thought she could see a dust cloud coming her way. Oh, happy day. She was saved.
As a rusty blue truck crested the rise behind her, she waved crazily from the roof of the car. There really was no way the driver could miss her, but she wasn’t taking any chances. The sun was hitting the windshield just right, and she couldn’t tell who was behind the wheel, but she caught her breath when she saw a blue light flashing as the truck pulled up behind her car.
Kyla’s chest constricted as she froze, watching the blue light spin. Visions of Wes’s arrest catapulted through her brain in painful slow motion, followed by flashes of the days she’d spent in an airless interrogation room. It had been like a made-for-TV movie with the acrid-smelling coffee, the blazing lights, and even the good cop–bad cop routine.
Imaginary Lover Page 16