by Anthology
“We can still make a run for it,” Simon said out of the side of his mouth.
Deacon smiled and his heart rate came down from thunder to a mere rumble. “Not a chance.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Don’t make me take away your best man status. I can still give it to Jazz.”
Simon adjusted his buff colored jacket that matched Deacon’s. Instead of a t-shirt in the same hue like Deacon wore, Simon’s shirt was the blue Harper had chosen for her attendants. “She’s already the maid of honor.”
“She’s like the all-powerful Oz. She can do it all.”
Simon snorted. “Just because she single-handedly set this entire spread up doesn’t mean a thing.”
Deacon looked out at the folding chairs with their little mason jar flower arrangements tied to the aisle seats. Flower arrangements that he’d helped with. He was damn good at tying a fucking bow.
He dug into his pocket again.
“What do you keep digging for? I’ve got the ring.” Simon flipped open the ring box in his pocket. “See? All safe and sound.”
Deacon looked down at the special wedding ring they’d both had created for each other. Their individual fingerprints were carved into the inside of a simple platinum band. His on Harper’s and vice versa.
Deacon closed it and Simon’s hand together. “Good. Because I don’t want to be arrested for murder on my wedding day.”
Simon slapped him on the arm. “Relax. You’ve been a freaking mess since you guys shared the good news. All will be well, brother.”
They’d rushed the entire deal. If Harper had her way, they would have taken longer to plan the shindig, but all he wanted was to be married to her.
He wasn’t sure what it was about that slip of paper and ring that was so important. She loved him, and she wasn’t going anywhere. But he wanted a tie to him. He’d never had ties or roots, or even a place to truly call home. But Harper was all of those things to him and he wouldn’t ever let her go.
So much so that he actually hadn’t asked her to marry him. Thank God she actually went along with the whirlwind engagement. Of course he really hadn’t given her a choice. He’d just bulldozed his way over any doubts she had.
But now that there was a preacher, and a glowering Hawaiian man standing in the front row, as well as all of the people that were important to him and Harper. Now he didn’t want any doubts on his end.
The pluck of guitar strings pulled him out of his obsessive musings. Gray had volunteered to play the song Deacon had been writing for years. The moment he’d been sure that Harper was lost to him, he’d known just what the song needed. It needed the loss to find the hope. The song had come full circle, just as he had—just as they had. Because of Harper he finally had a purpose in the world that didn’t belong to music.
A partnership that centered him and refueled him.
She would always feed his music. This overwhelming love that this woman had brought out in him was as terrifying as it was exhilarating and he would be forever grateful for that. And make sure that he showed her every single day.
The flap of the white tent at the far end of the aisle snapped him to attention. First he saw Jazz. Her dark hair was clipped up with a single blue strip of hair in the mass of curls. She had a dazzling smile that put every man and woman at ease. You wanted to be part of her world just so you got to see that smile every day.
She wore a simple blue dress that fluttered around her knees in the breeze off the water. She held fat red Gerbera daisies, matching the ones that were tied to each of the chairs on the aisle. She was beautiful, but she wasn’t Harper.
And she was walking down the aisle slower than was humanly possible.
His bubbly Jazz should be sprinting down the aisle. She only had two speeds, dammit. Why did she have to pick now to go slow?
But finally she was there, grinning up at him as she took her place across from him. The song that had become Harper’s flowed into the hopeful finish of the melody. He knew every note by heart, but he went completely deaf, his mind completely blank as Harper stepped out of the little tent she’d been hiding in.
God, she was breath stealing.
She’d twisted her beautiful hair into an intricate braid at the crown leaving the rest of it to dance around her bare shoulders. She held a happy trio of sunflowers with the red daisies wound into the green. Gold threads in her simple white lace dress picked up light from the sun turning her into a shimmering piece of precious gold.
Her father took her arm and walked her down the aisle, but Deacon only had eyes for Harper. He couldn’t have looked away if someone had held a gun to his head. And when she finally got to the little arbor they’d set up and smiled up at him with tears shining in her eyes every doubt flew out to sea.
The blinding love he felt matched the light he saw in her eyes. And when her father answered the preacher to say that he was giving this woman to him, he knew absolute peace.
He dug out the box in his pocket and went down on one knee. “Harper Lee Pruitt, will you marry me?”
She laughed and brought her hand up to her mouth. The sprinkle of tears that dotted her cheeks and little sob that broke free nearly broke him. “I didn’t think you were ever going to actually ask, big guy,” she said with a sniffle. She held out a trembling hand.
He held onto it and slid the antique solitaire over knuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of her hand before he stood and hauled her into him for a kiss that held a few tears and a whole lot of love.
“It’s not time for that yet,” Simon said.
“It’s always time for that,” Jazz said with a dreamy sigh.
Clearing his throat, he linked their fingers and turned to the preacher. “I think we’re ready.”
“More than ready,” Harper said and tightened her grip on his hand.
Lost In Oblivion
the Series
SEDUCED (intro)
ROCKED (book #1)
ROCK, RATTLE & ROLL (book #1.5)
TWISTED
* * ♦ * *
Coming soon
UNTWISTED
DESTROYED
SHATTERED
If you’d like more information about the series & extras please visit www.lostinoblivion.com.
About the Authors
TARYN ELLIOTT comes from the great state of New York—upstate, thank you very much. She’s usually busy making up stories with her best friend until the wee hours of the morning, or fangirling over her favorite TV show. She falls in love with each and every one of her leading men as she writes their book, and there’s always a soundtrack to match.
She loves talking to readers, so if you’d like to reach her, please visit her website: tarynelliott.com and sign up for her newsletter, or drop her a line at: [email protected].
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR CARI QUINN saves the world one Photoshop file at a time in her job as a graphic designer. At night, she writes sexy romance, drinks a lot of coffee and plays her music way too loud. When she’s not scribbling furiously, she’s watching men’s college basketball, reading excellent books and causing trouble. Sometimes simultaneously.
Visit Cari at www.cariquinn.com to sign up for her brand new newsletter, or drop her a line at: [email protected].
If you enjoy a little colorful fun please join our Facebook reader group, The Word Wenches
Lovers at Heart
The Bradens, Book One
Love in Bloom Series
by
Melissa Foster
Website ~ Facebook ~ Newsletter
DEDICATION:
For Russell Blake, a talented writer, a treasured friend,
and a fierce and worthy competitor.
You’re a hell of a guy, skater shoes and all.
A Note To Readers
Lovers at Heart is the fourth book in the Love in Bloom series, and the first book of The Bradens. While it may be read as a stand-alone novel, for even more enjoyment you may want to rea
d the rest of the Love in Bloom novels. If you have read the first three Snow Sisters books, then you have already met Treat Braden and Max Armstrong. If you haven’t, then buckle up for an emotional ride. These two characters have a special place in my heart, and I hope you fall in love with them as much as I have.
Melissa Foster
Chapter One
TREAT BRADEN didn’t usually charter planes. It wasn’t his style to flash his wealth, but tonight he needed to be anywhere but his Nassau, Bahamas, resort—and missing his commercial flight had just plain pissed him off. He owned upscale resorts all over the world, and he’d been featured on travel shows so many times that it turned his stomach to have to play those ridiculous media games. Most of the pomp and circumstance surrounding him had begun to irk him in ways that it never had before meeting Max Armstrong. It had been six months since he’d seen her standing in the lobby of his Nassau resort. Six months since his heart first thundered in a way that scared the shit out of him.
He’d tried to ignore her, but it seemed that everywhere Treat went, she was destined to appear. Treat wasn’t a Neanderthal. He knew he had no claim on her. Hell, he hadn’t even given her any indication that he was attracted to her. But that hadn’t stopped his blood from boiling when he’d seen her with Justin Barr, one of his employees, and it hadn’t stopped him from acting like a prick when he’d seen her the next morning standing in front of the elevators at his resort, wearing the same clothes she’d had on the night before.
Meeting Max had sent his heart and mind into a wind tunnel of regret. He was thirty-seven, and it was high time that he settled into life and cast away the fears he’d carried around his whole life due to his mother’s untimely death and his father’s grief. I’ll fall in love and she’ll be stolen away. I’ll be as heartbroken as Dad.
If he’d had to look at the lobby of the Nassau resort for one more second, he might have torn the place down. As the plane landed, Treat knew that getting away from resorts altogether and spending a weekend with his father at his ranch was just what he needed. Being with his family would center him, and Hal Braden had always been a calming influence on Treat. After his mother passed away, it was his father who pulled him and his five siblings through those tumultuous years. His father had constantly pounded a strong work ethic and sense of loyalty into his and his four brothers’ heads, and that had enabled them all to be successful in their careers. His younger sister, Savannah, however, was the most ruthless businessperson of them all. The thought of his gorgeous, albeit cutthroat, sister brought a smile to his lips. He’d have to remember to call her while he was in town.
WESTON, COLORADO was a small ranch town with dusty streets, too many cowboy hats, and a main drag that had been built to replicate the Wild West. It was everything Treat remembered as he sat in his rental Lexus SUV on Main Street. The traffic he was stuck in was not at all typical, and it wasn’t until he crawled around the next curve and saw the balloons and banners above the road announcing the twenty-second annual Indie Film Festival that he realized what weekend it was. Damn. He had forgotten about the festival.
His cell phone rang, and he picked it up while he waited for the line of cars to turn off the main road toward the festival grounds.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me before you came out.”
Savannah. “Hi, honey. I miss you, too.”
“You big oaf.” She laughed. Savannah was a ballbusting entertainment attorney, but to Treat, she’d always be his baby sister. “I’m at the festival with a client. When will you get in?”
“I’m here now. I’m on Main.” He hadn’t moved an inch in five minutes.
“Yeah? Come to the festival and see me. I’ll call Dad and let him know. I’ll wait for you at the rear entrance.”
Even though his sister had issued an order rather than posed a request, Treat smiled. All he really wanted to do was to reach his father’s five-hundred-acre ranch just outside of town, but Treat knew that if he didn’t see Savannah right away, she’d be disappointed; and disappointing his siblings was something he strived not to do. His father’s words rang through his mind. Family knows no boundaries.
“You sure you can get away?” he asked, knowing there was nothing that would stop Savannah from making time for him.
“Who are you kidding? For you? Hell yes. Come in the back gate. I’ll wait there.”
“I’ll be there as soon as traffic allows. Hey, don’t forget to call Dad.” The thought of his father waiting for him worried Treat. After he ended the call with Savannah and waited through two more unbearably long traffic lights, he picked up his cell and called his father, just in case. He didn’t like to cause his father undue worry.
“Hey there, son.”
Hal’s slow, deep drawl tugged at Treat’s heart. God, he’d missed his father. “Dad, I’m here, but I’m gonna stop at the festival first, if you don’t mind.”
“Yup. Savannah called. Treat, spend some time with her. She misses you.”
His father was always looking out for them, and it warmed his heart to hear that things hadn’t changed. “See you soon, Dad.”
Chapter Two
MAX ARMSTRONG donned her most comfortable jeans and her usual festival T-shirt on opening day. Her boss—and owner of the Indie Film Festival—Chaz Crew had created so much buzz over the past few years that they were expecting a crowd of more than forty thousand attendees during the two-day festival. The festival grounds covered one hundred acres a few blocks from Main Street and boasted five new theaters. Also on the grounds were restaurants, gift shops, and a high-class hotel. Hotels in neighboring towns were booked a full year in advance of the festival.
Whether there were twenty or fifty thousand attendees, Max was ready. She was nothing if not efficient and supremely organized. She’d been organizing the festival sponsors and logistics for almost eight years, and there was nothing that could throw her off her game. At least that’s what Max always thought—until six months earlier, when she’d met Treat Braden at Chaz’s wedding.
Max had worked with Scarlet, Treat’s assistant, for months via telephone calls and e-mails, coordinating logistics for the double wedding he’d hosted at his Nassau resort for Chaz and Kaylie, and Treat’s cousin, Blake Carter, and his new wife Danica—Kaylie’s sister. She’d come to know Scarlet so well that Scarlet now recognized her by voice. But she hadn’t been prepared for meeting the six-foot-six darkly handsome god that was Treat Braden, with his seductive voice, and the way every inch of him screamed of adrenaline-pumping, heart-fluttering masculinity. He’d knocked her so far off-kilter that she’d lost her ability to speak, along with her mental faculties.
Now her stomach clenched just thinking about the way he took her hand in his and kissed the back of it with those warm, sensuous lips, or the way he’d looked at her as though she were the only woman in the room and then, in the next breath, had arrogantly blown her off. Who was he to judge her personal activities? Sure, she’d been in the same clothes she’d worn the night before, and yes, she’d been out on a date with one of his employees, but she was a single woman. She had every right to do whatever she wanted to do with whomever she wanted—without judgment. Why do I care what he thinks anyway? That awful look he gave her was in such stark contrast to the impeccable manners that he’d otherwise exuded; holding doors, thinking of the needs of her and his other guests before himself, taking extra steps to ensure that every little detail of his cousin’s wedding had been taken care of. Before that look, he’d paid full attention to every word she’d spoken, and the way his eyes trailed her every move did not go unnoticed. Her pulse sped up just thinking about it. Max couldn’t let those things sway her resolve. She’d been mistreated, demeaned, and judged by a previous boyfriend, and she swore she’d never go down that road again—not even for too-sexy-for-his-own-good Treat Braden. She’d tried to avoid him after that interaction, though she’d been far from successful. After Nassau, she’d walked away and never looked back. Well, maybe a few times,
in the darkness of her bedroom, when it was only her and her sexual fantasies.
She’d learned her lesson. Max forced herself to fall right back into doing what she did best: focus on her work. And it had paid off. This year’s festival would be a huge success.
It was warmer than it should be in Weston that afternoon, with temps in the mid-sixties. She was glad she didn’t need her parka, as she had during other festivals where the weather had taken on a freakish Arctic chill. The afternoon films ran without a hitch, and so far, the celebrity speakers had made their appearances without any wardrobe malfunctions—a trick of the trade for gaining media exposure. Max ran a tight ship, and she was quick to nix any wayward thoughts that celebs might conjure up.
Max spoke into her earpiece as she drove over toward the rear gate. “Heading to the rear gate now. I’ll check on Dean.”
The ruckus between the celeb’s entourage and the media was already creating a shit-storm of confusion. Photographers surrounded Connor Dean’s limousine and the two accompanying SUVs. She should have known this might happen. Dean was a local celebrity actor turned millionaire, whose reputation had exploded since they’d booked him eight months earlier. She’d been wrong to think the Hulk-like security guards could manage a little drama. As she neared the scene, she rolled down her window and surveyed the ensuing nightmare. Shouts and threats were tossed around like candy to children, and no one was making any headway. What on earth is that woman doing with her body halfway out of the limo?
Max parked right in front of the first SUV, threw open her door, and stepped from the car. She’d hoped to create a long enough pause to get the crowd’s attention, and when that didn’t work, she moved to Plan B. What is that woman in the limo shouting—legal jargon? Max groaned as she climbed onto the roof of her car and raised her hands in the air. With a quick flip of a switch on the control panel on her belt, she flicked on the intercom mounted above the gate.