The Sweetheart Bargain (A Sweetheart Sisters Novel)

by Jump, Shirley

  And he caught her wrist just as she screamed.

  “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice calm and cool, the voice of a man who used to rescue people for a living. No rescue had ever mattered more than this one, and he knew he’d hold on for as long as it took to save her. “I’ve got you.”

  She scrambled for purchase against the wet rocks, but her feet were slippery and the sea was racing up the surface, licking at her knees, her thighs. She spun out, away, panicked. “I can’t get up, I’m slipping. Oh God, Luke, please don’t let go.”

  “I won’t, Olivia.” He lowered himself to the rock’s surface, digging his toes into the crevices behind him. He reached out his opposite hand toward hers. “Grab my hand. Come on, Olivia, you can do it.”

  She spun toward him, her chest smacking against the rocky wall, and reached up. Her fingers slipped through his, but he jerked down, caught her by the wrist, then slid his grip up until their hands were joined.

  He held her gaze and kept his tone even and low, even though his heart was running at breakneck speed. “Don’t panic. It’s going to be all right. I promise you. Now keep your feet on the rock. I’m going to pull you up. Okay?”

  She nodded. Fear pooled in her eyes as the ocean rose and the storm shuddered in the air. Thunder boomed, lightning streaked across the sky, and the wind began to howl. He didn’t focus on the palm trees bending to Mother Nature’s will or on the constant slamming of a loose piece of siding on the lighthouse.

  Luke pulled, and Olivia’s feet slid, slipped off, and then she tried again, and this time she got it. Luke leaned back, and then she was there, up on the rock again, in his arms, wet and crying and scared.

  And safe.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be so slippery and I just—”

  “I don’t care,” he said. He tipped her wet face to his and thought he’d never seen such a beautiful woman in his life. “You’re okay, and that’s all that matters.”

  She curved into him, and he shielded her from the storm with his body, then scooped her up and carried her off the rock and toward the nearest shelter, the lighthouse. The door was locked, but Luke kicked it in and brought Olivia inside the dim building. Chance followed them in, and after shaking off the water and spraying his humans with a saltwater shower, he dashed around the unexplored place to sniff at every corner.

  Luke held Olivia close until her shivers stopped. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Just a little shaken up. But I’m fine.”

  “Good.” Relief washed over him, now that the crisis had passed and he realized how close he’d come to losing her, or seeing her get seriously hurt. He bent down, making a quick assessment. “You sure nothing’s broken? Hurt?”

  She lifted one leg, then the other. “A few scratches, nothing more. Thank you for saving me.” Then she grinned. That smile, the one he loved, back on her face. “Though I distinctly remember someone telling me he didn’t do rescue, not anymore.”

  “That was then,” Luke said, tipping her chin to capture her deep emerald gaze with his own. “And this is now.”

  Then he leaned in and kissed her, tasting salt and sweet on her lips, her cool skin easing the fire inside him. His arms went around her and she pressed into him, curving like a puzzle piece finding its perfect fit.

  The storm raged against the building. The lighthouse held firm. It had withstood worse storms and would survive this, too. The wind whistled under the siding, licked at the windows and the door, but the conical building held firm to its place on the shore.

  Olivia clutched tighter to Luke. Her heart beat a wild staccato in her chest, then began to slow to its natural rhythm. His kiss deepened, becoming as familiar as her own name. She had never been with a man who knew her so intimately. It was as if he had memorized the guidebook to her body and her heart.

  “Now that you can’t get away,” he said with a grin, “I want to try this again. I love you, Olivia Linscott. I fell in love with you the day you came over to my house, refusing to give up on that dog, and refusing to give up on me. If you don’t feel the same way, I can live with that. But if this is just because you’re scared of falling in love too, then I can’t let you do that to yourself.” He cupped her jaw and waited until her gaze met his. “I spent too many months scared of feeling again. Of caring for anyone. Of letting other people down. I’m not going to do that, not for one more second.”

  The same panic she’d felt on the rock returned. She was so tired of feeling this way, so exhausted by always running from the very thing she wanted. Luke had been right about her—she was a picket-fence, settle-down kind of girl.

  “I’m trying, Luke. I really am.” She let out a gust, then turned away and crossed to a bench. She dropped onto the wooden seat, propped her feet on the edge, and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I’ve spent my whole life telling myself I wasn’t bothered by my biological mother leaving me in that hospital. After all, I had fabulous adoptive parents who loved me, and a great life in Boston. But I was bothered. There’s something about being rejected and abandoned by the person who shares your DNA that doesn’t go away. And then when my ex did the same thing, seeking out other women almost from the minute we said I do—”

  “The man was a stupid jerk. Clearly had no idea what a gift you were.”

  A weak smile filled her face. “Thanks. You’re right. Either way, that compounded those feelings. I didn’t even put all that together until I came down here, thinking I wanted a change, but really, what I wanted was . . .”

  “Love.”

  Hearing the word didn’t terrify her as much as it had earlier. Warmth twined around her heart, easing the chill of her wet clothes, the stormy day. She had found love, with family, with friends, and now, with this man. She’d fallen for him that day in his house when he’d shown that wounded side of him, so raw and open. She sighed. “It’s ironic.”

  He sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her. “What is?”

  “That you rescued me here, of all places, when I was running away. I guess we need to thank the lighthouse for one more save.” She leaned into his warm, strong chest. “It’s just so much easier to run than to be left behind when someone leaves you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Olivia,” Luke whispered against her hair, his breath a warm caress. “You’re stuck with this ogre.”

  “Oh, you’re not so bad,” she said, turning her face toward his and seeing honesty in his blue eyes, “for an ogre, that is.”

  The circular room echoed the merry sound of their laughter, as if the lighthouse were giving its stamp of approval. Chance came over and settled at their feet with a contented sigh. The golden had healed well and become a new dog: energetic, happy. Part of the family.

  “You’re the one who rescued me first. If you hadn’t come along . . .” Luke shook his head. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Simple words, but laden with meaning. She couldn’t imagine the pain Luke had been in after such a tragedy. Like the dog, he was still healing, still finding his footing, but she had no doubt that he would be okay. He said she had rescued him, but Olivia suspected Luke had done all the work himself.

  “Still want to move to Boston?” he asked.

  “I was thinking I could live here. Right here.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. She could hear his heart beat a comforting rhythm. She liked that, a lot, and thought she could get used to that sound beside her in bed for the next fifty years.

  “You have great timing. I have a vacancy right in that exact spot.” Luke tapped at his chest.

  “Does it need renovation work?”

  “Oh yes, a lot. It’s a real disaster in there, and you might even need to start from scratch.” He grinned. “Still want to take on the challenge?”

  “Honey, I only need one tool to fix you.” A teasing smile played on her lips and joy bubbled inside her. “A roll of duct tape.”

  He laughed, the sound hearty and deep. How she loved his
laugh, the way it made her want to laugh, too. “Oh, Olivia, I love you.”

  “I love you too, Luke,” she said. They kissed again, a long, sweet kiss this time. The rain pattered a staccato song against the building. Chance lay at their feet, asleep and content.

  After a while, Luke drew back and ran a finger along her lips, then down her chin. “Still afraid of taking that leap?”

  She raised one shoulder, let it drop. After all, they had gone from zero to sixty in a short period of time. Now they were talking love and marriage, and forever. It felt right, but still a tiny bit crazy. “Maybe a little.”

  “Hell, you already leapt off a cliff. Falling in love and getting married should be a piece of cake after that.”

  He was right. How could anything that came next be any scarier? “And you were there to catch me when I fell.”

  “I intend to keep on doing that, Olivia.” He brought her to him again, loving how her body seemed made for his. She was his perfect match, in a thousand different ways. “You did it for me, and the least I can do is return the favor. For the rest of our lives.”

  “That sounds like a plan, Luke. A very, very good plan.” Olivia sat back with Luke on the bench, his arms creating a cozy cocoon around her, and watched the world outside the tiny window of the lighthouse. She had come here to Rescue Bay for answers, never knowing that the best gift was living right next door. Outside the storm subsided, the gray clouds parted, and the sun washed the world with hope.

  Twenty-five

  “You were right,” Pauline whispered to Greta.

  Greta beamed. The Thursday Ladies’ Quilting Club sat on the sidelines, beside the punch table, watching the bustling activity filling the morning room on Valentine’s Day night. Pink-and-white lighting sparkled on the attendees, the furniture, the dance floor. Paper hearts hung from the ceiling and decorated the walls and the cloth-covered tables that had been moved to the side of the room. A local band played oldies, while couples filled the makeshift dance floor, waltzing their way through one melody after another. And in the midst of it all, the only couple Greta cared about.

  Luke and Olivia, dancing, laughing, their attention on each other. Olivia’s hand rested on Luke’s shoulder, while the diamond on her finger glinted. Miss Sadie watched from the sidelines, perched on a chair beside Millie. Diana, Olivia’s sister, had come too, and was chatting with Millie and showing her pictures of some puppies.

  “It was worth everything we did,” Greta said, feeling content for the first time in a long time. Luke was going to be fine, and maybe give her some great-grandchildren to spoil.

  “It was worth everything except for missing our quilting time,” Esther grumbled. “I’m never going to finish that wedding quilt before my niece gets married. And that one I was working on for my new grandbaby is only half done.”

  “Oh, Esther, there is more to life than attaching one square to another.” Then she softened her frustration and gave Esther’s hand a pat. Tonight of all nights, Greta refused to let anyone get her dander up. She’d even refrained from spiking the punch, though she had been sorely tempted to add the flask of Maker’s Mark in her pocket when she’d heard Harold Twohig was planning on attending. Just this morning Greta had vowed to be more Christian and nice to her neighbors, as a thank-you to the Big Guy for his help with Luke and Olivia. Might as well start with Esther. “Maybe we could add an extra quilting day to the week, at least until—”

  “Really? Oh, Greta, I would love that!” Esther’s face exploded into a smile and she looked like she wanted to hug Greta. “I’d love to quilt every day—”

  Greta put up her hands. “Whoa, whoa. Every day? Let’s not go crazy.”

  “That’s right,” Pauline added, giving Greta a nod of support. “Because we still need time to work on our Common Sense Carla column at least a couple days a week.”

  “Oooh, do we have a new letter to answer?” Esther asked. “Because it was such fun to see this one come true.”

  Greta hadn’t told the girls that the letter that had started all of this hadn’t been written by Olivia after all. Greta had asked her about it last week when Olivia came in to Golden Years, with a rock on her finger and a smile on her lips. Either way, the letter had been sweet serendipity. Maybe even a little gift from her daddy up in heaven or the Big Guy himself.

  “I’ve got a new letter right here.” Pauline dug in the pocket of her sweater and unfolded a white sheet of paper. She got out her reading glasses and put them on her nose to see better in the dim light. “Dear Common Sense Carla, I’m a single dad with two kids who needs to—”

  “May I have this dance?”

  Greta whirled toward the interruption. Harold Twohig stood in front of Greta’s chair, one hand out, like a beggar needing a quarter. Her six-foot-two nemesis, though he didn’t look much like a nemesis tonight. Especially fully clothed. She blinked, sure she was seeing a mirage. “You own a suit?”

  Harold tugged at his cranberry tie, then smoothed a hand down his dark-gray jacket. Some women might have said he looked handsome, dapper even. Though Greta wouldn’t admit that to a single soul.

  “I thought I’d dress up for the Sweetheart Dance. Because I might like to ask a sweetheart to dance.” He gave her a wink.

  Pauline nudged Greta. “He means you,” she whispered.

  “He’s drunk,” Greta whispered back. “Or senile. Or both.”

  “I’m sober as a judge, Greta Winslow, and though I have my moments when I forget where I put my keys, I’ve also got all my marbles.” He knocked on his thick head of white hair, then put out his hand again. “So, may I have this dance?”

  She hesitated, then glanced at Luke and Olivia, who were watching her with approving grins on their faces. They waved encouragement and pointed to a vacant spot on the dance floor near them. Only for her grandson would she subject herself to this torture.

  Greta let out a long-suffering sigh, took Harold’s hand—surprisingly, it wasn’t sweaty or covered in eczema—and headed for the dance floor. As Harold put one hand on the small of her back and took her other in his hearty palm, she heard a gasp go through the crowd. “It’s just a dance,” Greta said to the nosy old biddies already talking about her and Harold, “not a truce.”

  “Why do you hate me so?” Harold asked.

  She refused to answer the question, instead sidestepping them closer to her grandson and his wife-to-be. “What on earth made you ask me to dance?”

  If he was put off by her sharp tone, Harold didn’t show it. He just gave her that patient-as-a-loony-monk smile of his. “I’m just following the advice I read in Common Sense Carla last week. She advised grabbing the bull by the horns and going after the woman you love. She said not to let anything stand in your way. Not even a little revulsion.”

  Greta shot a glance over her shoulder at Pauline and Esther, who were sitting on the opposite side of the room, thick as thieves and laughing like hyenas.

  Luke leaned in toward Greta. “I hear you’re not the only one with a little matchmaking ability, Grandma,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m not, he’s not—” Greta cursed. She hated being flustered. And with Harold Twohig, of all people. “I have no interest in this man. At all.”

  “That’s what I said,” Olivia said with a smile, then flashed her left hand. “And look where I am now.”

  “You never know where or when your happy ending is going to find you, Greta,” Harold said, leaning in close enough to kiss. Or clobber. “So you might as well let it—”

  “Drag me away, kicking and screaming?”

  Harold winked. “If that’s what it takes, Greta Winslow, I’m your man.”

  Lord, have mercy, Greta thought. Or maybe the Lord was having a little laugh at her expense. She never should have stolen Esther’s thread. She’d put an extra dollar in the collection plate this week. Maybe two.

  She whirled out of Harold Twohig’s arms before the man got the idea that she did anything other than despise him. Luke and Olivia chuck
led and kept on dancing.

  That was the kind of happy ending Greta liked best. One that left Harold Twohig sputtering and alone, and her free as a bird and heading for the cookies.

  With a little detour first to the punch bowl.

  Turn the page for a preview of the next book in Shirley Jump’s Sweetheart Sisters series

  The Sweetheart Rules

  Coming in February 2014 from Berkley Sensation

  One toddler meltdown in the center of Walmart and Lieutenant Mike Stark, who had battled raging winter storms in the violent, mercurial Bering Sea to pluck stranded boaters from the ocean’s grip, had to admit he was in over his head. Mike stood between a display of As-Seen-on-TV fruit dehydrators and a cardboard mock-up of a NASCAR driver hawking shaving lather and watched his own child dissolve into a screaming, sobbing, fist-pounding puddle of tantrum.

  “I want it now!” Ellie punched the scuffed tile floor and added a couple of kicks for good measure. “Now, Daddy. Now, now, now!”

  Mike looked over at Jenny and gave her a help-me smile. “Do something. Please.”

  Jenny shrugged and turned toward the shaving cream. “This is your department, dude.”

  When did his oldest daughter get so cold and distant? For God’s sake, she was eight, not eighteen. On the outside she was all kid, wearing a lime-green cartoon character tank top and ragged tan shorts, her dark brown hair in a long ponytail secured with a thick pink elastic. Ellie had opted for denim shorts and a Sesame Street T-shirt that made her look cute and endearing.

  Except when she was pitching a fit.

  A mother at the other end of the aisle, whose toddler son sat prim and polite in the child seat of her cart, shot him a look of disapproval. Then she whipped the cart around the corner. Fast. As if tantrums were contagious.

  “Give it to me!” Ellie’s voice became a high-pitched siren, spiraling upward in range and earsplitting. “Now!”