“Yes, sweetheart. It surely did.”
Chad caught Robin’s hand in his. They walked to the house. His father held the door open and Chad set Boo on her feet. Taking Lindy from Robin, he set her down and shooed them through the door.
Lifting Robin into his arms, he carried her over the threshold.
Robin stroked his cheek with her free hand. “I love you, Chad.”
His heart soared. “Welcome to happily-ever-after, sweetheart,” he whispered before settling his lips on hers.
THE END
~~THE SWEETHEART DANCE~~
EXCERPT
“Why don’t you explain ‘not interested’ to me?” Her quiet tone challenged. “I could have sworn interested was the message when we kissed.”
Bret’s heart jumped into his throat. “I don’t have relationships. I have women in my life for sex.”
Meg shrugged. “Okay. Let’s have sex.”
He choked on his spit. “No,” he finally managed. He seized her plate of half-eaten pie and retreated to the kitchen sink.
She licked her fork and dogged him. “Why not? I’m more than willing.”
He hardened at the thought, his jeans becoming painfully tight. “Because you won’t have sex with me and walk away. Your heart will get involved. You’ll expect things, and that’s where I can’t comply, so it’s better not to start.”
She leaned against the door frame, staring at him, then licked her fork one more time. Shivers raced up his arms and into his hair, his eyes glued to her pert pink tongue.
“You don’t know that.” She offered him her fork.
He snatched the cold steel utensil, put it in the dishwasher, and turned to face her. “You’ll walk into my bedroom, stay naked for a couple of days of hot, wild sex, and then leave?” He stared at the touchable, ivory skin just above her neckline and forgot his skepticism, desperate to touch.
“So, you’ve thought about hot wild sex, too.” Her seductive whisper brushed across a tenuous will.
He closed his eyes, a hair’s breadth away from losing control.
~~DEDICATION~~
To Anne, Jamie, John, Rebecca and Zachary—through triumphs and tragedies, we are together always.
You are mine and I am yours.
I love you. I couldn't do this without you.
~~CHAPTER ONE~~
Meg Applegate sipped from the fourth strawberry concoction her date had fetched and glanced around, searching for him. The Community Center was filled to capacity for the Echo Falls Valentine’s Day Sweetheart Dance. Red and white streamers blanketed the ceiling and created a backdrop for an intricate network of white twinkling lights. Bright red tablecloths covered the tables, the surfaces decorated with silver hearts and white candles. Their low, flickering light shaped a festive, intimate mood. A smorgasbord of food smells blasted the air from the tables along the back wall, ranging from spicy barbeque to sweet confections. She pressed a hand to her stomach, suppressing a twist of nausea.
She walked down one side of the hall and wound her way around the tables, greeting neighbors, friends, and several of her high school English students, all the while looking for Trevor Dupree, her wayward date. Her mother and father danced on the hardwood floor to Diana Ross and the Supremes, elbow-to-elbow with half the people in attendance. Harv Kramer, a DJ from the local radio station, spun the CD’s while handling the line of people waiting to make requests. The music pulsed through the building in rhythm with the pounding in her head.
She’d attended this dance every year since she was a little girl. It was her favorite community activity, mainly because of the final dance of the evening—the couples only Sweetheart Dance. The romance, the sentiment, the feel of the event wound its way into her soul, making her long for her own special sweetheart. The kiss that each couple shared at the end always made her misty and wistful. She’d never shared the Sweetheart Dance with anyone.
This year she was stuck with Trevor, who was definitely not sweetheart material. Disappointment, frustration, and longing blended into a gloomy glob in the center of her chest. She slumped into a chair along the wall. She’d been trying to exorcise her feelings about a certain other someone with her dating strategy. He was standing by the refreshment table—all six-foot-two, short brown hair, cleft chin, and intense gray eyes of him—directly in her line of sight. It did nothing for her equilibrium and only made her more irritable.
Bret Cara.
Thinking his name made her heart beat faster. Her body tightened. Goose bumps rushed over her skin. She was in love with him. Had been from the first moment she’d come home from college four years ago, a shiny new teaching certificate in her grasp, and found him sitting at her grandmother’s table for Sunday dinner. It had been a jolt, that moment—one that caught her off guard. Every time she’d seen him since, she’d been filled with surety of that first-sight emotion.
She licked her lips and drew a shaky breath, forcing herself to calm. If she’d attended this dance with Bret, she’d be making plans to wrap around him on the dance floor during the Sweetheart Dance, anticipating that kiss.
Instead, she was dodging Trevor’s hands and trying to figure out how to get home without involving her family. He would want that last dance, and she couldn’t refuse his request outright and risk causing a scene. She was hoping he would accept her excuse—one she had yet to devise—and take her home. Who knew in high school when she’d drooled over his quarterback status that a decade later he’d be no more than a bragging irritant? It was time to quit letting their relationship ride because she had no one else.
After tonight, they were done.
“There you are.” Trevor slid into the seat next to her, removing the near empty glass from her hand and inserting another fruity drink. He tried to put an arm around her, but she leaned away.
“Where have you been?” She shuddered at her querulous tone, not wanting to give the impression that she gave a flying cherub where he’d been. She took a sip of this drink and grimaced at the sweetness. She set it next to her on the empty chair.
“Outside with some buddies. You know how it is.” He nudged her, giving her a wink.
That meant they were outside drinking, since there was a no alcohol policy inside the hall for this family event. Should she lecture him one more time?
No. He knew.
Knew her mother was the mayor. Knew her brother was a cop. Knew her family’s position in the community. Her job as a high school teacher in the small community meant she walked a strict line on that issue.
“You could come out and get a nip, too.”
She ground her teeth. He also knew her body had no tolerance for the stuff. “You know I can’t do that. Besides, I’m a high school teacher. I’m trying to set an example for my students.”
“Believe me, Meg darling, there are just as many of your students out there drinking as there are adults.”
She frowned, sliding forward in her chair to rise. “Show me.”
“No.” He crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair.
“I’ll go myself.” She tried to rise, but swayed, woozy and muddled.
“You’ll make a scene. It’s Valentine’s Day. Leave it be.”
He reached for her, but she batted his hands away. Nausea rolled over her, forcing her to wrap her arms around her stomach. She flushed hot, then shivered. Finally, she made it to her feet. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
He smirked. “Okay. I’ll be around.”
She staggered and reached for the wall to get her balance, grateful he didn’t rise to help her, then indignant because he wasn’t gentlemanly enough to do so.
What was wrong with her? Was she getting the flu?
In the bathroom, she came upon two of her students—Lisa Danvers and Glory Miller.
“Are you all right, Ms. Applegate? You don’t look so hot.” Lisa took the lipstick Glory handed her and dropped it in her purse.
“I’ll be okay. Don’t feel so good.” She lurched for a stall. God, p
lease let her make it.
She shut the stall door behind her and dropped to her knees. The fruity concoction spewed from her mouth to the commode as soon as she bent over. Head spinning, she braced her hand on the wall. Myrtle Jenkins always made her Fruity Blasts for the Valentine’s Day Dance. Meg had been drinking them for years. They hadn’t really tasted any different, so she must be coming down with something.
Meg leaned her cheek against the wall and waited for her stomach to calm. This settled it. She definitely wouldn’t be kissing anyone tonight.
“Officer Cara?”
Bret turned with relief from his conversation with Myrtle Jenkins about her Fruity Blasts and her cheese dip and saw two girls who looked vaguely familiar.
“Remember me? I’m Lisa Danvers.” The girl wore a red dress with a multitude of clunky silver jewelry and spiky heels. Her hair was in what he supposed was a sophisticated style, but it looked like a bird’s nest.
“You gave a talk on drunk driving to our Sociology class,” she said.
Ah.
“That’s right. I remember.” He turned and handed his empty coffee cup to one of the wait staff. “Having a good time?”
“Well, we were,” the other girl said. She wore a neon pink dress with her hair up in some kind of artsy ponytail that made her look like Pebbles from the Flintstones. Her pixie face was marred by heavy makeup.
“Glory, shh.” Lisa looked around.
Glory crossed her arms, looking mutinous, but kept her mouth shut.
Bret cleared his throat. “What can I help you with?”
“Ms. Applegate.” Lisa leaned to him so she could whisper, but still be heard.
He stiffened. “What about her?”
“She’s in the bathroom. She’s sick.” She looked around and satisfied that no one was listening, she continued in an even voice. “Drunk sick.”
He frowned. That didn’t sound like Meg. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, mmm, pretty sure. I think she’s going to need help to get home.”
“She came with a date,” he pointed out. She screwed up her face in disgust. “Yeah, I know. He’s been going outside all night.”
He raised his brow at her, curiosity getting the better of him. “How do you know that?”
Lisa flushed. “I like Ms. Applegate. I’ve been watching her all evening. He kept bringing her drinks, then he’d go outside. I’m not sure Ms. Applegate noticed. She’s got so many friends and all.”
It galled him, but he had to admit he’d been forcing himself not to pay attention. Just because Meg was perky, smart, and sexy as hell didn’t mean he wanted anything to do with her. Just because her platinum blonde hair and killer blue eyes made his heart race. Just because her ivory lace dress swirled around her long legs, molded to her sweet breasts and round bottom, and caused sweat to trickle down his back. None of that meant he’d break a lifetime, ironclad rule. No girlfriend. No relationships. No marriage.
Meg was girlfriend material—wife material. Her brother Tom was a fellow cop and a friend who had gone out of his way to help Bret settle in when he’d moved here four years ago. Their grandmother, Olivia Applegate, frequently opened her kitchen and served him home-cooked meals. He respected the Applegate family, but he really had no desire to be any closer to them all. Families bound you up, trapped you with responsibilities. He couldn’t handle his own family, let alone deal with being closely involved with theirs.
“It’s actually kinda strange, you know. She’s always lecturing us about being responsible and not drinking.” Glory finally found her tongue again.
He checked the crowd. Many of her students continued to mill around the refreshment tables. Her parents were still cutting up the dance floor. Her brothers and assorted family had left earlier. So had her grandmother, thank God. If she was intoxicated, he didn’t want them seeing it and he certainly didn’t want her to go home with that Neanderthal jerk.
“Where is she now?”
Lisa twisted her jewelry. “Still in the women’s bathroom puking.”
“Come with me.” He took her elbow, guiding her through the crowd.
“Why?” She frowned, looking like that idea of being seen with him was taboo in her crowd. Probably was.
“Because I need you to check and see if she’s still in there. Don’t want to embarrass anyone.” Walking casually through the crowd, they made their way to the restroom.
Meg kept her hand on the stall wall to keep the room from spinning. The metal was cool under her fingertips. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she had drank too much. She didn’t drink, though. She had no tolerance for alcohol. An initial drink usually had her head spinning, and an ill-thought second drink had her vomiting with a major migraine. A couple of ugly experiences in college made her swear off alcohol for good. She usually stuck with sweet tea or Dr. Pepper. But the stuff she was throwing up had a slightly metallic aftertaste. Was it possible Trevor had been spiking her drinks?
Damn him all to hell!
“Meg?” Bret’s quiet voice speared through her. Aching need mixed with embarrassment laced with panic.
He tapped on the stall door. “Meg?” His voice was hushed, protecting her privacy, but it still echoed through the bathroom. “Do you need help?”
In a muddle, she thought through her options. Finally, she saw no alternatives—probably because she wasn’t clearheaded enough to come up with one. She slid the lock open. “Yeah, a little help would be good.”
She scooted aside to let the door swing in. Thank God she’d chosen a handicapped stall. The door banged back and there he stood, direct from hunk heaven. Fierce concern intensified his gray eyes, making them so razor sharp her breath seized.
She forced in a lungful of air, pushed down the overwhelming attraction, and assessed the state of her stomach. It seemed to have settled some, but her head felt like it would explode. Carefully, she got her feet under her and started to rise. His hands gripped her elbows on either side and tried to help, but the warmth of his palms against her skin made her stumble. She swayed and settled her weight against his chest, her head tucked under his chin.
“What the hell is going on?” His growl vibrated against her ear.
“Fruity Blasts.” She tried to clear her throat, raw from vomiting.
“Everybody else is drinking them, too. No one else is tangoing with the porcelain king.”
She frowned, pulling slightly away to look at him. His arms had slid around her and he held her protectively against him.
“I think Trevor spiked my drinks,” she confided.
Bret’s face tightened, rage barely banked in his eyes. “Why? Doesn’t he know you don’t drink?”
“Oh, he knows.”
“What the hell?”
“He wants me in bed. I refused.” Meg leaned back against him, her eyes closing in bliss. The feeling brought only one thought. “You’re the only one I want in my bed.”
She felt him stiffen, but couldn’t quite connect with why. Her head spun like the merry-go-round at the city park. Had she said that last out loud?
He separated from her slightly. Then, maybe realizing he was her anchor, he pulled her back. “I’ll take you home.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes wouldn’t open. “Okay.”
“We’re going out the back door. Did you bring a wrap?”
“No.” She breathed in his masculine scent and wanted to purr.
He pulled her to the sink and turned on the water. She tried to lean over to wipe her face but cracked her head on the mirror above the sink.
“Ow!”
He swore and pulled her back upright. “Can you stand still for a minute?”
“Sure.” She slumped against him again. He sighed and reached for a paper towel. She stood like a rag doll propped against his side as he wet the towel and wiped her face, smoothing away the ravages of her sickness.
She looked down at the pink stains on her ivory lace outfit. “My dress is ruined.”
He grunted. “Le
t’s go before someone comes in and sees you like this.”
Her brain halfway clicked in. “How did you know I was in here?”
“Lisa and Glory.”
“God.”
“Exactly. Let’s go.” He opened the door. The two girls stood in the hallway.
Lisa touched her arm. “Are you all right, Ms. Applegate?”
“I’ll be fine.” The migraine pounding behind her eyes said otherwise. She shifted closer to Bret. She was sober enough to cringe at being seen like this, but he shielded her from everyone’s view. They turned toward the back of the building and exited through a little used door in the hallway.
Bret cradled Meg’s weight against him and moved them outside. Stars glittered in the night sky. A few wayward clouds tumbled across the moon. A chilly breeze made her shiver. He pulled her against him to share his heat, swearing under his breath when she rubbed against him, aggravating his burning attraction. He forced her to move across the parking lot to his truck, praying they’d get there before he did the hero thing and lifted her into his arms. Halfway there, she stumbled. He stopped to give her a moment to get her feet back under her.
“Where do you think you’re going with my date?”
Bret turned them both.
Trevor Dupree stepped forward, the streetlight illuminating his face. Bret didn’t like the ugly expression he saw there. He tightened his hold on Meg. “I’m taking her home.”
“That’s my responsibility.”
Fury flashed through him. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Not when you’ve been spiking her drinks. Back. Off.”
She tried to step out of his embrace. “Let me at him.”
He kept an iron grip on her, pulling her back against him like she was a marionette. “Not this time, Meg,” he whispered to her.
Trevor laughed. “It was just a little joke. She’s so self-righteous about not drinking.”
Bret couldn’t stop the growl of disgust that came from the back of his throat. Pissed off, he took a moment to slow his breathing and put on his cop face. “Did you think maybe she had her reasons?”
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