by Tina Leonard
Meeting her grandmother’s attorney Mark Stockton is an unexpected thrill. He’s warm, compassionate and exceedingly sexy, if a little reserved. Plus he’s concerned about her safety at the museum. But he needn’t worry—though the thief hasn’t been caught, she’s never felt in any personal danger.
Fate has a lousy sense of time. In a perfect world, Mark would simply ask Kim out and their instant chemistry would take it from there. But there’s a major obstacle: attorney/client privilege demands he withhold a deeply disturbing secret that could turn Kim’s rosy memories of her past upside down.
Secrets aren’t the only things lurking in the museum’s dark corners. When one of them emerges from the shadows to threaten her life, the barriers come down. And the truth threatens to destroy their fragile love.
Warning: Contains a sexy lawyer with a secret he’s honor-bound to keep, a sassy security expert who knows how to protect everything but her heart, and enough danger to send them into each other’s arms.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Memory Lane:
“I love this town,” Kim said softly. “When I was a little girl I loved having the freedom to go anywhere I wanted because it was so safe. Knowing everyone and having them know me. Then when I got older I thought it was the most boring place in the world. Now I finally understand and appreciate the forces that created Camp Oro. I think I know why Josh stayed here. I wonder how many others did the same.”
Mark signaled and waited until he was off the main street and pulling up to the right of the museum before speaking. “We’re so blasé as young people aren’t we? We feel it’s beneath us to show enthusiasm for certain things. It’s only as we get older that we’re able to give our curiosity free rein again.”
Kim had known Mark Stockton less than an hour and yet it already seemed that in many respects they operated on the same wavelength. “I’m glad I’m not a teenager anymore,” she told him. “It’s better to be comfortable with oneself.” She reached for the door handle but didn’t quite get it open.
Because she was concentrating on Mark and he on her, neither of them noticed a figure passing in front of one of the second-story museum windows. The figure stopped, turned around and leaned against the window, watching.
“What happens now?” Kim was asking Mark. “How long is it going to take before I can use my car?”
“I wish I had an answer for you. Look, the phone at your grandmother’s house is still hooked up isn’t it? I can give you a call once I know what the city council has in mind. Better yet, maybe you should attend the meeting. There’s sure to be one called to discuss and, if we’re lucky, deal with this.”
“I’d like that. I still don’t understand what the problem is. Gravel can’t cost that much. Just dump some down the hole—”
“Do you have a minute?”
“I guess so. I’m late enough now that I don’t think a few more minutes will make that much difference.” A workman was starting to mow the museum lawn. The sound made it necessary for Kim to lean toward Mark.
“You grew up in Camp Oro.”
“Until I was in my late teens. Then my father remarried and we moved to San Francisco.”
“Then you understand the town’s history.”
“I think I do. Mark, I was a child when I lived here.”
“But you do know that Camp Oro was founded during the gold rush.”
“Of course.”
“That the creeks around here were extensively prospected.”
“Of course.”
“And that mining kept many people from starving during the depression.”
“The depression?’ Kim repeated. “No. I—”
Mark nodded. The corners of his mouth lifted just enough to give him away. He was enjoying being thrust into the role of teacher. His explanation of what had happened in the 1930s was factual and yet presented with just enough emotion that Kim was able to understand the desperation that had driven men to dig up their backyards during the uncertain time. “The city fathers couldn’t sanction the digging of mine tunnels under the streets,” Mark explained. “But because it had to be done if people were going to survive the politicians turned their backs. They pretended they didn’t know that the ground under the town was being honeycombed with tunnels. There wasn’t much gold left around here by then, but for some people, that was all they had.”
“That’s what happened this morning? One of the tunnels dug during the depression collapsed?” Kim tore her eyes off Mark’s face, seeking a foothold in the present by watching the lumbering pace of the riding lawnmower. But the 1883 brick county courthouse turned museum was another tie to the past. She could sense men, their faces pinched with concern, digging inch by inch as they searched for the illusive precious metal. What did it matter to them that their tunnels might eventually undermine the town? They had hungry children to feed.
“There have been several attempts to chart the mines dug both during the depression and earlier,” Mark continued. “The mines constructed in the 1800s were sources of pride. We’ve been able to document most of them. But during the depression, it was another story.”
“The one that caved in today—” Kim turned back toward Mark to finish her thought. “I wonder if any of my relatives had anything to do with it. What if—” Kim broke into a delighted grin. “Mark! What if my grandfather dug that tunnel? But no. I don’t suppose so. It was Dow’s property, not my grandfather’s. Just the same—”
Mark’s eyes were on her face, not the excited gestures she was making. “There’s probably no way you’ll ever know that. Like I said, most of those tunnels were dug surreptitiously.”
Mark’s words brought Kim back to earth. “I know. I was just indulging in a little whimsy. It’s always bothered me that my grandfather died so long before I was born. All I know is what Grandmother told me. All those wonderful things. I feel a little cheated.” Once again she reached for the door handle and opened the car door. “Mark, I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about what the council is planning to do. And if going to the meeting will help, I’ll do that. I want it made clear that something has to be done. My grandmother has made a difficult decision. She wants the house sold. She doesn’t need things to be any more complicated than they are already.”
“I talked to her about the house a couple of times. I thought she might change her mind. I wanted her to have the opportunity to do that.”
How lucky her grandmother was to have an attorney who saw her as more than just a client. “I thought the same thing,” Kim said as she got out of the car. “But she’s made up her mind. I’m not going to argue with her.”
“You think you’re going to be able to handle all the details? Get it ready to sell?”
“I think so,” Kim told him. “The house is sound. It doesn’t need anything done to it structurally. I’ve started—” Kim paused as she gave Mark what she hoped was a confident smile. “I’ve started going through things, getting them ready to put in storage or give to Dad and my aunts. I keep getting sidetracked, though. Going down memory lane.”
“I’m so scared she’ll find out,” Margaret had said. “Don’t let her, Mark. Please.”
It wasn’t going to be easy. Not now that Mark had met Kim Revis and discovered a woman who appealed to a side of him that had nothing to do with law and ethics and representing one’s client. Keeping his emotional distance from the woman leaning in the window might very well be impossible. “Just as long as memory lane doesn’t trip you up, Kim. We romanticize the past. We forget things like miners tunneling under a town so their children won’t starve.”
“I know.” Kim straightened. The morning light was filtering through the massive oak and walnut trees ringing the museum. A current of gold touched her hair, turning auburn into shining copper. The planes and angles of her face blurred under the bright light.
This wasn’t an ordinary woman. She was smoke and shadow. A presence as illusive as she was compelling.
What had gotten into him?
Mark was a respected attorney who, in addition to having his own practice in Grass Valley, was on retainer to the town of Camp Oro. He’d been asked by one of his oldest and dearest clients to guard Kim Revis from the truth, not to allow his imagination to take flight.
The love of a good cowboy can repair even the most damaged heart.
A Damaged Trust
© 2013 Amanda Carpenter
After being betrayed in the worst way by a man who claimed to love her, Carrie vowed to guard her heart. Returning to her childhood home in Colorado to lick her wounds, the last thing she needs is another man, but Gabe Jackson won’t be denied.
The polar opposite of her former love, Gabe bulldozes his way into her life, showing her how to live—and trust—anew. But when her previous love returns, promising to be hers forever, will Carrie make the right choice? Or will she end up trusting the wrong man…again?
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Damaged Trust:
“Hello.”
The voice, deep and amused, came from behind Carrie as she squatted by the uneven tilt of her grey Porsche. She didn’t pay any attention at first, wrapped up in her own problems as she was, so she didn’t acknowledge the greeting. Instead, she reached down for the jack that was lying on the ground beside her. Deftly fitting it under the Porsche, she leaned over to feel with her hands and to guide the jack to a safe position before beginning to pump on the lever to raise the car.
“Need any help?” Deeper and more amused than ever, the voice spoke again. This time, Carrie took in the words and realized with a vague surprise that someone was addressing her.
Putting a supporting arm to rest on the curved bumper of the incapacitated car, she slowly turned her head to look around her, swiveling on her heel to do so. She was right; someone had spoken to her, and that someone was still there. She muttered disgustedly to herself. It had been a hot, long and exasperating day, and Carrie was already late. She was also in a temper, a state of mind that many of her acquaintances, after having experienced the brunt of her anger once, were reluctant to provoke again. It took a lot to provoke Carrie, but a whole lot of straws in the manner of several annoying mishaps had been piled on the proverbial camel’s back, and the flat tyre smack in the middle of Colorado’s finest midday heat had been quite the last straw. She was feeling, in a word, perverse.
She raised her eyebrows at the someone who was indolently leaning against the flank of a very elegant Mercedes. It was a dark blue, a positively gorgeous dream of a car. She tightened her lips at the new-looking tyres in obviously excellent shape and turned her gaze to the owner. He exuded quite a different impression from the car, as different as two unlikes could be. She took one sweeping, indifferent look at the man before enquiring too politely, “Did you say something to me?”
“Yes, I did.” The ruffian had quite a devilish smile, white strong teeth gleaming saturninely against the darkness of a few days’ growth of beard in a tanned face. “I was wondering if you needed any help.”
Normally Carrie would have thanked a man for making such an offer, even though she was perfectly able to change a flat tyre herself. If she had been really tired, she might even have stepped gladly out of the way to take advantage of such generosity. As it was, she regarded the man for a minute without answering. She took her time as she inspected the long length of him, parked as it was with one leg crossed over the other and arms folded in front of a powerfully muscled chest. He wore faded blue jeans and a light blue cotton shirt that seemed to strain a bit across the shoulders. It and the jeans had obviously seen better days. His devilish grin became even more pronounced as Carrie inspected him calmly, but other than that, he did no more than wait for her reply.
Her large eyes travelled unhurriedly back to his face, and she stated briefly, “No.” She turned back to the car and began to pump the lever of the jack.
The man spoke again. “I hope you loosened the nuts on the wheel before you started to jack the car up. Otherwise the wheel will spin around if you try to loosen them after the car is off the ground.” From the sound of his voice, it didn’t seem as if he had budged from his position. Carrie deigned to ignore him, hoping that her rudeness would make him go away. Somehow, though, she doubted this, since he hadn’t already taken the hint by now. She knew she’d been terribly obvious. At any rate, she wasn’t going to turn around and find out. She continued to pump the lever until the flat tyre began to spin when gently pushed. Then, quickly removing the already loosened nuts, she slid them into the dirt beside her with one hand and then started to tug off the wheel. It seemed to stick a little, but then gave way suddenly, sending her back on her bottom with a thump. A smothered sound came from behind her, a sound much like that of a snort or a chuckle. This, of course, added nothing to the sunniness of her disposition, yet still she refused to look around. His presence was not wanted and she was trying her best—or her worst—to discourage her audience.
Normally Carrie would have enjoyed such masculine attention, especially since the character across the road was not a bad-looking fellow. He might even be called handsome, she mused thoughtfully as she dusted off the seat of her pants—that was, if one could see enough of his face to find out. But she was not in the mood to enjoy flirtation at the moment, and did not care for any male attention of any kind. In fact, she very much set against it. The very reason for this trip in the first place had been an unwise attachment to one of the opposite sex. And that experience, she knew, would keep her burned little fingers away for a long, long time.
Carrie was used to the pain by now, but it didn’t make the hurt any easier to take. She rolled the tyre off to the back of the car and heaved up her spare. Rolling it around to position, she squatted down and prepared to give a big heave up. Then there were two extra hands on the wheel beside hers, and Carrie turned startled blue eyes up to stare at the shadow the sun was making of the man’s face. A glimmer of white blurred in front of her eyes; he must be smiling, she thought hazily. Then the white abruptly disappeared.
He said harshly, “You’re crying. What has made you cry? Did you hurt yourself on something?”
Carrie sniffed angrily, the anger directed at herself, and unreasonably, at him. “I am not crying,” she informed him icily, one corner of her mind whispering to her the word “perverse”. “And,” she continued as she pushed one big hand away, “you must have misunderstood me. I don’t want your help.”
He replied softly, “Oh, I don’t think that I’ve misunderstood you at all. However,” he plucked her up and put her out of the way, still speaking easily, “you’re going to get my help, like it or not.”
He moved back to the wheel and hoisted it smoothly back into place. Then, as she simply stood and watched, he quickly put the nuts into place, twirling them a few times before lowering the car with a few muscle-rippling pumps. He turned back to Carrie. She had herself quite under control by then, and she wore a very patient expression.
That white gleam streaked across his face again and he drawled, “That's better. Think you can finish yourself?” His tone was light, but she noticed a searching look in his eyes as they went over her face.
She lifted one mocking eyebrow and her tone matched his. “I daresay.” There was no evidence of her sadly damaged pride at the too easy tears, or of the dull ache in her chest that had never gone away. She showed this stranger a smooth, cold mask.
He walked over to his side of the road, speaking carelessly over, his shoulder. “Don’t bother to say thank you. It was nothing.”
Temper boiled below the surface of Carrie’s bland face, but she kept it securely battened as she said, quite every bit as dry as he, “My dear fellow, I had no intention of doing so.”
He said nothing, but grinned much like the Cheshire Cat would have, and leaned back against the fender of the Merc. Forcing back a sigh of exasperation, she turned and bent to finish the job of tightening the nuts as tight as she could, very much aware of a dark, watching presence just out of sight behind her left shoulder
and telling herself that she disliked it very much indeed. As she gave the last nuts a final twist, the man spoke one more time.
“Be sure to see that someone stronger has a go at tightening those nuts for you when you get home.”
Carrie twirled the jack lever in her hand and couldn’t stop from replying, “You mean you’re not going to do it for me?”
He opened his car door. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She resisted the temptation and didn’t throw the lever through his windshield as he pulled onto the road and soon disappeared, although she would have very much liked to.
Never Say Never
Tina Leonard
Even a frozen heart can melt in holiday heat.
Dustin Reed has enough on his plate trying to run his ranch while raising his young son alone. The last thing he needs is for his new housekeeper to show up with a tiny baby in her arms.
Jill McCall was all set to make a good first impression on her new boss. But the moment she sets foot on the porch with the infant she discovers on Dustin’s doorstep, the misunderstandings begin. It’s not her baby—someone left it there for him.
Dustin can’t find it in his embittered heart to turn either the child or soft, pretty Jill away. And as they settle in, Dustin finds himself envisioning a future with her, the kind of future he stopped hoping for a long time ago. But ranch life is rough, and the fight Dustin faces to keep his own child is about to get even rougher…challenging the notion that Christmas is a season of miracles.
This Retro Romance reprint was originally published in January 1997 by Scarlet Books.
Warning: Contains a hard-hearted rancher, two cute kids, and a feisty woman who melts his heart.