by Marie Force
“Oh, well . . . I don’t know. I’d have to think about that.”
“While you do your thinking, could I possibly have your phone number so I could call you to try to persuade you to accept my invitation?”
“I suppose that would be all right.”
“Excellent.” He withdrew his smart phone from the inside pocket of his suit coat and began poking at it. “What’s the number?”
She recited her phone number and watched him program it into his phone.
“There we go.” He showed her the screen, where she was listed as Sweet Mary from Vermont. “I assume that’s a landline in this cell-phone wasteland?”
“You assume correctly. I don’t have a cell phone. No point to it around here.”
Patrick shook his head in dismay. “It’s like an alternate universe.”
“Nope, it’s just Vermont.”
“Thanks for listening to me just now. It’s been quite a day, and it helped to talk it out.”
“I was happy to listen, and I enjoyed today very much. We’ve all come to love Cameron, and the two of them together are just perfect. Will is a really, really good guy, Patrick. The best of the best.”
“I know,” he said glumly. “She had to pick a prince among men so I can’t even hate him for taking my little girl away from me.”
“You’re a mess.”
Laughing, he said, “Yes, I am.” He reached for her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “But I’m less of a mess than I would’ve been without you to talk to, so thank you for that.”
Mary was still recovering from the zing of sensation that had traveled from her hand up her arm and couldn’t seem to form a reply to that statement.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“You’re not supposed to ask a woman that,” she said with pretend indignation.
“All right then . . . I’m fifty-four. Are you too young for me?”
“I’m probably too old for you at forty-two.”
“That is a little outside my usual range,” he said with a wink. “But I’ve been thinking lately that it might be time to grow up and act my age.”
“And when did this startling revelation take place?”
“This past Thursday afternoon. Around two o’clock. I met this sweet woman in Vermont who has me wondering what it might be like to get to know her better. What do you say to that?”
“I say,” Mary began haltingly, “you’re very nice and very charming and way, way, way out of my league.”
“What’s that mean?” His brows furrowed with what seemed to be genuine puzzlement. “Out of your league?”
“Your world and mine—two different planets. I wouldn’t even know how to function in yours.”
“I’ve just functioned for days in yours. Even lived without a cell-phone connection, and the world didn’t end. I bet you could exist in my world just as easily. Hell, look at Colton. He’s living between here and New York now and figuring it out as he goes.”
Mary glanced at his handsome face and decided to level with him. “I’ve lived my whole life without having my heart broken. I think you, Patrick Murphy, could break my heart if I let you, so I’m not going to let you.”
“If that’s true, then you, Mary Larkin, are long overdue for a little adventure in your life.”
“Maybe so, but I’d prefer to chalk this up to one lovely evening spent with a new friend—the father of another new friend—and call it a night.”
“We can call it a night if you’d like, but don’t forget I’ve got your number now. So I’ll be calling you some other night. Will you take my call?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s fair enough, but you won’t blame a guy for trying, will you?”
“No, I won’t.”
He smiled at her and finished his drink in one last swallow. “Shall we head out? I have no idea what my curfew is at the barn.”
“I’m sure they haven’t locked you out—yet.”
Mary was much more aware of that hand on her lower back leaving the bar than she’d been on the way in. Fortunately, she didn’t see anyone she knew in the inn, so she wasn’t worried about gossip. Besides, it might be fun to be the source of gossip for once.
Even though she was driving, he held the car door for her and waited for her to get settled before he went around to the passenger side of her nondescript sedan. Her entire life was somewhat nondescript when it came right down to it. Not that she was unhappy. Not at all. But Patrick had dangled something in front of her tonight that looked awfully good to her—adventure.
“You’re thinking about whether you’ll take my call, aren’t you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
His ringing laughter brought a reluctant smile to her face. “I do like you, sweet Mary from Vermont.”
She drove slowly across the one-lane bridge that led to the Abbotts’ home on Hells Peak Road.
“What do you do if someone is coming the other way?”
“You wait.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
“Not used to waiting for anything, are you?”
“Not so much.”
She would’ve rolled her eyes at him, but it was too dark for him to see. She took the right that led to the distinctive red barn and pulled into the Abbotts’ driveway a minute later. “Here you are.”
“Do you live far from here?”
“A couple of miles.”
“You’ll be okay going home?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I might call to check.”
“I won’t take the call.”
He surprised her when he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Take my call, Mary,” he said softly. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
Then he was gone, taking the scent of fine cologne with him when he left her car. She waited until she saw him go into the barn and turn off the outside light Molly and Lincoln had left on for him.
On the way home to her house on Butler’s north side, she thought about the evening she’d spent with Patrick, as well as the magical wedding of two people she adored.
Maybe it was the romance of it all that had her thinking of the way Patrick had invited her to New York, asked for her phone number and promised to call her. Maybe it was the way he wanted to challenge her routine and staid existence with his offer of adventure. She was no closer to figuring out what to do about him when she arrived home a short time later, but she already knew one thing for certain.
If and when it happened, she would take his call.
* * *
WILL and Cameron never did sleep that night, and when the sun came up over Lake Champlain, they watched it on the deck, a comforter wrapped around their naked bodies.
“This was the best night of my life,” Will said. “I hate to see it come to an end.”
“This is just the beginning.”
“Are you tired?”
“For some crazy reason, I’m not. I must be running on pure adrenaline by now.”
“Whatever we’re running on, I’m digging it.”
“Me, too.” When she kissed him, she realized how sore her lips were from a night of nonstop kissing—among other things. “We need to hit the shower and get ready to go. The car will be here in an hour to take us to the airport.”
“Did we screw this up by deciding to go halfway around the world when we’ve got this right here?”
“As much as I love this house and the lake, it’s freezing here. I want warm sun, sand between my toes and little paper umbrellas in my drinks. We can’t get that here.”
“True.”
“Have you forgotten there’s a bed on the plane?”
“I have not forgotten. I’ve thought of little else since you mentioned that last night.”
“Then what do you say we go to Fiji?”
“I say I’d go to the ends of the earth if it meant I got to be with you.”
Cameron smiled as she kissed him. One more minute wrapped
up in him wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Not when she had the rest of her life to spend with him.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for reading “You’ll Be Mine.” I really enjoyed writing about Will and Cam’s wedding, and hope you felt like a guest on their big day. Special thanks to my beta readers Anne Woodall, Kara Conrad, Ronlyn Howe and Holly Sullivan for their quick work, as well as to everyone on my team who supports me every day. Thank you to all the readers whose enthusiasm for my books allows me to live my dream.
Join the You’ll Be Mine Reader Group at facebook.com/groups/YoullBeMine/ to discuss the wedding with other fans of the series. Thanks for reading, and watch for much more from the Green Mountains, including It’s Only Love, Gavin and Ella’s story, coming in November 2015.
MIDNIGHT BET
Jodi Thomas
ONE
Matheson Ranch
July 6, 2014
RICK MATHESON DROPPED off the side of the wide porch of his cousin’s home and walked toward a stand of cottonwood trees that were old when he’d played among their low branches as a kid twenty years ago.
Summer Sundays in the South, he thought. Everyone still dressed in their church best and stuffed themselves on a potluck meal that was better than any restaurant could serve. He heard laughter from the under-forty crowd scattered in folding chairs on the front lawn and porch. They were supposed to be watching the little Mathesons play in the afternoon shade, but the kids pretty much ran free-range on the wide lawn.
The half-dozen teenagers who usually had the babysitting job were over in the corral saddling a few of Hank’s horses so they could ride. In an hour the shade in the canyon behind his headquarters would be perfect for an afternoon gallop.
Mathesons lived on farms and ranches for fifty miles around Harmony, Texas. A few, like Rick, even lived in town, but he knew all considered this old place the family home. It wasn’t the original homestead. That had burned down generations ago. But Hank Matheson’s ranch had been built on the first small acreage the family settled on. It was home base. Rick had grown up chasing fireflies in the front yard and racing his cousins on horseback across the open land. At thirty, he’d always thought he’d be married by now and have joined the kid watchers on the porch.
Only life and his apparently dangerous career choice had derailed his plan.
He looked back at his family and swore he could feel his heart turning to lead. He was in trouble this time, bad trouble, and he had to keep it from them for as long as possible.
Rick was four years out of law school and, for the second time, someone wanted to kill him. He had no proof, just a feeling. Hang-ups on his phone. His old office had been broken into twice. A car, with the brights on, almost ran him off the road last week. Trouble was stalking him.
When revenge came after him this time, murder might succeed. If Rick told his family, they’d protect him, but he couldn’t allow that. One of them might get caught in the cross fire. So he had to go on living his life exactly as always and pretend a storm wasn’t blowing full out toward him.
Rick tried to shake his mood. Maybe he was overreacting? Hell, maybe he should change careers. Being a lawyer didn’t seem to be working out. He thought of himself as good-looking; he came from an upstanding family, was well educated, and had all his own teeth. But the last woman he’d asked out had simply smiled and said that she didn’t date lawyers.
Maybe he should have made an objection to her rejection, but he hadn’t been that into her to start with. She’d simply been someone he might go to dinner with, or maybe they would eventually move into a casual relationship. He didn’t see love and offspring with the lawyer-hater, or with any woman he met. He didn’t see passion either, which bothered him. He was working far too hard. Monks had more social life than he did.
Rick turned and walked back toward the house. When he stepped inside the kitchen door, he heard his old Aunt Fat telling one of her favorite stories to his second cousin’s new bride.
“There’s an old bridge near downtown that runs across a dried-up creek bed where water used to flow wild.” Aunt Fat, like the teacher she’d been for forty years, paused, making sure she had everyone’s attention. “The bridge doesn’t look like much now, it being old and all, but there’s a legend about the spot. Word is, if a couple kiss while standing in the exact middle of the bridge, they’ll never stop loving each other.”
The bride winked at her new husband and he nodded. Everyone in the kitchen laughed, knowing exactly where the newlyweds would be heading as soon as the family dinner broke up.
Rick smiled. Aunt Fat had told that story for as long as he could remember, and it always had the same effect on brides.
“You all right, Rick?” his mother asked as he passed her. She was one of those magic moms who could look at any one of her children and know their mood or temperature or if they needed to eat something.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he lied. “I just got a lot of work waiting for me at the office. I think I’ll head on in.”
“You work too hard, Rick.” She patted his back. “You’re just like your father was.” When her arm circled around his waist, she added, “And you need to eat something. You’re thin as a fence post.”
“I know,” he answered, “but the work has to get done. I forget to eat.” He’d moved into a bigger office last month and hadn’t had time to unpack before he went to work. Now he felt like a prisoner, barred in by boxes every time he showed up at the office. “I really need to leave,” he said, knowing he’d have to say it at least one more time before he made it out the door.
Only tonight his mother surprised him. She simply kissed his cheek and whispered, “Offer Lizzie a ride back to town. She wrecked another car.”
Rick might be tapping thirty, but he knew a direct order from his mother when he heard it.
Looking over her head, he spotted Lizzie, dressed like a hooker in mourning. Black fishnet hose. Black, almost see-through dress with one shoulder cut out to show off her tattoo. Platform sandals that could have doubled as stilts. The only color she wore lately was the green streaks in her hair. Elizabeth Lee Matheson. The only nut to ever fall off the Matheson tree. She’d gotten every wild, weird gene in the family, and she’d always been a bother. She was a few years younger than he, so he’d had to play with her when none of the other cousins would, and teach her to ride when she didn’t want to learn, and drive her to high school when she wrecked three cars her sophomore year. Her hardship license was hard on cars.
Rick could continue, but the list was too long and too painful. He didn’t bother to argue with his mom now. “Sure. Glad to drive her home,” he lied again.
Walking over to the long bar that separated the kitchen from the den, Rick tapped Lizzie on her bare shoulder. “You about ready to go, Lizzie Lee? I could give you a lift.”
She looked up from trying to pop the top on her latest beer. “I’m so-o-o-o-o ready to leave.” As always, she’d brought a six-pack to the potluck and had drunk most of it herself.
Rick helped her off the stool, thinking that the high-heeled shoes almost made her normal size. With a woman who didn’t tip five feet or a hundred pounds, four or five beers must make her dead drunk.
Lizzie waved good-night to everyone while he tugged her around the crowd. Almost every family gathering, someone had to take her home, and this must be his time.
He poured her into his new car and prayed she wouldn’t throw up on the way to town.
“Hey, Ricky, you want to stop for a drink on the way home?” She giggled. “Oh, it’s Sunday, I forgot. Every place is closed. Guess you’ll just have to give me a rain check.”
“I couldn’t tonight anyway, Lizzie. I have work to do at my office.” Another thing he hated about Lizzie, she called him Ricky when she’d been drinking. No one called him Ricky. Plus, if his dating life wasn’t already dead, showing up with his wacky cousin in public would probably do the trick. She seemed to always say the wrong thing in a crowd
or accidentally spill something. But his cousin had one flaw that was his favorite, if anyone can have a favorite flaw, and that was the way she always mixed up people’s names. She called his cousin Hank “Hunk” and the preacher’s second wife Two instead of Lou. Since the Leary twins’ birth, she’d called them “Pete and Repeat.”
“Could we stop at the bridge Aunt Fat was talking about?”
“No,” he answered, starting the engine.
“I’d really like to see it. A legend in Harmony. Too bad my parents hadn’t kissed on the bridge. I think my dad took every deployment he could sign up for to get away from Mom. My first memories are of them yelling in the middle of the night.”
He drove under the ranch arch and headed toward Harmony on the Farm to Market Road everyone called Lone Oak Road. “All right. We’ll stop. Five minutes.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Thanks for offering to take me home. You’re the only one in the family I can stand to talk to or who wants to talk to me.”
Rick tossed his jacket over her bare shoulder and cranked up the air-conditioning, even though the afternoon hadn’t reached ninety degrees. Maybe the circulation would help clear her perfume from the air. “You’re not so bad, Lizzie.” In truth, she’d had it rough. Her dad had been in the Navy. When he was listed as missing in action, her mother couldn’t stand the pressure and had sent Lizzie, who was about eight years old then, to live with her Matheson grandmother. He’d heard her mother had cracked up completely when her husband was moved from “missing” to “killed in action.” Granny always said Lizzie’s mother “just went to sleep,” but Rick thought a bottle of pills might have helped the process. Anyway, Granny and Little Lizzie grieved, and the money they inherited from her parents helped keep food on the table.
Granny loved Lizzie, but she never let the girl out of her sight. Rick remembered Granny even made Lizzie go everywhere with her. Quilting. Widows Sunday class. She had to sit in the beauty shop while Granny got her hair curled and sprayed every week. Rick remembered Lizzie called her grandmother’s Sunday school class the “Nearest to Heaven” class and the all-day quilting bees “Stitch and Complain.”