“I can’t believe that good-looking man of yours built you that fancy gourmet kitchen and you still don’t know what to do in it.” Freckles tsk-tsked.
“Oh she knows what to do in it all right,” Kane said as he walked up, Mr. Donut on the leash beside him. Julia blushed and Freckles threw a strawberry at him, which he caught. “I just do most of the cooking for us.”
Which was true. Kane hadn’t officially moved into her house yet, but he spent more nights there than he did at his own place. She waved at Chief Wilcox, who was walking across the street, holding hands with Marcus Weston.
“Kane.” Cessy Walker materialized from across the street. “I’m so glad you’re finally making more social appearances around town, because we could really use you to drum up business at the Chamber of Commerce’s kissing booth.”
Kane let out a bark of laughter. “No way. And don’t even try to manipulate me into volunteering again.”
“But Alex Russell and his hunky dad Vic were supposed to take this time slot and they sent over the commodore instead.” Cessy pointed to the stocky eighty-year-old man with a gray crew cut and a toothpick clenched tightly between his teeth. Sitting on a stool with his arms crossed over his barrel chest, the senior Russell looked like he’d rather punch someone than kiss them. “And we’re set up right next to Maxine Cooper’s cookie stand. How can we compete with that?”
“I’ll tell you what—” Kane pulled out his wallet and peeled off a few large bills. “—consider this my contribution.”
Freckles rewarded his generosity with a paper bowl loaded down with strawberry shortcake and Kane winked at Julia, making her insides feel as creamy as the whipped topping he was licking off his plastic spoon.
A dinging bell sounded right before one of the Gregson twins yelled, “Look out, Uncle Kane!” Julia held her breath as the tandem bike narrowly missed running over her boyfriend’s toes.
“Why did I start venturing out in public again?” he asked her.
“Because you love me,” Julia replied. “And because we both agreed to put ourselves out there socially.”
“I think I’d agree to just about anything for you.” He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide that smirk of his.
“Hey, Coach Chatterson,” the starting pitcher from the Sugar Falls High School baseball team said as he approached the booth with a crowd of teenagers. “I’ve been working on that curveball you taught me in May.”
Julia smiled to herself as she turned to scoop up more strawberries for the new orders. Kane was still doing remodels, but he was also getting back into the sport he loved.
“Kane Chatterson,” Freckles scolded. “Don’t you dare feed that mutt any more of my shortcake. He’ll get a bellyache from all the sugar.”
When Julia turned around to remind him that Mr. Donut was only supposed to be eating the special weight control food the vet prescribed, she saw Kane down on one knee, their dog licking the bowl next to him.
“Oh my gosh,” her aunt squealed loud enough to draw a crowd and it was then that Julia—and everyone else in town—saw the glittering engagement ring he was holding in his hand.
“Captain Julia Fitzgerald.” Kane’s voice shook as several people held up their smartphones and began snapping pictures of Legend Chatterson. She sucked in a breath, not caring about the tears filling up her eyes. Julia couldn’t believe he was doing this here, in such a public place, as though he had something to prove to her. Or himself. “Will you please agree to marry me so we can get the hell out of here and go home to plan our elopement?”
“Of course she will,” Freckles said, before Julia shot her the stay out of it look she’d been practicing lately.
“Of course I will,” Julia echoed the words before Kane slid the not-so-discreet ring on her finger.
“I love you,” he whispered so that only she could hear. And as she wrapped her arms around him, she decided that she couldn’t wait to get him home. All alone.
* * * * *
Don’t miss Alex Russell’s story,
A FAMILY UNDER THE STARS
the next installment in Christy Jeffries’
new miniseries
SUGAR FALLS, IDAHO
Available soon, wherever Harlequin books and ebooks are sold!
Keep reading for an excerpt from WILD HORSE SPRINGS by Jodi Thomas.
Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Special Edition story.
You know that romance is for life. Harlequin Special Edition stories show that every chapter in a relationship has its challenges and delights and that love can be renewed with each turn of the page.
Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Special Edition every month!
Visit Harlequin.com to find your next great read.
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Join Harlequin My Rewards & Instantly earn a FREE ebook of your choice.
Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever & whenever you shop.
Turn your points into FREE BOOKS.
Don’t miss out. Reward the book lover in you!
Register Today & Earn a FREE BOOK*
*New members who join before April 30th, 2017 will receive 2000 points redeemable for eligible titles.
Click here to register
Or visit us online to register at
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001
Can’t get enough romance? Keep reading for a special preview of WILD HORSE SPRINGS, the latest engrossing novel in the RANSOM CANYON series by New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas, coming soon from HQN Books!
Wild Horse Springs
by Jodi Thomas
CODY WINSLOW THUNDERED through the night on a half-wild horse that loved to run. The moon followed them, dancing along the edge of the canyon as they darted over winter buffalo grass that was stiff with frost.
The former Texas Ranger watched the dark outline of the earth where the land cracked open wide enough for a river to run at its base.
The canyon’s edge seemed to snake closer, as if it were moving, crawling over the flat plains, daring Cody to challenge death. One missed step might take him and the horse over the rim and into the black hole. They’d tumble maybe a hundred feet down, barreling over jagged rocks and frozen juniper branches as sharp as spears. No horse or man would survive.
Only, tonight Cody wasn’t worried. He needed to ride, to run, to feel adrenaline pumping in his veins, to know he was alive. He rode hoping to outrun his dark mood. The demons that were always in his mind were chasing him tonight. Daring him. Betting him to take one more risk...the one that would finally kill him.
“Run,” he shouted to the midnight mare. Nothing would catch him here. Not on his land. Not over land his ancestors had hunted on for thousands of years. Fought over. Died for and bled into. Apache blood, settler blood, Comanchero blood mixed in him as it did in this part of Texas. His family tree was a tumbleweed of every kind of tribe that ever crossed the plains.
If the horse fell and they went to thei
r deaths, no one would find them for weeks on this far corner of his ranch. Even the canyon that snaked off the great Palo Duro had no name here. It wasn’t beautiful like Ransom Canyon with layers of earth revealed in a rainbow of colors. Here the rocks were jagged, shooting out of the deep earthen walls from twenty feet in some places, almost like a thin shelf.
The petrified-wood formations along the floor of the canyon reminded Cody of snipers waiting, unseen but deadly. Cody felt numb, already dead inside, as he raced across a place with no name on a horse he called Midnight.
The horse’s hooves tapped suddenly over a low place where water ran off the flat land and into the canyon. Frozen now. Silent. Deadly black ice. For a moment the tapping matched Cody’s heartbeat, then both horse and rider seemed to realize the danger at once.
Cody leaned back, pulling the reins, hoping to stop the animal in time, but the horse reared in panic. Dancing on his hind legs for a moment before twisting violently and bucking Cody off.
As Cody flew through the night air, he almost smiled. The battle he’d been fighting since he was shot and left for dead on the border three years ago was about to end here on his own land. The voices of all the ancestors who came before him whispered in the wind, as if calling him.
When he hit the frozen ground so hard it knocked the air from his lungs, he knew death wouldn’t come easy tonight. Though he’d welcome the silence, Cody knew he’d fight to the end. He came from generations of fighters. He was the last of his line and here in the dark he’d make his stand. Too far away to call for help. And too stubborn to ask anyway.
As he fought to breathe, his body slid over a tiny river of frozen rain and into the black canyon.
He twisted, struggling to stop, but all he managed to do was tumble down. Branches whipped against him and rocks punched his ribs with the force of a prizefighter’s blow. And still he rolled. Over and over. Ice on his skin, warm blood dripping into his eyes. He tried bracing for the hits that came when he landed for a moment before his body rolled again. He grabbed for a rock or a branch to hold on to, but his leather gloves couldn’t get a grip on the ice.
He wasn’t sure if he managed to relax or pass out, but when he landed on a flat rock near the bottom of the canyon, total blackness surrounded him and the few stars above offered no light. For a while he lay still, aware that he was breathing. A good sign. He hurt all over. More proof he was alive.
He’d been near death before. He knew that sometimes the body turned off the pain. Slowly, he mentally took inventory. There were parts that hurt like hell. Others he couldn’t feel at all.
Cody swore as loud as he could and smiled. At least he had his voice. Not that anyone would hear him in the canyon. Maybe his brain was mush; he obviously had a head wound. The blood kept dripping into his eyes. His left leg throbbed with each heartbeat and he couldn’t draw a deep breath. He swore again.
He tried to move and pain skyrocketed, forcing him to concentrate to stop shaking. Fire shot up his leg and flowed straight to his heart. Cody took shallow breaths and tried to reason. He had to control his breathing. He had to stay awake or he’d freeze. He had to keep fighting. Survival was bone and blood to his nature.
The memory of his night in the mud near the Rio Grande came back as if it had only been a day ago, not three years. He’d been bleeding then, hurt, alone. Four Rangers had stood on the bank at dusk. He’d seen the other three crumble when bullets fell like rain.
Only it had been hot that night, so silent after all the gunfire. Cody had known that every Ranger in the area would be looking for him at first light; he had to make it to dawn first. Stay alive. They’d find him.
But not this time.
No one would look for him tonight or tomorrow. No one would even notice he was gone. He’d made sure of that. He’d left all his friends back in Austin after the shooting. He’d broken up with his girlfriend, who’d said she couldn’t deal with hospitals. When he came back to his family’s land, he didn’t bother to call any of his old friends. He’d grown accustomed to the solitude. He’d needed it to heal not just the wounds outside, but the ones deep inside.
Cody swore again.
The pain won out for a moment and his mind drifted. At the corners of his consciousness, he knew he needed to move, stop the bleeding, try not to freeze, but he’d become an expert at drifting that night on the border. Even when a rifle had poked into his chest as one of the drug runners tested to see if he was alive, Cody hadn’t reacted.
If he had, another bullet would have gone into his body, which was already riddled with lead.
Cody recited the words he’d once had to scrub off the walls in grade school. Mrs. Presley had kept repeating as he worked, Cody Winslow, you’ll die cussing if you don’t learn better.
Turned out she might be right. Even with his eyes almost closed, the stars grew brighter and circled around him like drunken fireflies. If this was death’s door, he planned to go through yelling.
The stars drew closer. Their light bounced off the black canyon walls as if they were sparks of echoes.
He stopped swearing as the lights began to talk.
“He’s dead,” one high, bossy voice said. “Look how shiny the blood is.”
Tiny beams of light found his face, blinding him to all else.
A squeaky sound added, “I’m going to throw up. I can’t look at blood.”
“No, he’s not dead,” another argued. “His hand is twitching and if you throw up, Marjorie Martin, I’ll tell Miss Adams.”
All at once the lights were bouncing around him, high voices talking over each other.
“Yes, he is dead.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You stop saying anything.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
Cody opened his eyes. The lights were circling around him like a war party.
“See, I told you so.”
One beam of light came closer, blinding him for a moment, and he blinked.
“He’s hurt. I can see blood bubbling out of him in several spots.” The bossy voice added, “Don’t touch it, Marjorie. People bleeding have germs.”
The gang of lights streamed along his body as if trying to torture him or drive him mad as the world kept changing from black to bright. It occurred to him that maybe he was being abducted by aliens, but he doubted the beings coming to conquer the world would land here in West Texas or that they’d sound like little girls.
“Hell,” he said and to his surprise the shadows all jumped back.
After a few seconds he made out the outline of what might be a little girl, or maybe ET.
“You shouldn’t cuss, mister. We heard you way back in the canyon yelling out words I’ve seen written but never knew how to pronounce.”
“Glad I could help with your education, kid. Any chance you have a cell phone or a leader?”
“We’re not allowed to carry cell phones. It interferes with our communicating with nature.” She shined her flashlight in his eyes. “Don’t call me kid. Miss Adams says you should address people by their names. It’s more polite. My name is Melanie Miller and I could read before I started kindergarten.”
Cody mumbled a few words, deciding he was in hell already and, who knew, all the helpers’ names started with M.
All at once the lights went jittery again and every one of the six little girls seemed to be talking at the same time.
One thought he was too bloody to live. One suggested they
should cover him with their coats; another voted for undressing him. Two said they would never touch blood. One wanted to put a tourniquet around his neck.
Cody was starting to hope death might come faster when another shadow carrying a lantern moved into the mix. “Move back, girls. This man is hurt.”
He couldn’t see more than an outline but the new arrival was definitely not a little girl. Tall, nicely shaped, hiking boots, a backpack on her back.
Closing his eyes and ignoring the little girls’ constant questions, he listened as a calm voice used her cell to call for help. She had the location down to latitude and longitude and described a van parked in an open field about a hundred yards from her location where they could land a helicopter. When she hung up, she knelt at his side and shifted the backpack off her shoulder.
As she began to check his injuries, her voice calmly gave instructions. “Go back to the van, girls. Two at a time, take turns flashing your lights at the sky toward the North Star. The rest of you get under the blankets and stay warm. When you hear the chopper arrive, you can watch from the windows, but stay in the van.
“McKenna, you’re in charge. I’ll be back as soon as they come.”
Another M, Cody thought, but didn’t bother to ask.
To his surprise the gang of ponytails marched off like tiny little soldiers.
“How’d you find me?” Cody asked the first of a dozen questions bouncing around in his aching head as the woman laid out supplies from her pack.
“Your cussing echoed off the canyon wall for twenty miles.” Her hands moved along his body, not in a caress, but to a man who hadn’t felt a woman’s touch in years, it wasn’t far from it.
“Want to give me your name? Know what day it is? What year? Where you are?”
“I don’t have brain damage,” he snapped, then regretted moving his head. “My name’s Winslow. I don’t care what day it is or what year for that matter.” He couldn’t make out her face. “I’m on my own land. Or at least I was when my horse threw me.”
The Makeover Prescription Page 20