"Will you be involved?" Cody's eyes darkened, but she couldn't determine if the gesture registered positive or negative at this point.
"That will be your call. The offer stands, regardless."
He nodded but didn't say anything.
She offered a small smile of relief. "Now that we have that matter settled, I told Nic about your work. He'd like to see some of your sketches."
Cody shook his head, and her heart skipped a beat before initiating a fast rhythm. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Stanford, but Uncle Sam isn't quite finished with me yet."
Nic smiled. "Evelyn mentioned the detail. I'm always looking for talent. You can work freelance, or if everything works out when the timing is right, I'm in the market for a new graphic designer. I have an office here in Naperville and one in Milwaukee. Once you're settled, call me. Bring your sketches. We'll have lunch and talk options."
Cody stood and extended his arm for a handshake. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate the offer. I'll give you a call once I'm settled." He turned to the other two and repeated the gesture. "Thank you both as well. I'll speak to my dad and let you know what he says."
Evelyn escorted her clients out and returned to find Cody standing at the back of the office, looking out the window. "You didn't have to do this."
"I didn't have to, but I wanted to."
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Why did you do this?"
She closed the distance between them and reached for his hand, thankful he didn't pull away. "I realized that my failures didn't define me, but rather how I responded to them. Your love helped me see past the surface into who I really am." She squeezed his hand tighter. "It just took me a little longer than it did you."
"Evelyn…"
"Hear me out, please. I want you to know how much I admire your bravery. You pursued your dream of becoming a graphic artist, even when your family wanted you to stay and help run the farm. You left your dream and everyone you knew behind to fight in a war most people don't even believe in anymore. You've been shot twice, once by friendly fire. You've been taken advantage of by a woman you cared deeply for, yet you were willing to risk caring for someone again." She squeezed his hand. "Someone who had a difficult time finding the courage to step away from all that was expected of her until she met you. I want to say thank you for pushing me to be a better, the best, version of me. I wanted to do that the only way I knew how…finding a way to let you find your happiness."
He slid his arms around her body and held her close. His warmth. His scent. His everything enveloped her with emotions, and she tightened her grip, never wanting to let go. "And what does your mother think of this plan?"
Reluctantly, she separated from him, only enough to stare into those shining pools of obsidian. "I told mother everything, including that I love you."
He grinned. "Wish I could've seen her face when you told her. You still love me?"
"I do, with every curve and edge I possess." She lifted onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. Relief flooded her body when he slid one hand to her hair and the other lower to the curve of her hip, melding her body to his. The tip of his tongue invited her to deepen the kiss, and she willingly complied.
Breathless desire swept through her, carrying her away from the mundane details of everyday life. Cody's touch inflamed her, hotter than the burning sun in India. Running her hands over his arms and chiseled chest, she sought to touch every inch of his magnificent body, the need to be one with him overwhelming all but one remaining rational thought.
She rested her hand on the carved muscles. "Your edges and my curves fit perfectly together. If you're still willing, I'm in a better place now to give a relationship a chance. We'll start slow, maybe go on one of those dates we keep talking about." She framed his face with her hands, wanting him to see the sincerity of each word she spoke.
"I'm not a perfect man. I have issues too, you know. Though, thankfully, my issues no longer include the threat of Leavenworth. I've been wanting to tell you, but the timing has been hard to find." He cupped her cheek with his hand, the pad of his thumb gliding along her well-kissed lips and then lower over the swell of her breasts. "With all of these matters resolved, I'm compelled to tell you how much I love your curves—almost as much as I love you."
"You're not perfect. I'm not perfect. You know what we're capable of, though?" She needed him to understand how much she believed in them and the power they both possessed to make each other better.
"I'd love to hear it from your beautiful lips." He emphasized his words with a firm kiss.
"Together, we can create our brand of perfection, one night at a time, in the midst of our imperfect world. You remember, don't you? How good we are together."
He crushed her body to his once again, and she breathed a sigh of relief knowing life had just given her the best do-over possible. "I remember, sweetheart. I remember."
EPILOGUE
Nine months later…
"Pull harder, Mom! You're never going to get any milk out that way." Cody laughed at Michael giving his mother instructions on the proper way to milk a cow.
Evelyn glared at her son, but the twinkle in her eye reduced the impact significantly. Cody decided to come to her aid. "C'mon boys. Let's not give the city slicker too hard of a time. You've been up here visiting and working on the farm since you got out of school last week. This is Mom's first chance to visit in a while and her very first time milking a cow." He pulled a stool up behind her and reached around her body to assist. He loved the way her body melted into his every time they were near. He nuzzled her neck and quickly lost interest in the milk.
"Eeeww, come on Jason. They're at it again. Let's go find Gramma Jenkins and see what's for dinner."
"Yeah, so gross." Jason mimicked and followed his brother out of the barn.
Evelyn smiled. "Works every time."
Cody guided and lifted her gently from the stool. "Come on. I want to show you something. I'll get one of the farmhands to finish up with Ariel."
"Ariel?"
He laughed. "Yes, we told the boys they could each name one of the new cows we just picked up at auction. Jason begged to call Annie to get her advice. Of course, the cow would need a princess name."
"The Little Mermaid's Ariel?"
"The very one." He took her hand and led her to the back fence. Rolling hills covered with the green grass and dotted with wildflowers provided the stage for the setting sun.
"It's beautiful," Evelyn whispered. "Maybe you could draw it for me sometime?"
"Maybe I can do that soon. I'm pretty busy working for Nic now. I love that he's cool with me working from the farm or either office. Naperville allows me to spend time with you and the boys."
"Yes, we love having you visit."
"The farm is running smoothly now, thanks to your efforts along with the help of your clients. Janice is free to pursue her dreams, and now that the new team is completely in place, I can fully pursue my dreams as well."
"I'm so happy for you, Cody. Happy and thankful you were patient and waited for me to be ready."
He knelt on one knee and pulled a ring from his pocket. It wasn't as large or flawless as the diamond she had before, but it represented all the profit from the first big sale of his work. "I want to give you the happily ever after you deserve, imperfections and all."
Tears sparkled in those breathtaking baby blues of hers, but the smile on her face said more than any one word answer she would give. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you."
He stood and kissed her until her lungs demanded oxygen. "I figure I'll move to the Naperville area permanently then. We can visit my family from time to time, but the boys need minimal upset in their routine. They've had enough changes in the past year or so."
"If the boys are up for it, though, I'd like to sell the house, and you and I can buy one together—start our new life out fresh in a new place."
His heart threatened to burst with love for this woman and her children. "I think that
sounds perfect."
She smiled and laid her head on his chest as she pulled him into her embrace—his favorite place to be in the entire world. "As perfect as it gets."
* * * * *
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* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nicole is a fun-loving (and sometimes sassy) contemporary romance author. She has been an avid reader and lover of books from a very young age. Starting with mysteries, her love for reading expanded to include romance and suspense. A Midwest girl, born and raised, she resides in the Western Suburbs of Chicago with her real-world hero and hubby of almost 28 years. Her stories capture the love and laughter in her real world heroes and heroines.
To learn more about Nicole Leiren, visit her online at: http://nicoleleiren.com/
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BOOKS BY NICOLE LEIREN
Heroes of the Night:
More than One Night
Heating Up the Night (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)
Remember the Night
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SNEAK PEEK
If you enjoyed this Heroes of the Night, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:
KEY CHANGE
by
BARBARA VALENTIN
CHAPTER ONE
"Music is my religion."
—Jimi Hendrix
Sara Cleff, music critic at the Chicago Gazette, used the undo feature on her laptop to reverse a bad edit she had just made on a concert review she was drafting—and wished for the thousandth time that life came with such a feature.
If only.
She could correct every mistake she ever made—even the one she tried to undo on her own. Ever the rebel, she set out to discredit that old adage about two wrongs not making a right.
And failed miserably.
Because she knew, as did all of the other girls who got The Talk from Sister Marcus, their terrifying eighth grade teacher at St. Xavier elementary, that what she did, even with 12 years of parochial education to her credit, was technically classified as a mortal sin. Not only did this mean instant excommunication from the church, she was painfully aware that her chance of gaining admittance to the pearly gates was pretty much on par with one of the Kardashians being accused of having talent.
Nobody's perfect.
What's done is done.
Move on.
Doing her best to pretend it had never happened, Sara locked the terrible memory away forever, telling no one, willing it from her mind. If only her conscience would get on board—then, maybe, she'd have a fighting chance of putting it behind her forever.
If only.
* * *
After barely making a packed train headed into the city, Claire Mendez burrowed between the crowds of fellow commuters and wedged herself between two burly blue-collar types, each taking up a seat and a half in the row next to the door.
Burly guy #1 had his eyes closed, apparently asleep, with his mouth hanging open.
Very attractive.
Burly guy #2 was staring at his smartphone. Despite the earbuds he had plugged into it, a bass beat echoed from his device. Reeking of some cheap aftershave she couldn't identify, he made no attempt to give her more room. Not even a smidge.
It's gonna be a long ride.
Only twelve weeks into her fifth pregnancy, Claire's baby bump was already starting to look more like a baby basketball. Her regular clothes were no longer an option. Instead, she wore whatever she could confiscate from her six-foot-three-inch husband's side of the closet. Today, she was sporting his Chicago Blackhawks red home sweater that hung on her otherwise slight frame like a dress under her open winter coat.
Comfort trumps fashion. It was her new mantra.
If only she had remembered how warm the sweater was. By the time she found a seat, she was hot, out of breath, and still irritated that her OB referred to her as being of advanced maternal age. She could almost picture the headline on the front page of the National Enquirer. 37-year-old pregnant! Read shocking story on page 5!
Pulling a little notebook and pen out of her coat pocket, she ran through her to-do list.
Put load of wash in the dryer. Check.
Send next week's column to editor. Check.
Load up Crock-Pot for dinner. Check?
She winced, wondering if she actually turned the Crock-Pot on after filling it with raw chicken and cream of mushroom soup, and scribbled, "Have key made for Jacquie Calderon." A trusted friend and neighbor of the Mendez family, Jacquie picked up Jonah, her youngest, from kindergarten and watched him on the afternoons Claire had to be in the office.
Pick up Paul's shirts from the dry cleaners. Damn it. I knew I forgot something.
Oh well, he'll just have to swing by and get them himself after work.
Yanking her laptop from her backpack, the Chicago Gazette's newest advice columnist for harried working parents, a.k.a. the Plate Spinner, opened her email inbox and got to work. She spotted four unread messages. The subject line of the first one read: Can't Get Kids to Unplug.
Chuckling, the mother of four boys started typing the first thing that sprang to mind. "And you want to why…?"
Deciding that the topic was too involved for her caffeine-starved brain to manage that early on a Monday morning, she deleted her curt response and moved on to the next message, the subject line of which was: What Were You Thinking? Her face pulled into a grimace. Clearly, this reader had an issue with one of Claire's earlier responses or the topic of an earlier column. It wasn't her first complaint letter, and she was sure it wouldn't be her last.
I'll deal with you later.
As the train leaned into a curve in the tracks, burly guy #2, the one with the bass-booming cell phone, smushed her up against burly guy #1, who was now snoring. She wondered if Dianne would ever let her work from home full-time instead of just a couple of days a week.
Redirecting her attention to her inbox, the third unopened email piqued her interest. The subject line read: SOS, Boyfriend Wants to Get Married.
While part of Claire's brain thought, "Huh, usually it's the other way around, but OK," the other part had a vague recollection of hearing this complaint before. Recently. She tried for a moment to retrieve the conversation but could only recall that she heard it while with a group. And that could've been anywhere—in one of her editor's team meetings, at lunch with work friends, at church, or at one of the boys' school events.
She stared at the screen for a moment longer before giving up and cursing her pregnancy-induced fog brain.
Dear Plate Spinner—
My boyfriend and I have three things in common: our address, the fact that he's a musician, and I write about musicians…
"Sara! It was Sara," Claire announced triumphantly to no one in particular before continuing.
…and that we both agree Robert Plant is, hands down, the best lead singer in rock music ever. Otherwise, we're total opposites. He's quiet. I'm bold. He's short. I'm tall. He's British. I'm not. He wants to get married and have kids. I so don't. How can I get him to see that we would never be as happy and carefree married-with-kids as we are right now just living together?
Signed,
Dazed and Confused
Since getting to know the Gazette's rock music critic, Claire knew that the words erratic and brooding would be a much better descriptor for Sara's relationship with her boyfriend than happy and carefree.
Taking some solace in knowing that her friend was not interested in marrying a guy who, in Claire's opinion, was an insecure mess, she wasn't confident in Sara's ability to hold him off for much longer.
With that very thought in mind, the advice columnist had no sooner typed, Must ditch loser boyfriend and find a place of your own, when the train banked into i
ts final curve before pulling into the station, wedging Claire, again, between her two seat neighbors. As soon as the train righted itself, she closed her laptop, slipped it in her backpack, and hopped out of her seat and onto the train platform. She then made her way to the Madison Street exit to catch the #120 bus that would get her to the Gazette Building in no time flat.
She had no sooner made it to her cube on the Features floor than a colleague burst in and dropped into her visitor chair.
"What took you so long? I've been waiting for hours."
Claire glanced at her friend as she hung her coat on a plastic hook jutting out of the cube wall.
As far as looks were concerned, Sara Cleff had them in spades. At nearly six feet tall with large gray eyes offset by heavy, dark makeup, a short, dyed-black bob, and a bored expression that masked her runway-worthy features and deep dimples, she was often mistaken for a model.
Which might explain why, on spotting her in the audience, musicians tended to drop notes, lose rhythms, and forget lyrics. In short, she complained to Claire, they went all amateur on her.
While Sara liked to think that it was because of her sometimes eviscerating reviews, Claire kindly suggested that it might have more to do with her appearance.
"You make the rest of us females look like mere mortals," she reminded her friend.
But on that particular morning, Claire plunked in her own chair and laughed. "Hey, cut me some slack, huh? I had to get the kids off to school. Then Luke forgot his running shoes, so I had to go back and drop them off. He's got a big track meet over at Lane Tech this afternoon."
As soon as the words left her lips, a whisper of warning fluttered over Claire, just for a split second. She stopped, tilting her head as she tried to hear what it was saying, but the thought was gone.
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