“Chaos!” Abby assured her. “Simon’s sold half the restaurant out from under me, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to fend off the buy-out. Pop’s sick and in the hospital. And Jack’s flown back to Colorado.”
“And you didn’t go with him?” It was her mother, startling them both.
Abby shook her head with a baleful grin. “Sometimes I’m not as smart as I think, Mom. And too stubborn to ask—”
“Or listen!” Jeanette chimed in, then threw an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “ ‘Or maybe just too busy taking care of all of us. So now tell us how we can help. We can. And we want to.”
“Thanks, you all,” she whispered.
And then, like a small whirlwind, she flew around the café, putting them all to work. She showed her father the reservation book and how to seat customers, at which tables and in which order. She told him what time to show up, and to wear his one dark suit. Then she stationed her mother at the phone with the week’s orders and a message pad. “And if my lawyer calls, tell him I’ll get back to him as soon as possible. After all, Mom, it is just a business, not my whole life.” And then she sent Jeanette off to the farmers’ market. “Fresh! I want everything fresh—just like you!” And she called Lena and Archie and asked them if they would do the cooking for the rest of the week and deal with the other help. “And pick the specials and give ’em your own touch! Thanks, y’all.”
And then she left it in those capable, loving hands and raced home.
Threw a few things in a suitcase.
Called the airlines.
There was just one flight left that day to Denver, and she grabbed the last seat on it, congratulating herself all the way to the airport.
It was a center seat, and she sat squashed between a businessman and a mother with a baby, thinking about Jack and filled with this unnameable, uncontainable excitement.
Of course, nothing went according to plan. Nothing ever does.
The plane taxied out toward the runway, then taxied back with a “small mechanical failure.” The cabin grew hot and noisy. The businessman grumbled; the baby screamed. Abby broke out in a cold sweat. Jack would have landed already. Would he go to the lodge? To the hospital? What hospital? Was Pop all right? Oh, please, let him be all right, and let Jack be there in time! And please, if You could spare a minute, could we take off soon?
They finally did take off, but an hour late, and she missed her connecting flight, and spent the night in a hard plastic seat in the Dallas—Fort Worth Airport.
The first flight in the morning was booked solid, but she was on the next, before noon, headed for Denver, her hair standing on end, her eyes blood-shot, her jeans and shirt pasted to her aching body.
In Denver she rented a car and sped up the highway, comforted by the mountains looming on the left, as close and real as Jack soon would be. Jack. “Oh, Jack, I’m coming,” she whispered, looking out at those mountains. “I’m coming. Wait for me. Want me. Love me.”
She drove once through Estes Park, scanning the unfamiliar streets, searching for the hospital. She felt her nerves fraying, her heart racing. She pulled into a coffee shop and got directions and a cup of black coffee.
The hospital was just blocks away, and she parked, then raced inside to the nurses’ station. “Mr. Stout, please. It’s important. Oh, please, let me see him for just a second. I’m a friend, and I’ve come all the way from Florida—”
“Take it easy, ma’am. It’s all right. Mr. Stout’s in two seventeen, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to have some more company.”
Swaying unsteadily, Abby grabbed hold of the counter top. “You mean he’s okay? He’s here, and I can see him? Really?”
“Yes, of course.” The nurse slipped her arm around Abby’s shoulder. “Now, you see, you shouldn’t expect the worst.”
“Old habit I’m trying to break,” Abby said, giving a weak little smile. “Two-seventeen, you said?”
“Left off the elevator. Have a nice visit, dear.”
“Thanks. Thanks so much.” And then she was upstairs, at the door—a quick knock, and inside.
“Mr. Stout? Pop? Can I come in?”
“Well, I’ll be!” The old man strained to lift his head, then waved her in with a hand frail as tissue paper. “Abby Clarke. Now, that’s a nice surprise.”
“Oh, Pop,” she whispered with a catch in her throat, “I’m sorry it took me so long. Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine, little gal. Poked a rib into a lung and scared a lot of folks, me included, but I’m gonna be fine. Stop your worryin’; I’ve still got things to do and places to see.” He cocked his head and gave her a quick once-over. “Now, I don’t know what to make of this, but my visitors are looking a lot worse than I am. Know what I mean?”
“Maybe,” she answered, dropping her eyes.
“Well, just maybe Jack was here yesterday and this morning, and he looked like hell. Finally had to send him away—he was making me so nervous! And now you, you’re making me nervous too! So now that you know I’m a crotchety old man who’s gonna last awhile yet, I’m gonna chase you on out of here also.”
“Where should I go?” Abby asked, meeting his eyes.
The old man grinned. “Well, that’s up to you, now, isn’t it? But if you’re interested, I sent Jack out to find a river. Seemed like the only safe place for him.”
“A river? Oh no, not again.” Then she straightened her shoulders. “Which river, Pop?”
“You’ll have to ask Bear.”
“Oh,” She sighed, remembering their one and only meeting. “Bear, huh?”
“ ’Fraid so. Guess nothing’s easy, is it, little gal?” He patted her hand.
She gave his a good squeeze back. “Guess not,” she said. “But I’m tough. Been tough all my life, when I only thought I knew what I wanted. Now that I’m sure, nothing can stop me!”
“Go get ’em!” the old man said, and laughed. When she vanished out the door, he smiled to himself. “What a pair!”
She drove into town, cruising the main street, reading the signs above the doors until she found what she was looking for: G & D White Water Rafting.
She parked out front and walked in. The room was filled with river rats and tourists, and Abby edged past them all to the wooden counter. She recognized Bear Dempsey before he recognized her. But when he did, he just stared coolly at her.
“Hello, Bear,” she said, laying both hands flat on the counter. “I’m looking for Jack.”
“He’s not here.”
“I know. He’s out on a river somewhere. Which one?”
“Not sure.” Eyes dark and flat, he turned to wait on the next customer.
She grabbed the front of his shirt, surprising herself as much as him. “Yes, you are, and you’re going to tell me or I’m going to stand here and make such a fuss, I’ll empty this room faster than you can say spit!”
“Nervy for a little bit of a thing, aren’t you?” he said, staring down at the small hand hanging onto his shirt.
“Desperate.”
“That so?” he rumbled, weighing the situation. “Well, someone else I know went off looking desperate. But Jack’s my friend. How do I know this is what he wants?”
Suddenly her voice shook. “Bear, I honestly don’t know if it’s what he wants anymore. But I want it. I’ve got to try, and you’ve got to help me. Please.”
He looked at her, studying her the way he might a river or the sky, looking for signs, for clues. Then he nodded. “Okay. Get in the Jeep.”
They drove southwest, up into the mountains.
“Where are we headed?” Abby asked, hanging onto the side of the Jeep, trying to match her bouncing to the bumps as the earth flew by.
“Boulder Creek. Still some decent water this time of year.”
She swallowed hard. “I’ll bet.”
When they got there, a group of rafters was gathered in the bright sun near the water’s edge, downing a few beers before the next run. Jack wasn’t there.
“Anyone seen Gallagher?” Bear yelled.
“Took off a few minutes ago. And in one helluva lousy mood. We were glad to get rid of him!”
Bear laughed, or at least his chest rumbled and his huge shoulders shook. “Well, here’s the thorn in his side.” He nodded at Abby, windblown and pink-cheeked, perched in the seat next to him. “Anyone want to give her a ride downriver?”
“What!” Abby gasped, clenching the door handle. “What? Follow him on the river?”
“If you want to see him anytime soon. Choice is yours.”
Abby closed her eyes. Said a quick prayer. Jumped out of the Jeep. “Okay, whose boat do I ride in?”
They were still laughing as the raft pushed off from shore. She heard them although she couldn’t see them—not them or anything else, with her eyes squeezed shut and her arms wrapped over her head.
“Hey, this is going to be an easy ride. Enjoy it,” the oarsman coaxed, but Abby wasn’t buying it. She huddled in the bottom of the raft, yelping as it bounced and sped over the water.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Look up ahead. There he is.”
She peeked out, and sure enough, there was Jack, dark head, massive shoulders, broad back. Oh, yes. Jack! “Jack!” she shouted, forgetting everything but him. There he was, right there, almost close enough to grab. “Jack!”
He looked over his shoulder and just about lost his grip on his oars. “What the hell …?” His words were lost in the roar of the river, but she could read his lips, plain as day.
Shaking as she was with fear and hope and desire, she still had to laugh. “Hey, Gallagher! Pull over!” she shouted. “I’ve got to talk to you!”
He strained at the oars, causing the muscles across his shoulders and back to ripple, reminding her of the very first time she’d seen him, a few months before, a lifetime ago.
And his raft slowed as hers sped to meet him.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted across the water at her.
“I love you,” she shouted back.
Her guide shook his head, looking from Abby, crouched in the bottom of his raft, to Jack, dark and fearsome in the other. “Hey, wait a minute, folks! I don’t want to get in the middle of this. Gallagher, let me pull a little closer, and she can climb on over to you.”
Jack eyed them, and the white water in between, then shook his head. “No way!” he shouted. “She’s scared. She’ll never do it.”
“Want to bet, Gallagher?” Abby snapped. Holding onto the edge of the raft, she crept around to the side nearest Jack. Then she stood up. “Ready for me, Gallagher?” she yelled, and then she held her breath and jumped.
She landed in a tumble against Jack’s knees, and grabbed hold of him and held on tightly. “See, Gallagher, I can do anything. I can ride the river, visit Pop and tell him I was sorry I didn’t come right away, and talk Bear into bringing me up here. I can do anything,” she whispered. “I can even change. All it took was the thought that I’d never see you again, that you wouldn’t love me the way you do. And that I’d never, ever love anyone else.”
Jack hadn’t moved, not one muscle; but there was a change in the dark depths of his eyes. Abby looked up and saw herself reflected there.
She drew a shaky little breath and smiled up at him, her pale, heart-shaped face shining. “Oh, Jack, for me other things will always matter; my folks, my sister, even the Paradise—or whatever comes next—but, Jack, you are the center of my life. My heart. You are what I could not live without.”
He flashed a wild, exultant grin, then aimed the raft at a sandy spot along the bank, dropped the oars, and grabbed her, holding her as if he’d never let go. “Now, that was worth the wait, darlin!” Then he whispered into her hair, “So you saw Pop? Did he tell you all our plans?”
“What plans?” she echoed, rubbing her cheek against his. “What are you two up to now?”
“Pop decided he’d like to retire. Thinks he’d like to try Florida, so we sold the lodge to that couple from Kansas City for a good price.” That old Tom Sawyer grin started at his beautiful mouth and climbed to his dark, shining eyes. “You’re going to take half and buy out your new partners, and the Paradise’ll be all yours, the way it should be. And me, I’m going to open a fishing camp on the St. Johns—or the Withlacoochee—or the Wekiwa—one of those lazy little rivers of yours.”
“Oh, Jack, I love you! I love you, love you, love you—and I’ll never stop.”
“Damn right!”
“Oh, you crazy, wonderful man!”
“Wait—you haven’t heard all the conditions. One: I expect a dowry.”
“A dowry?” she repeated.
“Yup. I heard you have a fine collection of hand-tied flies.”
“They’re yours!”
“Oh, you’re easy, woman.” He kissed the tip of her freckled nose. “Okay. Two: Bear will run the rafting outfit, but I’ve got to come back at least once a year to ride the rivers. Can you handle that?”
“Handle it? I may even ride them with you, Gallagher, now that I know how to pick the right river rat.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him sweet and hard on the mouth. “The question is, can I handle you?”
“Well, you’ve got a whole lifetime to find out, darlin’.”
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
We have an irresistible e-original for you coming next month: Juliet Rosetti’s sexy and wickedly fun THE ESCAPE DIARIES. In this hilarious debut, we’re introduced to appealing heroine Mazie Maguire as we follow her on an outrageous adventure on the run. Don’t miss this e-original – I guarantee you’ll fall in love with Mazie and her funny antics.
We’re also offering four more spellbinding and thrilling books from Donna Kauffman: BOUNTY HUNTER, TANGO IN PARADISE, ILLEGAL MOTION, and BLACK SATIN, as well as THE MAGIC, an enchanting medieval historical from Juliana Garnett.
If you love romance … then you’re ready to be Loveswept!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: We start 2013 with a fabulous new e-original from Wendy Vella, THE RELUCTANT COUNTESS, Donna Kauffman’s captivating WILD RAIN, Karen Leabo’s moving MILLICENT’S MEDICINE MAN, and three fantastic titles from Linda Cajio: SILK ON THE SKIN, HARD HABIT TO BREAK, and THE RELUCTANT PRINCE. In February, we have another alluring e-original for you, Sharon Cullen’s THE NOTORIOUS LADY JANE, Patricia Olney’s touching and funny JADE’S GAMBLE, Linda Cajio’s sexy STRICTLY BUSINESS, Sally Goldenbaum’s wonderful A DREAM TO CLING TO, and two enticing books from Sandra Chastain, LOVE AND A BLUE-EYED COWBOY and MIDNIGHT FANTASY. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I promise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come….
Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …
Read on for an excerpt from Ruthie Knox’s
About Last Night
Chapter One
The Pigeon Man was usually here by now. Tuning out her companion’s self-serving story for a moment, Cath double-checked the LED display suspended over the station platform. Ten minutes until the train. In this woman’s company, it would feel like a lifetime.
Resigned to her fate, Cath crossed her legs and relaxed back against the bench. At least she could enjoy the unseasonably cool morning—the first break all week from the miserable July weather that had been tormenting London.
“… and they told me it was the most brilliant way to add a tactile element to protest action they’d ever heard of. I happened to mention you wanted to put the piece in your exhibit, but they didn’t know who you are,” Amanda said, her prep-school English accent turning the statement into an accusation.
Cath perked up. “I’m with the V and A. They know the V and A, right?” She was a small cog, but she worked for a big machine. Surely even Amanda’s hard-core activist cronies had heard of the Victoria and Albert Museum’s world-renowned collection, even if they hadn�
��t heard of the upcoming exhibit on the history of hand knitting that Cath had been hired to assist with.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Amanda said dismissively, and Cath spotted the sun gleaming off the bald pate of the Pigeon Man as he made his way up the steps. He took his place in front of the map kiosk and fixed his eyes on the ground. Calm today, then. When he didn’t talk, the Pigeon Man could pass for normal. It was when he launched into agitated conversation with a stranger that he began thrusting his head forward in a bird-like manner and his beady eyes and beaky nose took on greater prominence.
He pulled a candy bar out of his pocket, and she remembered it was Friday. He was often late on Fridays, no doubt because he stopped at the newsstand to buy himself some end-of-the-week chocolate.
The thought caught her up short. Shit, did she really know the habits of the train station regulars that well? She did a quick survey of the sparsely populated platform. Emo Boy was wearing his favorite pair of skinny jeans this morning, and Princess had gotten her roots touched up.
Sadly, yes, she did.
“The next person who comes up the steps will be an older lady carrying a purse the size of a bus and a bakery bag with a croissant in it,” Cath said.
“What?”
“It’s a prediction.”
“You’re clairvoyant now?” Amanda asked, her pert nose in the air.
“Sure.” Cath was beginning to see how her pathetic store of knowledge might come in handy. “I know who’s coming up the stairs next, and I know you’re going to do the right thing and give me that straitjacket for the exhibit.”
Thinking of the exhibit reminded her that she and her boss, Judith, would be pawing through sweaters from storage this morning. Cath rummaged through her bag for her antihistamines, freed two from their hermetic blisters, and swallowed them with a sip of water. Curatorial work could be sneezy. She’d learned to arrive prepared.
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