The Bride Wore Denim

by Lizbeth Selvig

  She didn’t blink or raise her voice. She put her hands in her lab coat pockets to keep from showing her flexing fingers.

  “In point of fact, Dr. Wilson, you treated me like a first year intern in there, even though I am the senior medical staff member in this matter. I also have the trust of the patient and you ignored that along with his wishes. I treated you with the respect you commanded. It’s not my style to kiss up to anyone or brown nose a superior to make my way. Good medicine is all I care about. You or one of your hospital staff docs will handle his care in regard to his recent appendectomy. At the moment, because he is still in a little bit of shock, that is secondary to aftercare from the anaphylaxis. I didn’t appreciate you not bowing to my expertise or asking me to debrief you—even if I didn’t just come from Johns Hopkins.”

  “You take a pretty surly tone.”

  “I apologize.”

  For a long moment he assessed her and finally he shook his head. “I don’t like your style, Doctor. But the staff thinks highly of your skill. We’ll let this slide because the child did request your presence.”

  “I don’t love your style either.” She smiled. “But I’ve heard the staff thinks highly of your bedside manner. I hope we can continue to understand each other better as we are required to work together.”

  “I hope that’s so.” He nodded curtly and left.

  Why were older doctors so prejudiced when it came to believing surgeons knew their stuff? Mia was tired of dealing with the game playing and politics of staff. What was wrong with being a damn good physician?

  She returned to Rory, and he smiled with relief. “How are you, kiddo?” she asked. “Do your stitches or anything inside your tummy hurt?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t want Dr. Wilson to stay and examine you. Do you not like him?”

  “He’s nice.”

  That stymied her. “Then why—?”

  “He didn’t have nothin’ to do with making me better.” Rory interrupted. “Only you and Dr. Thomas who took out my appendix. And . . . you . . . ” His huge, dark eyes brimmed with tears that clung to his lashes like diamonds but didn’t spill.

  “I what, Rory?”

  “You saved me. And I want you to save Jack.”

  “Jack?” A slice of new panic dove through her stomach. She knew Jack. “Your cat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why does Jack need saving?”

  “Buster has him,” he said. “But Mrs. Murray, the foster lady, she said I couldn’t bring him with me ’cause she’s allergic to cats. And Buster said he’d keep him for a while, but he can’t keep him forever because mostly the shelters won’t let him have a cat neither.”

  A slight dizziness started her head spinning. “Who’s Buster?”

  “I lived with him a while after my mama got taken away.”

  “Where does Buster live?”

  “Everywhere,” he said, and Mia’s stomach slowly started to sink. “He’s my best friend. Sometimes he goes to the shelter by the church in Upper Manhattan. Sometimes he lives under the bridge by the East River. Sometimes he stays in the camp with his friends.”

  “Rory? Is Buster a homeless man?”

  “Buster says he doesn’t want a normal house. He says he owns the whole city of New York, and he should ’cause he fought for it. But Jack does need a house ’cause it’s going to snow pretty soon, and he’ll freeze. So . . . will you save him like you saved me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know if . . . ”

  She thought about all the animals she’d had growing up on one of the biggest cattle ranches in Wyoming. Until leaving for college she’d never imagined that some kids might not have pets. No dogs, no cats, no horses.

  “Please? Jack’s the only one left who really loves me.”

  “That’s so not true, Rory. I know it’s not true.” She sighed and sat next to him on the mattress. “I love you. I’m your friend, right? And your mom loves you so much.”

  “Mrs. Murray the foster lady said she was too sick to be a good mother. ’Cause she’s in the hospital, too.”

  “Again?” Mia stared at him, heartbroken. “Rory, since when? What happened?”

  “I don’t know when. Before I came here. I tried to call her to tell her I was sick, but she wasn’t at the jail.”

  For the past three months, Monique Beltane had resided in a women’s prison in upstate New York where she was serving one year for theft and possession of a narcotic. She was also living through treatment for breast cancer.

  “That’s not true, Rory. Your mom will never be too sick to love you. And she’s a good mom, too. She’s just been sick for such a long time.

  Mia knew Monique’s story well. She’d become addicted to prescription opioids after botched hernia surgery four years before. Almost a year after that operation, Mia had been the one to operate again, and had managed to relieve some of Monique’s chronic pain. During the three years that had followed, she’d kept in touch with Monique and her son Rory, even seeing them socially. She liked the woman, plain and simple. Monique wanted to get well. She was just weak when it came to pain. Still, she’d gotten herself clean, and Mia believed she might have made a success of it. Then, six months ago, she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer.

  She’d managed the chemo, but the mastectomy and the oxycodone to which she was so highly addicted had pushed her back over the edge. Three months ago, she’d purchased oxycodone from an undercover agent and that had been the end.

  But she’d just gone back into the hospital. Mia didn’t know yet what was wrong, but her intuition didn’t offer much hope. At this stage in her recovery, no illness boded well. She had a mental note made to track down Monique’s physician.

  And now here was Rory.

  You couldn’t make crap like this up.

  “But even if Mom gets better she’s in jail for a long time. All I got is Jack.”

  “But if Jack can’t stay with you at the Murrays, where would he go if we find him?”

  He shrugged, and his eyes filled with water. Mia sighed. This was so not in her job description. How did one even begin to try looking for a homeless cat in New York City?

  “Please, Dr. Mia.”

  She smoothed his thick curls. She’d never find one cat in a city that must have a billion. “All right, listen to me, okay? I will see what I can find out, but you’re practically a young man and you’re smart. You know I might not have any luck. You promise you won’t be angry with me if I don’t find him?”

  He smiled a watery but genuine true, toothy, ten-year-old’s grin. “You will.”

  About the Author

  LIZBETH SELVIG lives in Minnesota with her best friend (aka her husband) and a gray Arabian gelding named Jedi. After working as a newspaper journalist and magazine editor, and raising an equine veterinarian daughter and a talented musician son, Lizbeth won RWA’s prestigious Golden Heart Contest® in 2010 with her contemporary romance, The Rancher and the Rock Star, and was a 2014 nominee for RWA’s RITA® Award with her second published novel, Rescued by a Stranger. In her spare time, she loves to hike, quilt, read, horseback ride, and spend time with her new granddaughter. She also has many four-legged grandchildren—more than twenty—including a wallaby, two alpacas, a donkey, a pig, a sugar glider, and many dogs, cats, and horses (pics of all appear on her website www.lizbethselvig.com). She loves connecting with readers—contact her any time!

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Also by Lizbeth Selvig

  Good Guys Wear Black

  Beauty and the Brit

  Rescued by a Stranger

  The Rancher and the Rock Star

  Coming Soon

  The Bride Wore Red Boots

  Give in to your Impulses . . .

  Continue reading for excerpts from

  our newest Avon Impulse books.

  Available now wherever e-books are sold.

  CHASING JILLIAN

  A LOVE AND FOOTBALL NO
VEL

  By Julie Brannagh

  EASY TARGET

  AN ELITE OPS NOVEL

  By Kay Thomas

  DIRTY THOUGHTS

  A MECHANICS OF LOVE NOVEL

  By Megan Erickson

  LAST FIRST KISS

  A BRIGHTWATER NOVEL

  By Lia Riley

  An Excerpt from

  CHASING JILLIAN

  A Love and Football Novel

  by Julie Brannagh

  The fifth novel in USA Today bestselling author Julie Brannagh’s Love and Football series! Jillian Miller likes her job working in the front office for the Seattle Sharks, but lately she needs a change, which takes her into foreign territory: the Sharks’ workout facility after hours. The last thing she expects is a hot, grumbly god among men to be there as witness.

  As Jillian discovers that the new her is about so much more than she sees in the mirror, can she discover that happiness and love are oh-so-much better than perfect?

  One dance with him and Jillian was pulling herself out of his arms and getting back into the car. She could dance with him and not get emotional about it. He was just another guy. She was not going to let herself get stupid over someone who was clearly only interested in her as a friend.

  His hold on her was gentle. He smelled good. She saw the flash of his smile when she peeked up at him. She’d felt shy with Carlos because she didn’t know him. She didn’t have that problem with Seth. She wanted to move closer, but she shouldn’t.

  She tried to remind herself of the fact that Seth probably had more than a few friends with benefits, even if he was between girlfriends at the time. He was a guy. He probably wasn’t celibate, and they weren’t romantic with each other. There was also the tiny fact that anything that happened between them was not going to end well.

  She was in more trouble than she knew how to get out of.

  At first, Jillian rested her head against his cheek. A minute or so later, she laid her head on his chest. They swayed together, feet barely moving, and he realized his heart was pounding. He’d never experienced anything as romantic as dancing late at night in a deserted city park to a song playing on his car’s sound system. The darkness wrapped them in the softest cocoon. He glanced down at her as he felt her slowly relaxing against him.

  It’s not the pale moon that excites me

  That thrills and delights me

  Oh, no

  It’s just the nearness of you

  He took a deep breath of the vanilla scent he’d recognize anywhere as hers. His fingers stroked the small of her back, and he heard her sigh. Slow dancing was even better than he remembered. Then again, he wasn’t in junior high anymore, and he held a woman in his arms, not a teenage girl. There was a lot to be said for delayed gratification. Dancing with Jillian was all about the smallest movements, and letting things build. He laid his cheek against hers.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.

  “Why not?” he whispered back.

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  “We’re just dancing, Jill.”

  And if things got any hotter between them, they’d be naked. She didn’t try to step away from him. If she’d resisted him at all, if she’d shown reluctance or fear or hesitation, he would have let her go, and he would walk away. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

  They were just friends. He didn’t think he had those kinds of feelings for this woman: the sexual, amorous, bow-chicka-bow-bow feelings, despite the fact his pulse was racing, his fingers itched to touch her, and he knew he should let go of her. It didn’t matter that he was still having hotter-than-the-invention-of-fire dreams about Jillian most nights, either. He wasn’t going to consider what kind of tricks his subconscious played on him. Instead, he pulled her a fraction of an inch closer. He slid one hand up her back, feeling her long, silky-soft blonde hair cascading over his fingers, and she trembled. He cupped her cheek in his hand. He couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth. Just a couple of inches more and he’d kiss her. He moved slowly, but purposefully.

  He watched her eyelids flutter closed. He felt her quick intake of breath. He wondered how she tasted. He’d know in a few seconds.

  “I want to kiss you,” he breathed against her mouth.

  The silence was broken by the screaming guitars of Guns n’ Roses.

  That would teach him to use the “shuffle” function.

  An Excerpt from

  EASY TARGET

  An Elite Ops Novel

  by Kay Thomas

  Award-winning author Kay Thomas continues her thrilling Elite Ops series. Fighting to clear her brother of murder, freelance reporter Sassy Smith is suddenly kidnapped and thrown into a truck with other women who are about to be sold . . . or worse. When she sees an opportunity for escape Sassy takes it, but she may have just jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

  “You’re thinking too much.” She felt his words vibrate against the inside of her thigh as he kissed her there before easing up beside her on the bed. “Stop that.”

  She smiled, not at all surprised that he seemed to read her mind. He sat up on the edge of the lower bunk next to her and took his own boots and socks off, then his shirt, jeans, and . . .

  She closed her eyes.

  He was going to be naked soon, and she had to say something first. He slid up beside her on the mattress and pulled her back to his front, with his back toward the wall. She felt the insistence of his erection against her bottom.

  She started to turn in his arms, but he held onto her with an arm clamped around her waist. “Slow down. I just want to enjoy holding you a while. I’ve thought about this for a very long time.”

  Really? That came as a complete surprise. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how long, but when he trailed his fingertips back and forth across her rib cage, she quit thinking. Instead, she sighed in relaxed contentment. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

  Why had she been nervous about this for so long? She could tell him now. It’d be okay.

  He kissed the side of her neck and whispered in her ear, “Well, I promise we’re just getting started.”

  She tensed, and he absolutely noticed but misunderstood the reason.

  He gathered her more snugly against his chest. “Don’t worry, we can take this as slow as you want.”

  “You’d do that?” The mixture of relief and disappointment she felt was . . . confusing.

  “God, Sassy. What sort of men have you—”

  The sound of screeching brakes interrupted whatever else he’d been about to say. Sassy felt the momentum shoving her backward into his chest.

  “What’s happening?” she gasped.

  “I don’t know.” He tugged his arm from under her body to see his watch. “We’re not scheduled to stop for several more hours.” The stark change from relaxed lover to alert super soldier was dramatic. “Get dressed. Now.”

  Bryan hauled himself forward out of bed and started shoving clothes toward her while Sassy was still playing catch-up. Her panties were inside out, but she slid them on at his urging without fixing them.

  “C’mon, Sassy.”

  The horrific screeching continued, intensifying as she pulled her jeans, sweater, socks, and boots on. She was lacing up as a rumbling shuddering started.

  “Fuck,” Bryan mumbled.

  “What is it?” She finished with the boots and looked up from her crouched position as the screeching abruptly stopped.

  “Hang on!” He grabbed for her.

  The rail car shifted, and she felt like she was in a carnival house ride as the compartment swayed wildly from side to side. The car tilted, and the bed she was sitting on flew up in the air. She hit her head on the bunk above, and the world went black.

  An Excerpt from

  DIRTY THOUGHTS

  A Mechanics of Love Novel

  by Megan Erickson

  Some things are sexier the second time around.

  Cal Payton has gruff and grumbly down to an art
. . . all the better for keeping people away. And it usually works. Until Jenna Macmillan—his biggest mistake—walks into Payton and Sons mechanic shop all grown up, looking like sunshine, and inspiring more than a few dirty thoughts.

  Okay, so admittedly Jenna had known this was a stupid idea. She’d tried to talk herself out of it the whole way, muttering to herself as she sat at a stop light. The elderly man in the car in the lane beside her had been staring at her like she was nuts.

  And she was. Totally nuts.

  It’d been almost a decade since she’d seen Cal Payton and yet one look at those silvery blue eyes and she was shoved right back to the head-over-heels in love eighteen-year-old girl she’d been.

  Cal had been hot in high school, but damn, had time been good to him. He’d always been a solid guy, never really hitting that awkward skinny stage some teenage boys went through after a growth spurt.

  And now . . . well . . . Cal looked downright sinful standing there in the garage. He’d rolled down the top of his coveralls, revealing a white T-shirt that looked painted on, for God’s sake. She could see the ridges of his abs, the outline of his pecs. A large smudge on the sleeve drew her attention to his bulging biceps and muscular, veined forearms. Did he lift these damn cars all day? Thank God it was hot as Hades outside already so she could get by with flushed cheeks.

  And he was staring at her, those eyes which hadn’t changed one bit. Cal never cared much for social mores. He looked people in the eye and he held it long past comfort. Cal had always needed that, to be able to measure up who he was dealing with before he ever uttered a word.