Harlequin Superromance November 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2

by Mary Brady

  Ruth’s hands clenched but she managed a smile in Iris’s direction. That was more than Lyddie could dredge up, what with the way her stomach jumped as she thought, once again, of J.T.’s actions at the meeting.

  She needed to see him. Now.

  “Ladies?”

  Three sets of beloved eyes turned in her direction.

  “Please don’t be offended, but I need you all to leave. It’s been a heck of a night. I need a few minutes alone. And Iris, could you please track down your son and ask him to meet me here?”

  “Of course.” Iris smiled. “Ruth, let’s talk this over. I think it’s a wonderful plan.”

  “So do I,” Lyddie said. “But could you do it at our place, so Ben won’t be alone much longer? And Ruth, could you pick up Tish on your way home and tell her I don’t know how late I’ll be, but I’ll see her in the morning?”

  Ruth stopped in the midst of gathering her purse and looked at Lyddie. “Do I dare ask if you’ll be home tonight?”

  Lyddie never knew it was possible to be both embarrassed and terrified at the same time, but she seemed to have managed. “I don’t—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Nadine said. “The girl has made sure all the kids are fine, and she invited you to move wherever with them, Ruth. As far as I’m concerned, she can do J.T. on the kitchen table if she wants.” She grabbed Ruth by the arm and dragged her to the exit, turning back for a final wink before the door closed behind them.

  Lyddie grinned despite her butterflies. Nadine had just earned herself a huge end-of-business bonus.

  She sat quietly for a moment, preparing herself. J.T. would be there soon. At least she hoped he would.

  In the meantime...

  “Glenn, honey.” She spoke out loud, knowing he could hear her even in silence, and making it more real for her. “I love you. I know that you know that, better even than I do, probably, but I want to say it again. Just for the record and all.”

  The silence didn’t bother her. She knew that if there was any way for Glenn to keep playing a part in her life, he would.

  “I’m glad I brought the kids here. It hurt so much before, and it was so hard to talk about you with them, that this was the right place to be. I didn’t think I could do it myself. Keep you alive for them, I mean.” She swallowed, brushing away the tears that she didn’t want to stop. “But now...now, you know, I can handle it. It still hurts, and I’m scared to death to start over again, but I know I can do it. You’re still helping. This is right for all of us.”

  She patted the sofa. “I’m taking this with me. I don’t think I’ll ever have the nerve to tell Sara we made her on this, but we’ll always know. And your deer head, and your bed for Ben, and—heck, I’m taking your mother along, Glenn. What more can you ask?”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She laughed softly, swiped a tear from her cheek.

  “And, hon? If you have any superpowers to help me stop throwing up when I think about being in love again, could you send them my way, please?”

  * * *

  J.T. HAD INDULGED in a fair number of sins in his time, but gambling had never been one of them. Too bad. It might have given him a better idea for calculating the odds that he hadn’t blown his last chance for winning Lyddie.

  He rapped on the door and told himself it was probably a good sign that she had asked to see him. Though it would have been nice if Iris had bothered to give him a clue instead of just telling him to get his behind over here.

  His gut lurched at Lyddie’s approach. She looked nervous. Better than furious, but who could tell?

  She looked him up and down from her side of the screen door, eyes lingering on his shorts. “You changed.”

  If that wasn’t the understatement of the year...

  “Yeah. I’m not the GQ type by nature.”

  “I don’t know. It looked pretty natural on you in the boardroom.”

  “Thanks. I’ll forget about teaching and go into the modeling business.” He decided to go for broke. “They approved the sale.”

  “I figured they had to after your performance.”

  For a moment, he debated giving her the light and easy response. But bantering around the bush wasn’t going to get him what he wanted, which was to be put out of his misery one way or the other.

  “Lyddie, I know you’re probably pissed at me for playing it that way, but I—”

  “Hang on.” She pushed the screen door open. “We’d better do this part in private.”

  Oh, hell.

  He walked in slowly, trying to prolong these last moments when he could believe it would turn out fine.

  “In there.” She pointed to the kitchen.

  He stopped in his tracks. “If you’re planning to knife me, just do it here, okay?”

  Her lips twitched but she merely kept pointing. He sighed. Who was he kidding? He would never be able to resist her commands.

  The kitchen was lit only by the exit sign over the door. He moved cautiously in the darkness, but she grabbed his shoulders and guided him forward.

  “Here,” she said. He bumped his hip against something that felt like the large worktable, then felt the hard wooden stool against his thighs.

  Curiosity nipped at him. Hope followed in its path. She was going to an awful lot of work for someone planning to rake him over the coals.

  “There. Are you settled?”

  “Think so.”

  “Good. Close your eyes.”

  “Lyddie, I already can’t—”

  “Close them.”

  He gripped the edge of the stool. “Okay. Closed.”

  “Good.” A refrigerator opened. Something clinked, metal on metal, before the door closed again.

  “Can I open them yet?”

  “One more minute.” A dull thump as something landed on the table, then the scrape of wood against slate. Something warm bumped his knees.

  “Okay. Open up.”

  When he did, he found just enough light to let him see Lyddie perched directly in front of him, knees-to-knees, the way they’d been the day of the test. The day he figured out he was in love with her.

  “Okay,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “First, it took about half an hour after you walked out of here last week for me to realize what a total idiot I was to get mad at you for not telling me about Glenn. I still wish you had said something, but I understand why you kept quiet. And I am so, so sorry for the things I said. For you to think that the only reason I wanted to be with you was for the shock value, I...”

  “It’s okay.” He longed to cup her face in his hands and thumb away the tears he could hear in her voice, but he didn’t dare. Not yet.

  “A lot has happened the last few days. With Sara, and Ruth, and...and me. I knew that I had screwed up, and that I needed to make some changes, but I wasn’t sure how, or...or anything. When I walked into that meeting tonight, I honestly had no idea how I wanted it to turn out. Though that was probably obvious from the way I stumbled around up there.”

  Holy— Did she mean she had wanted the sale to be denied?

  “Then you got up there, and said your piece, and I...I didn’t know what to think. Part of me couldn’t believe you would do that, that you were almost condemning me to everything I didn’t want.” Her voice dropped. “Then I stopped watching you and started paying attention to Jillian. And I realized that there was a lot more going on than anyone was meant to see.”

  Ah, hell. “Lyddie—”

  “It’s okay. I don’t need to know the details. Here’s the important parts.” She raised his hand, his hopes leaping at her touch and ticked off points on his fingers. “One. No matter what happens with us, I hope Mr. Potato Chip still wants this place, because our sale is off. The kids and I are moving.”

  H
e jerked and almost slid off the stool. “Lyd—”

  “Two. I’m pretty sure Ruth knows the truth about Glenn, but it’s something that will never be spoken. She deserves that peace of mind. You should know this, because she and your mother are planning to share a place together in Ottawa.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Three. This is the biggest, so pay attention.” She drew in a deep breath. “Remember when you said that people do stupid things when they’re afraid? Well, I was the stupidest of all when I said that you couldn’t be in love with me. Because, you see, I’m kind of in love with you, too. And that scared the bejeebers out of me, because, well...when you love someone and you lose them, it—”

  Whatever she had planned to say was lost on him. He reached for her in the dark, hands gliding over her face, into the softness of her hair, and then he was kissing her, finally holding her again, finally feeling her in his arms and thanking God with every fiber of his being that for whatever reason, Lyddie loved him.

  “I love you,” he whispered when he could remember how to speak. “So much.”

  “I love you, too,” she said, and framed his face with her strong hands.

  “What?”

  “I love you,” she repeated. “And I’m sorry for not figuring it out sooner. These days without you have been—”

  “I know. When I came to pick up Ben and you turned away—”

  She placed a finger over his lips. “No more. I won’t turn away again, I promise.”

  “I have to go back to Tucson to get things straightened out. But then we’re coming back.”

  “That’s what your mother said.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” His head was spinning. “She and Ruth are really planning to move in together?”

  “So far. But listen, J.T. I can’t spring all this on the kids at once. I think they’re going to be happy to move, but it’s still going to be an adjustment. I mean, I don’t know where you see this going, but I’ll need time to—”

  “I see this going all the way to happily ever after, Lyd.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “But it’s okay. Like I said before, you set the pace.”

  She sighed and rubbed her cheek against his jaw. “Gladly.”

  For a moment he simply held her, taking in the miracle of Lyddie in his arms again. “I still have the keys to the cottage.”

  “Thank God,” she whispered. “I thought I was going to have to jump you right here on the table.”

  He took her hand, ready to bolt for the door, but she stopped him with a soft palm to the chest. “Hang on,” she said. “There’s something I’ve been dying to do since the first time you walked through my door.”

  “What’s that?”

  She pushed him back to the stool, reached past him and pulled forward a large silver bowl. Huh. That explained the thunk he’d heard earlier.

  “Hold still.”

  Something hit his mouth. Something cool and wet...and lemon.

  “You’re kidding,” he mumbled as Lyddie’s finger gently traced the outline of his lips.

  “We had lemon tarts on the menu for tomorrow. But I think this is a far better use.”

  “God, I love you,” he said, just before she lowered her mouth and began to lick.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THAT RECKLESS NIGHT by Kimberly Van Meter.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  MIRANDA SINCLAIR TOSSED the tequila popper to the back of her throat, relishing the burn as the liquor warmed her in all the right places, loosening up the tension in her shoulders from a craptastic day in the field and an even crappier anniversary.

  “Keep ’em comin’.” She motioned to Russ, a hard-bitten man with cheeks made ruddy by countless years spent in the harsh Alaskan air, who owned and bartended The Rusty Anchor. She offered a grim smile as he slid the shooter across to her in a practiced move, and after she’d dispatched it in the same efficient manner, she swiveled on her barstool to survey the prospects for the night.

  That was right—tonight she was going to take home one lucky SOB, ride him as if the world was going to end tomorrow, and then when the first tender rays of light hit the windowsill, she’d send him on his way with a cup of coffee and a boot print on his hindquarters.

  It was a helluva plan.

  “Killing yourself with booze and bad choices isn’t going to bring her back,” Russ said.

  Miranda scowled. “Play bartender psychologist with someone else, Russ. I’m not interested in your counsel right now.”

  Russ shook his head. “Always so filled with piss and vinegar. Girl, someday you’re going to have to rein in that acid tongue of yours.”

  “So they say,” Miranda quipped. She had plenty of people telling her she needed to try tact once in a while; she didn’t need her bartender to join the chorus, too. “But not tonight. Come on, Russ. Stop crashing on my buzz. I need this.” Besides, contrary to Russ’s opinion, Miranda thought her plan of action was far better than the alternative—curling up in her worn recliner, nursing a bottle of Jack. “Today has to be up there as one of my worst days in a long time.”

  “Yeah? What made it so bad?” Russ asked, polishing a glass, his dark eyes serious. Russ knew about the anniversary—for God’s sake, the whole town knew and never let her forget, seeing as it was everyone’s favorite go-to gossip topic—but he was asking about the less-obvious reason she wanted to blot out her brain with booze. She almost waved off his question, not sure she wanted to share, but she did anyway.

  “I didn’t get the job,” she answered, her chest tightening again as bitterness followed. “Apparently, I’m not management material.” She tapped the bar with the shot glass for another round. “So, whatever.”

  “Did they say why not?”

  “Nope. I was just thanked for my interest in the position and politely informed that the department had chosen to go in another direction.” She looked pointedly at Russ and waggled her glass at him. He sighed and refilled it. Yep. This was a much better plan.

  Done talking, she swiveled her chair away from Russ and surveyed the bar. Slim pickings to be sure. The bar was filled with the usual nightlife but the place stank of fish, which meant the men probably had wet socks and frozen toes because they were all in port from their commercial fishing outfits scattered throughout Alaska.

  She recognized a few familiar faces, Johnny, Macho, Heff—all working on the halibut fishing boat The Arctic Maiden—and certainly not contenders for her purposes tonight. Miranda scanned the room and found a decided lack of options. So much for cutting up and losing herself in a night of debauchery she’d likely regret when she sobered up. For a brief—nanosecond-brief—moment she considered Luke Prather, but the last time she’d taken him to bed for a one-nighter he’d fallen head over heels in love with her and it’d been no fun whatsoever trying to scrape him off her doorstep for weeks afterward. That had been awkward and irritating. No, thanks. Her personal brand of misery did not include ducking the lovelorn. She mentally crossed Luke from her list.

  What happened to all the raw, randy
men built like cedar trees with big, beefy hands that were worn and tough like old shoe leather from working hard since the day they were big enough to swing an ax or cast a line? Too bad the AnnaMarie wasn’t in port this month. The AnnaMarie’s captain was always down for some unattached wild times.

  Well, maybe getting laid wasn’t on the agenda tonight but getting stone-cold drunk certainly was. She turned to Russ with a morose sigh. “And it just keeps getting better and better,” she murmured in frustration. “Another round and stop skimping on the tequila.”

  “You’ve got that look in your eye, kid,” Russ said with knowing. “Maybe you ought to just go home and watch television.”

  “I don’t have a television,” Miranda said, motioning for her fourth round, which Russ plainly ignored. She made a face. The last thing she needed was Russ passing judgment on her choices. She had her mother for that. “Come on. Are we going to play that game? I’m no kid and I’ve earned the right to get snot-faced drunk if I please.”

  “Go home,” Russ said, bracketing the bar on either side of her.

  “Are you saying my money’s no good here? Last I heard you needed the cash. Am I wrong?”

  “You’re as stubborn as your old man and just as mean,” Russ said, setting up her drink. “Why do you do this to yourself, girl? It ain’t gonna bring her back, and before you start spouting off about some desk job you’re plainly not suited for, there ain’t a person in Homer who don’t know why you drown yourself in booze every year on this night. Ain’t it time to start a new tradition?”

  Miranda stilled, the subtle tilt of her lips freezing as her heart rate stumbled beneath the shelter of her breastbone. “Not allowed, Russ,” she warned him quietly. “Not allowed.” Today was the anniversary of her sister’s death. And no one was allowed to bring up Simone’s name. Not today. This, Miranda thought as she stared at the refilled shot glass, was how she chose to cope with Simone’s death and no one was going to convince her otherwise.