The Trip (A Fast Break Romance)

by Staley, Deborah Grace

He took my hands in his and looked deeply into my eyes. "Because I cannot bear to be parted from you."

  "Oh." The word came out on a rush of breath.

  "We must leave if we are to arrive at your ceremony on time," he reminded me.

  "Yes," I agreed. Truthfully, I had forgotten all about it.

  He held me close and gave me a long, lingering kiss. Too soon, we returned to reality, and immediately set off for the next leg of my tour in Boston.

  ~*~

  The next two days were a nightmare of indecision. I had more time to think because I had fewer signings, and I only saw Carlo in the evenings. Each time I thought I had convinced myself leaving with him would be the craziest thing I could ever do, he'd call 'just to hear my voice,' or he'd pick me up for dinner and proceed to wipe everything out of my mind but him and the realization of how empty my life would be without him.

  We left New England that Sunday. Those two weeks spent with Carlo were the most incredible time of my life. We didn't return to New York as he had promised. Instead, we married by the canals of Venice, honeymooned in the Highlands of Scotland, explored the castles of England, and sunned on the shores of the Mediterranean.

  Looking back now, I think about how different my life would have turned out if it hadn't been for that trip. I probably would still be sitting in my comfortable little house, pecking away on my computer, and trudging down to the public library to learn more of the exotic locales where my fantasies existed.

  If I hadn't written the books and if I hadn't been forced out of the safe, dull existence that was my life, I never would have met Carlo.

  Now when I need to research a setting, I board a plane and comb through the archives of the actual cities in which my characters live. But, I don't believe this alone accounts for the phenomenal success of my most recent works. Carlo was everything I'd ever dreamed of in a romance novel hero . . . and so much more. Rather than relying solely upon my imagination to write, I now experience daily the three essential elements of my novels: romance, passion, and above all else, love.

  ABOUT DEBORAH GRACE STALEY

  Deborah Grace Staley is a life-long resident of East Tennessee. Married to her college sweetheart, she lives with her husband and son in the Foothills of the Smoky Mountains in a circa 1867 farmhouse that has Angel's Wings in the gingerbread trim. She is the award-winning and bestselling author of The Angel Ridge Novels: Only You, A Home for Christmas, What the Heart Wants (Winner of the 2011 Holt Medallion), and her most recent release is I'll Be There.

  Deborah recently received her Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing from Goddard College in Port Townsend, Washington. She writes full- time and teaches.

  Deborah loves to hear from readers. Please contact her at:

  P.O. Box 672, Vonore TN 37885 or via her website at www.deborahgracestaley.com.

  Go to the next page to read an excerpt from

  I'll Be There

  Available September 2011

  from www.bellbridgebooks.com and Amazon

  Dixie's Welcome

  "Hi, y'all. Welcome to Angel Ridge and what could be the worst winter on record here. Dixie Ferguson's the name, and I run Ferguson's, the finest eating establishment in town, if I do say so myself.

  "You've chosen to visit us at an unusual time. Normally, I'd describe Angel Ridge as a sleepy little picturesque town that sits high on a ridge above Tellassee Lake, but things aren't always like they seem on the surface. Why, around here, the guy who wears overalls and no shirt in the summer is just as likely to be a millionaire as he is to be down on his luck. Take the newcomer who moved to town last fall. She wasn't at all like she seemed either. Why, she had family secrets even she didn't know about.

  "Before I go into that, let me take a second to tell you a bit about the place I've called home for most of my life. Angel Ridge, population three hundred forty, is located in the valley of the Little Tennessee River and was established in 1785. In the early days, its first families--the McKays, the Wallaces, the Houstons, the Joneses, and the Craigs--staked their claims on hundreds of acres of the richest bottomland anyone had ever seen. They built big ol' homes near the meandering river and operated prosperous plantations. Well, all except for the Craigs. They were traders and craftsmen. Men of commerce, as it were. Meanwhile, the town developed above the river on a high ridge.

  "In the early 1970's, the Flood Control Board came in and bought up most of the property along the flood prone river, and those stately homes that some called relics of a bygone era, were inundated in the name of progress. But those who built more modest Victorians near town up on the ridge? Well, their homes are still standin'. Of course, the families who lost theirs to the newly formed Tellassee Lake moved up to the ridge as well and built elaborate Victorian mansions such as this quaint little town had never seen.

  "Most of the families I mentioned earlier are still around. These are hardy folks. Why, in all the time they've lived here, they've endured Indian attacks, floods, divided loyalties in the Civil War, and yes, even feuds. The older folks are still marked by the hardships of the past, but the young people of the town hope to move beyond old hurts to create a new generation made strong because of their roots, yet free of the past.

  "As I said, last fall Candi Heart rented the old beauty shop across the way on Main Street and opened up a girly shop called, 'Heart's Desire' and along with it, a closet full of skeletons. Her shop's a fun place that sells a bit of everything a girl loves: flowers, candy, lingerie, clothing, perfumes and lotions. Why, she even serves tea in the back. It's a nice place where girls can get together and talk. I just love the place and Candi, but she had no idea that her coming here would rattle some old, rusty chains. Yes, trouble followed that girl to town and Jenny Thompson, who runs our newspaper, The Angel Ridge Chronicle, got tangled up in the mess.

  "I've lived here most of my life, and I can't remember ever locking my doors at night, but I confess to locking up now and checking them again before I go to bed. I've even caught myself looking over my shoulder as I walk down Main for anyone that might seem suspicious. I hate feeling this way. I never thought things in Angel Ridge would come to this, but that just goes to show you that every town, even a picture-postcard one, has its troubles.

  "Not much goes on around here in the winter. After Christmas, folks usually hunker down and wait for spring to come. Given recent events, I'd say people in town are understandably on edge. I guess you could say that's where our heroine, Jenny Thompson, and hero, Cord Goins, are--on edge, hunkered down and waiting. Stuck between a beginning and an ending, and both of them powerless to control the situations they've found themselves in. But that's when a person can also find themselves in uncharted territory just waiting to venture out and make their own way. I've got a feeling Jenny and Cord will find their way.

  "So keep safe and warm during your visit to Angel Ridge, and if you have time, come by the diner and have yourself a cup of hot chocolate on me."

  ~*~

  Jenny lay on the stiff cot staring up in the direction of the rough-hewn ceiling. What she wouldn't give for her pillow top mattress and a pile of down-filled comforters. Her idea of roughing it was the Super 8, and this cabin, miles from civilization on some no-name mountain, was just a step up from sleeping in a tent. The cold, late November wind whistled through the cracks in the wood slats that doubled for walls. The thin military-style blanket provided only meager warmth.

  It had been two months since she'd been taken into "protective" custody. In that time, she'd been moved from location to location. Each time because men with guns had found where they'd tucked her away. It was like they'd planted a sub-dermal tracking device on her.

  She rolled to her side and stared out the break where the curtains didn't meet. Nothing but darkness. She loved it when stars dotted the sky. She never knew that being in the middle of nowhere with no artificial light for competition allowed for viewing them as nature intended. She'd noticed that during her many sleepless nights. Nighttime
was often filled with activity, so that was when she did her thinking, since there was precious little else to do.

  She wondered what was going on at home. Wondered how her sister was since she'd been told that Jenny had been placed in the witness protection program. She and her parents had never been close, but she truly missed her baby sister. Their mother's main concern had been to raise her and her sister as two proper southern ladies. Jenny had never fit that mold, not that she had tried. With their father pursuing a career in politics, he'd been mostly absent and happy to leave the childrearing to his wife.

  The one constant had been that she and Frannie had had each other. At night after the ballet performances Daddy had missed, again, they'd cuddle under the covers and dry each other's tears. Jenny wrapped her arms around her midsection and squeezed, wishing that it was her sister's comforting arms around her. Could anything ever fill this ache inside her? She couldn't imagine never seeing Frannie again. Who had dried her sister's tears when some faceless voice on a phone had told her she'd never see or speak to Jenny again?

  Gunfire rocked the cabin, shattering the stillness of the night. Jenny rolled off her bed onto the floor just before the window over the cot became a shower of glass.

  A man entered the room, a gun poised in his hand. "Come with me," he ordered, before roughly hauling her to her feet. "Keep your head down." Jenny's breath came out in a rush when she saw that he was one of the U.S. Marshals guarding her.

  The ancient timbers of the tiny, old cabin vibrated with the impact of a barrage of bullets. She ought to be frightened, but instead she was good and pissed. "What the hell happened? We're on the side of a godforsaken mountain. How do they keep finding us?"

  The man beside her didn't respond. Instead, he shoved a moldy rug out of the way. Dust flew in all directions burning her eyes. He flung back a door in the floor revealing a gaping hole. Cool, musty air filtered up offering an invitation she would be unable to refuse.

  "Get in."

  Another marshal appeared in the doorway. "I need you, Pierce. I can't hold them off on my own."

  Pierce grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "We talked about this when we got here. This tunnel is the only way out now." He shoved a flashlight at her and urged her down into the hole.

  "How am I supposed to find some cave in the dark?"

  "Go."

  The rough-hewn door slammed shut and darkness surrounded her. She crouched just inside the tunnel, listening to the sounds above. The scratching of the rug being replaced, retreating footsteps, and finally the crash of a door breaking away from its frame. Then more gunfire. She clicked on the light, let instinct kick in and moved.

  Slimy rocks lined the narrow, frozen path making footing treacherous. The low earthen ceiling required her to move in a crouched position. Cobwebs clung to her face and clothing. She gulped great breaths of the moist, stagnant air, but couldn't force enough into her lungs.

  After weeks of changing locations in the middle of the night, she had learned to sleep prepared to run. Tonight she'd chosen sweatpants and a t-shirt with a sweatshirt tied at her waist. She'd worn shoes to bed for weeks now. She turned a corner and a rat scurried across the toe of her sneakers. A scream rose up in the back of her throat, but she pushed it down and kept moving. The passage narrowed and ended. Jenny searched for a way out, but couldn't find one. Perfect, she thought. I'm trapped in a cold, dark hole. No marshals, no assassins, just rats that can eat away her flesh while she starved. Nice.

  She closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally. Get hold of yourself and think. When she opened her eyes, she saw a makeshift door above her. She pushed against it, splinters bit into her palms, but nothing happened. She pushed harder, ignoring the pain, but it wouldn't budge. Squatting, she sprang upward, getting nothing but a bruised shoulder for her efforts. She surged up again, the wood tearing her thick cotton shirt. The door moved a little, so she repeated the process until she was able to wedge it open a few inches. She pushed and shoved until, finally, she had clawed her way out onto the leaf- strewn forest floor.

  Standing, Jenny jumped on the door until it closed. She covered it with tree limbs and brush. And then she ran. She couldn't tell where she was going, but she had to put distance between her and the cabin. Hiding was her only objective. Her logical mind intruded telling her that if the assassins couldn't find her, would the marshals be able to? Her mind churned, but survival demanded cover. She'd worry about the rest later.

  It was pitch-black tonight. The moist smell of rain or snow hung heavy in the air. She hoped to find the cave they'd scouted earlier before it came. Small tree branches bent against her progress and slapped her in the face. Tree roots tripped her, but she maintained her footing and kept going. Thank God for yoga that improved her flexibility and balance. She untied her sweatshirt from her waist and pulled it on as she jogged up the mountain, shining the flashlight in all directions searching. Forget the cave. Anything would do: a ditch, a rock--

  She ran headlong into something solid. The force of the impact nearly knocked the breath from her. As she struggled to regain her footing, she realized that two strong hands held her upright. She pointed the flashlight at his face. She thought he looked familiar, but couldn't be sure. He was tall, dark, bearded. His pack declared him a hiker, but could she be sure? What if he was one of them?

  "What the hell?" he mumbled.

  He seemed as surprised as her, but she wasn't about to stand around and find out that he was about to murder her. If he thought Violet Jennings Thompson was going out without a fight, he was in for the shock of his life. All the anger and the months of hiding and having her life stolen from her by faceless men, who were less than scum, converged into blind fury. Adrenaline surged through her, and she pummeled and kicked, mindless in her rage. When he suddenly released her, she fell hard.

  "Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you." He grabbed her flashlight and pointed it at her face. Blinded, she closed her eyes against the pain.

  "You," he murmured. "I thought you were dead."

  Jenny heard people thrashing their way up the mountain. She scooted away, gaining her feet. Just a few more steps and she could disappear into the dense forest. He surged forward, gripping her arm it in a vise she couldn't escape, but she struggled anyway.

  "Who's following you?"

  Instinct told her to answer him honestly. "I'm not sure. Either marshals or--"

  The man slung her over his shoulder and ran. "Hey!" She kicked, squirmed, and pounded his back with each labored step he took.

  "Be still or I'll drop you on your head so you can break your neck," he growled.

  She grabbed his coat with both hands and bided her time, vowing to renew her struggles as soon as her feet touched the ground.

  Within moments, he ducked into a cave and dumped her onto the cold, hard ground. Numb with fear and cold, she didn't feel a thing. She couldn't be sure if he'd brought her to the same cave she and the marshals had scouted earlier. What if he'd been lying in wait for her? What if the plan had been for his fellow thugs to force her up the mountain where he'd grab her--hide her until they could catch up?

  He went back outside and pulled several tree branches across the opening to the cave, confusing the scenario. Jenny's instincts told her to run, but the darkness inside the cave was so complete, she froze with indecision. When he'd finished, he used the flashlight to find his way back to her.

  "What are you going to do to me?" Jenny demanded.

  He shut off the light and whispered. "Unless you're sure those are marshals out there, you might want to keep quiet."

  "How do I know you're not one of the ones who are after me?"

  "If I wanted to kill you, why would I hide you?"

  Why indeed. She could hear her pursuers nearing and her anxiety grew. She couldn't be sure of anything. What if she was right and this was a plan? That they knew where he'd hidden her? So, she decided to reason with him.

  "You'll spend the rest of your life in jail
if you kill me," she said.

  "It's not too late for you to do the right thing. Let me go, and I swear I won't tell anyone about you."

  The man leaned in close to her. She could feel his heat, could sense his intensity. Near her ear he spoke evenly, "You're safe."

  An inappropriate fission of awareness skidded up her spine, while outside, twigs snapped, leaves rustled, muffled voices grew louder. Then, something unbelievable happened. The sounds receded and stillness settled around them. Trembling and weak with relief, Jenny rested her head against knees she'd pulled up to her chest and thanked God.

  Jenny jumped when she heard the man beside her move. She'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone.

  He pressed something soft against her legs. "Here. It's cold and you don't have a coat."

  "I'm fine."

  "Take it. It'll get colder before morning." The concern lacing his words started another of those inappropriate shivers. His deep, slow southern drawl sounded so familiar. Like the accents of the people from the mountain communities who came into Angel Ridge to shop on weekends.

  "Who are you?"

  No response. No movement. Just his even breathing and hers, which was much more labored.

  "Do I know you?" Still nothing. "You said you thought I was dead. Why?"

  "We best keep quiet. They might still be nearby." He took the coat and leaned even closer. Reaching out a hand, he fumbled until he found her shoulder, then draped the coat around her. Squeezing her arm, he said, "Try to rest. I'll scout the area first light to see if it's safe to leave."

  He withdrew far enough away that she could no longer feel his warmth, and Jenny felt inexplicably alone.

  She'd hoped to find a safe haven. She never imagined she'd share shelter with a stranger. He was right. If he'd wanted to harm her, he could have done it already. Still, she'd stay alert and wait till morning when she'd have light and could look in his eyes. She'd made a career of trusting her instincts. They would tell her what to do.