by Julie Miller
And when Tyler came out with the other children to take his bow, they all rose as one and joined the applause with the rest of the audience.
But it was in the quiet moments backstage, after the others had gone home and Katie was stuck in the greenroom ironing costumes and ignoring Francis’s blow-by-blow critique of their opening night performance, that she got the best present of all.
“Low clearance, buddy.”
Trent ducked through the greenroom door, carrying Tyler on his broad shoulders with the same joy and love that Ebenezer Scrooge had carried Tiny Tim through the streets of London on Christmas Day. Trent even shook Francis’s hand and congratulated him on his performance, rendering the temperamental actor speechless for a few moments before he beat a hasty escape.
“You ready to go, sunshine?” Trent set Tyler on his feet and hurried him into the dressing room to retrieve his coat. “I promised this hot young actor that I’d take him out for ice cream if he stayed in character for the whole show.”
“And I did, Mom,” Tyler bragged, galloping back out to join them. “I’m getting a root-beer float.”
“Sounds a little chilly for a December night. Do you mind if I tag along with you for some hot chocolate?”
Trent leaned over the ironing board to steal a kiss. “Maybe it’s me who should be asking if I can tag along and be part of the family celebration.”
Katie cupped the side of his jaw in her hand when he would have pulled away. She lost her heart in the depths of those dark gray eyes. “You will always be a part of this family, Trent. You saved our lives. You made my son feel safe and you helped me learn to not just trust, but to embrace what I feel.”
“And what do you feel, Katie Lee Rinaldi?”
“That I love you. That I’ve always loved you. I’m just sorry it took me so long to realize I’m in love with you, too.”
Trent took her hand and led her around the ironing board to pull her into his arms and claim her mouth with a kiss. “I’m in love with you, too, sunshine.”
Several seconds passed before Katie remembered they had an audience and pulled away—but only to welcome Tyler into the circle of this loving man’s arms.
“Mom, you don’t have to mail my letter to Santa. I already got what I wanted for Christmas.”
Trent agreed. “I think we all did.”
“I haven’t said yes to your proposal yet.” She felt glaring eyes from above and below and laughed. “Yes. Of course, the answer is yes.”
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781460388341
Kansas City Confessions
Copyright © 2015 by Julie Miller
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Finding an amnesiac bride stranded in a blizzard wasn’t how a navy SEAL pictured his homecoming...
Navy SEAL Cal Hollister is stunned when the white flag he sees flapping in a snowstorm turns out to be a veil attached to a beautiful woman. Unconscious and dressed only in a bridal gown, Cal calls her Stormy and carries her to safety. But it isn’t long before trouble finds the mysterious bride, and trying to discover her identity puts a target on her back. Using every resource at his disposal, Cal uncovers a sinister plot involving terrorists, a forced marriage—and that who Stormy really is might get them both killed.
“We’ve got less than ten minutes. This time, I really do need you to hide. Will you do that? Please?”
“Tell me your plan first,” she said, not answering his question.
“I don’t have one,” he said. “Other than to get more information out of them than they get from me and to keep you safe. Everything besides that is fluid.”
She let out a loud breath.
“I can’t focus on them if in the back of my mind, I’m wondering what you’re doing,” he said.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be in the back of the closet, hidden behind the clothes.” She started to walk toward the bedroom.
“Stormy,” he said.
She stopped. “Yes.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, turned her and kissed her. All the emotion of the moment was packed into ten seconds of scorching pleasure.
Then he stepped back. “We’re not finished,” he said.
AGENT BRIDE
Beverly Long
Beverly Long enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit beverlylong.com, or like her at facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.
Books by Beverly Long
Harlequin Intrigue
Return to Ravesville
Hidden Witness
Agent Bride
The Men from Crow Hollow
Hunted
Stalked
Trapped
The Detectives
Deadly Force
Secure Location
Visit the Author Profile page at
Harlequin.com for more titles.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Cal Hollister—After eight years, this former Navy SEAL is finally on his way back to Ravesville, Missouri. He’s prepared to face a few of his own demons. But he’s not prepared to find a beautiful woman, dressed only in a bridal gown, off the side of the road, half-frozen in an early winter snow.
Stormy—Cal dubs her Stormy, and she supposes it’s as good a name as any. After all, she can’t remember her own or how she came to be on the side of the road in a bridal gown. All she knows is that time is running out.
Pietro Moroque—When Cal and Stormy discover that he’d prepared the food for Stormy’s wedding reception, they aren’t sure whether they can trust him. On their first visit, he’s reluctant to talk to Stormy. On their second visit, he’s mysteriously missing.
Joe—He’s a young, handsome bartender who knows Stormy. He’s surprised by her appearance. Is it truly because he thought her work assignment had ended, or does he k
now something more about Stormy that he’s not saying?
President LaTrope—He’s the president of Moldaire College. He’s invited his college fraternity brother, the Secretary of State, to be the honored guest at Saturday’s football game. Is it possible that he did it with evil intent?
Mercedes Men—Four men intent on finding Stormy. The leader claims to be her cousin and that he’s concerned because she has run away. Stormy might not know her own name but she knows none of these men are family and that if she ran from them, she had a good reason.
For Brynn and Eric, who both made the leap from college kid
to adult look easy. Hope you’re having fun in Missouri!
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER ONE
Cal Hollister rarely let anything stop him. And that included the weather. But when the freezing rain in the upper plains had turned to snow, then more snow, making the I-70 corridor a real mess, even he’d had to admit it was time to take a break.
Now, an hour east of Kansas City, Missouri, he’d filled up both his gas tank and his belly. He sat back in the tattered booth of Dawson’s Diner and watched the television that was mounted in the corner of the truck stop. It was on mute and the words flashed across the screen. Early winter storm paralyzes Midwest.
Cal stopped reading, just as he’d turned off the radio in his rental car earlier. It was all they were talking about. The storm, the storm, the storm.
Missouri rarely got heavy snow and to get it in November was real news. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let a little ice and snow stop him.
He was going home. Back to Ravesville. The idea had taken root after Cal had talked to his brother last month and learned that Chase was getting the old house they’d inherited from their mother ready to sell.
Chase hadn’t asked for help. He never did. Especially not from Cal. But it was time for that to change. Cal had finished his assignment and put plans in motion to get back to the States. It had taken a month but finally, he was a mere hundred miles northwest of his destination, more than three weeks early for Thanksgiving dinner.
“All finished?” the waitress asked as she passed the booth.
“That was amazing,” Cal said. The woman had encouraged him to get the daily special, the roast pork, especially if he was pressed for time. He didn’t have a schedule but he’d gone along with the suggestion.
She smiled. “I know. People are always surprised. They don’t expect a place like this to have a chef. Pietro worked for years at Moldaire College in a high-end restaurant in their student union. He’s always talking about how he used to cater all the important events at the college, even the private parties that the president of the college hosted.” She picked up the dirty dishes. “Can I get you anything else? Maybe a piece of apple pie?”
“I’m stuffed but because I suspect it will be every bit as good as that roast pork, I’ll take it to go.”
“Good choice,” she said. She walked over to the pie case, opened the door, slid a piece into a cardboard box, and brought it and a plastic fork back to the table.
Cal pulled out a twenty. “Keep the change, Lena,” he said, looking at her name tag. She looked tired. Hell of a job slinging hash.
But at least she had a job.
Which was more than Cal had at the moment.
No job. No expectations to live up to. No one else’s timetable to adhere to. It was a heady feeling for a man who’d spent eight years in Uncle Sam’s employ as a Navy SEAL and the past six months as a contractor doing much the same kind of work at a considerably higher rate of pay.
“What are they saying about the roads?” he asked. He’d seen Lena chatting with two state police officers at the counter.
“It’s bad and supposed to get a whole lot worse. Interstate is still open but there’s lots of spinouts and cars in the ditch.”
About what he’d expected. First bad storm always resulted in a bunch of fender benders as people relearned their winter math—that speed plus following too close equaled crap-on-a-stick.
He scooted to the end of the booth, stood up and stretched. “Well, wish me luck,” he said.
She shook her head. “You’re like all the other crazies around here today. There was a heck of a commotion in the parking lot right before you came in. People running around, slamming doors and carrying on. They cleared out fast when my friends at the counter, who never miss an opportunity for apple pie, pulled their squad cars into the lot. Probably couldn’t wait to get out on the road and kill themselves.”
That was a happy thought. He was grateful he’d missed the excitement. He’d had plenty recently. It had been less than two weeks ago that he’d barely missed getting up close and personal with enemy fire.
“Anyway, for what it’s worth,” she added, “there’s a hotel about five miles east. They might still have a room.”
He winked at her and smiled. Then he pulled his coat collar up and walked out the door. The cold wind hit him hard.
Crazy. Maybe. But Lena had no idea the number of truly outrageous things he’d done. And usually in the name of protecting national security or preserving American interests.
The hotel might have been a good option if he was continuing on the Interstate. He would be turning off before that, for the final leg of his journey. The two-lane highway that would take him into Ravesville would likely be in worse shape than the Interstate but he had another hour of daylight left and he intended to make good use of that.
If everything went well, he’d be at the house in a couple hours. He thought about calling ahead but disregarded the idea. While Chase would intuitively know that the weather was a mere inconvenience to any former Navy SEAL, he still would worry.
Chase had always taken his big-brother role seriously. They were going to finally have a talk about that. The conversation Cal had been running from for years.
It took Cal ten minutes to brush the snow off his SUV. When he was finally back inside his rented Escalade, it was nice and warm. He pulled out of the parking lot.
The plows had gone through at some point but another couple inches had fallen after that. But he settled in, going a brisk thirty-five miles per hour. Two miles east, he took the exit, realized he’d been right that the secondary roads were in worse shape. It was somewhat reassuring to see wide tracks in the fresh snow. Somebody driving a big truck had made the same turn within the past ten minutes.
The wind was really whipping up the snow. It wasn’t white-out conditions but damn close. Which was why he thought he was seeing things.
He checked his rearview mirror, didn’t see any other cars and risked pulling over to the side. He got out, leaving his vehicle running.
Three feet off the road, something had hit the fresh snow, denting its whipped perfection. The object had rolled several more feet before stopping, forward progression halted by a study wooden fence that was likely there to keep cattle in.
He could hardly believe his eyes. There was a woman in a bridal gown and nothing else, no coat, no shoes, just a long veil, which was what had caught his attention. It was flapping in the breeze like a wayward flag.
She was on her side, turned away from him.
He figured she had to be de
ad.
* * *
SHE WAS SO COLD. Had never been so cold. And her head hurt. But she had to keep going. Had to get up. Get away.
She forced herself to move and heard a man swear. Suddenly there were hands on her. She had to fight.
No. No. She could not go back.
Felt a hand on her neck. She swung an arm, a leg. Knocked into something.
“Hey,” he said. He pulled on her shoulder, flipping her to her back.
It hurt to open her eyes. The man was big and dark and he loomed over her.
She screamed and knew that no one was going to hear her. No one was going to help her. Just like before.
“How the hell did you get here?” he asked. But he didn’t seem inclined to wait for an answer. She felt strong arms, one under her neck, the other under her knees, and she was swung up into the air.
He held her close, pulled tight against his coat.
And he started walking.
She tried to struggle, to force him to loosen his grip. But it was as if his arms were bands of iron. And her arms and legs felt heavy, useless.
She was dying. She knew it.
She closed her eyes and waited for it.
She felt him shift her weight. Suddenly, she was standing. She needed to run. Go. Now.
So tired.
Took one step. Saw the vehicle. Saw the door that he’d just opened.
“Get in,” he said.
When she didn’t move, he scooped her up again and deposited her into the warm, the heavenly warm, SUV. He shut the door. Within seconds he was climbing into the driver’s side.
He was big and snow-covered and for one crazy minute, she could only think of the Abominable Snowman. But then he was moving, reaching a long arm into the backseat. She heard the sound of a zipper.