The First Kiss of Spring

by Emily March

  His failure to mention them made them the elephant in the room and only made her want an explanation about them more. But damned if she’d ask. If he could pretend they weren’t there, then so could she.

  “I’m … um … I’ll be right back.” She fled to the bathroom and returned five minutes later with her hair and teeth brushed and wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and her garden shoes. If he could make subtle statements, then so could she.

  Josh noted the shoes with a ghost of a grin, then handed her a mug of steaming black coffee. He set two plates of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast on the table. “Dig in.”

  She didn’t see a reason to refuse, so she picked up her fork and tasted the eggs. The meal was no different from the dozens they’d shared over the past six months. He told her a story about Penny and a tennis ball and asked her questions about the goings-on at Gingerbread House. When they’d both finished, he topped off her coffee and insisted she remain seated while he tended the dishes. Caitlin shrugged and lifted her cup. It’s your garden party.

  Through it all, anticipation hummed through her like a bumblebee on a nectar high.

  When he’d loaded the last dish into the dishwasher and dried the last pan and returned it to the cabinet, she watched him take a deep breath. When he turned to face her, she held her own breath.

  “What do you want to know about J. B. Trammel?”

  Hope was the tender sprout of a crocus bulb pushing through a blanket of snow. “Everything important.”

  “A reference point will help. How much do you know already? Did you google me?”

  “Yes … but only so far as Wikipedia.”

  He nodded. “Okay then. Well, I guess the first important point to make is that I was no victim. I was born into a long line of gifted actors going back to silent film. They’re Hollywood royalty. I never went without food or a roof above my head. I had every toy any boy could want. I truly did live in the lap of luxury.”

  “But?”

  He sighed. “My father was the poster boy for great, tormented actors. He was an alcoholic. He battled depression. I suspect he was bipolar, but that was never diagnosed. He did marry my mother, but he was never faithful—the two half sisters I have who are close to my age were evidence of that. My mother knew about his infidelity. My earliest memories are of arguments—shouting, screaming, and throwing things. They divorced when I was six. He died not long afterward.”

  “I read about that,” Caitlin said. “He had a heart attack.”

  “That was the official story. The truth is he committed suicide. I was with the nanny when she found him.”

  Caitlin covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Josh. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Beyond the fright of the moment itself, his death wasn’t that difficult for me. I didn’t have much of a relationship with him, so I didn’t grieve.”

  Caitlin doubted that, but she didn’t interrupt.

  “My mom was another story. Despite the sorry way he treated her, she loved him. She was devastated after his death. That’s when she decided his great acting legacy needed to live on—in me. I’d done a few commercials already, but after my father died, she started pushing. And pushing. I auditioned for every role that came along and I landed a lot of them. I honestly liked the work. Life was pretty good. But then I got the role in Starseeker and shortly after it released, Franco Rinaldi came into our lives.”

  Franco Rinaldi. She knew that name. “The drummer in Waverunners?”

  “Yep. My mom fell hard for him. We moved into his house in Beverly Hills, and that’s when my life turned upside down. I got up close and personal with sex, drugs, and rock and roll.”

  “You were how old?”

  “Eight. Almost nine. I’ll go into detail if you wish, but I don’t know that it serves a purpose. The pertinent highlights—or actually, lowlights—are these: I smoked my first cigarette at eight and my first joint at nine. I was popping pills by twelve and shooting up by the time I was fourteen.”

  Caitlin caught her breath. “Shooting up?”

  “Heroin. I’d done three stints in rehab before I turned twenty-one.”

  Oh, Josh. She closed her eyes. She’d suspected something like this. It was Hollywood, after all. But she never guessed the extent of it. She’d noticed he didn’t drink, but she never really thought anything about it. He was a health-conscious guy. He drank carrot juice, for goodness sake. “I’m so sorry. Where was your mother in all of this?”

  “In and out of rehab herself. Still, we continued to work. We were on location in Oklahoma when her life really blew up, and I got shuttled into the system. God was watching out for me because I got placed with the Christophers.”

  “Brick’s adoptive parents.”

  Josh nodded. “They saved me. They helped me get clean and stay clean. In the Oklahoma suburbs, I left J. B. Trammel behind. I built a life and I was happy, and I seldom thought about my California world. I stayed clean and sober for seven years.”

  She sensed what he was going to say next. Sure enough, she was right.

  “Then wham, I’m tornado bait. When I lost my fiancée and her daughter, the old days started whispering to me and I slipped. Actually, I fell hard and went back to heroin. Again, the Christophers stepped up to help. Getting clean again almost killed me.”

  “But you did it.”

  “Yes, but my confidence in my ability to maintain my sobriety took a serious hit. Then a couple years later springtime rolls around again. A twister wiped me out again. Brick offered me a change of scenery, and I jumped at it.”

  Caitlin wanted … needed … to touch him, but his arms were crossed and his walls were up and a NO TRESPASSING sign flashed neon across his forehead. Instead she fluffed the satin bow on a pot of daffodils and said, “You built a new life here as Josh Tarkington.”

  “J. B. is a junkie. Josh isn’t.” He turned away from her and stared at the kitchen window as he added, “But it was touch and go for a time, Caitlin. Touch and go.”

  Finally, she put the clues together and things began to make sense. “The accident. They gave you opioids in the hospital. Oh, Josh, why didn’t you say anything?”

  He didn’t respond and she could deny herself no more. She touched his arm and was grateful that he didn’t shake her off.

  His voice was a low, tormented rumble. “Because I was scared senseless and I was stupid. I didn’t want to admit my weakness to anyone, much less you. I was ashamed. So very ashamed. It didn’t help anything that the pain was such a bitch because that made it difficult to think straight. So, armed with the medical degree I got out of a cereal box along with a secret decoder ring, I played ‘Physician, heal thyself.’”

  Dread rolled through her stomach. “What did you do, Josh? What did you take?”

  He had a white-knuckled grip on the countertop. “Nothing. I was afraid of getting hooked again, so I flushed my pills and went cold turkey and made your life miserable because I was such an ass. Then the day I sent you away, I threw in the towel. Took the pain pills and couldn’t stop.”

  Caitlin took a moment to absorb the revelation. Then she gave his arm a backhanded slap and stepped back. “Of all the stupid, witless, brainless things to do. You idiot! Surely there is someone who could have helped you. No wonder you were such a jerk to everybody in the weeks after Christmas. Why didn’t you say anything to me? Why didn’t you ask for help?”

  “Because like you said, I was an idiot.” Josh released his grip and turned away from the window. He met her gaze with a solemn sincerity in his own. “I was slow, but I did get there eventually. I finally did ask for help. Rose Cicero gave me a lecture the likes of which I’ve never had before, and we made a plan. One of its elements is my return to a twelve-step program, and that brings us here this morning to this confession.”

  He reached out and took her hands in his. His striking gray eyes pleaded for understanding as he said, “I wasn’t prepared for this yesterday, Caitlin. I was afraid to te
ll you the truth. I had to work through it. I failed you yesterday and for weeks before that. I’m sorry. I am so very sorry. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  Her first instinct was to tell him that of course she forgave him. Caitlin had never been one to hold grudges. When someone hurt her, an honest expression of regret and a request for forgiveness usually was all it took for her to let bygones be bygones.

  But something held her back. She wasn’t exactly sure what.

  Okay, she did know what it was. In all this talk, he’d never said the words she needed to hear. Those three powerful little words.

  Josh said, “I was wrong.”

  Okay, those three were pretty good, but they weren’t the ones she wanted most. Damned if she’d ask for them directly. She studied him intently and saw no hint of doubt or deceit. He’d confessed to fear about being honest with her about his past. Was fear keeping his lips zipped when it came to what she needed most to hear?

  Maybe. So far, this morning had been about facts, not emotions. Maybe he needed a little encouragement. Maybe he needed her to say the words first.

  Perhaps, but that really didn’t work for her. He’d hurt her badly. His words and actions meant more than those of any other. Frankly, she needed a bit of groveling to soothe her wounded heart.

  Isn’t that what the flowers are about? A bouquet of flowers had long been part and parcel of a male apology. It made sense that in Josh’s mind, dozens of bouquets amplified the effort.

  Still, she wanted the words and she wanted him to say them first. “Tell me about the flowers.”

  He glanced around the kitchen. “Do you like them?”

  “Of course. I love flowers. But why are they covering my kitchen?”

  Again, he sucked in a deep breath and appeared to brace himself. Then he moved to stand before her and took both her hands in his. He stared into her eyes, and the look in his caused her heart to being pounding.

  “I spent a long time yesterday trying to compose the words I wanted to say to you today. You should see all the wadded up balls of paper in my trashcan. Nothing was right. Nothing expressed how I feel. The closest I could come was a metaphor, and the flowers are my effort to illustrate it.

  “You see, my life has been winter. Cold and lonely and barren. Then one day last summer, you brought spring into my world. You are my springtime, Caitlin. You are color—bold, rich, explosive hues and soft pastels of peace. You are the exotic fragrance that tempts me and the sweet scent that soothes me. Your heart is rose petal soft, though you stand ready to wield your thorns when necessary to protect those you love.”

  He brought first one hand and then the other to her mouth for a gentle kiss. “You are everything beautiful in my world. You are love. My love, and I hope, my new beginning. I’m asking you to take a chance on me. I know the addiction thing is great big red flag, but I’m standing here this morning giving you my solemn oath that I will do anything and everything necessary to keep that beast out of our lives. Trust me. Take a risk on me. Believe in me. Marry me, Caitlin. Be my wife and the mother to our children. I love you. Say yes. Please, say yes and be my forever spring.”

  Caitlin took his words into her heart as joy blossomed into watery eyes and a brilliant smile. “That was good, Tarkington. Really, really good. I love the thought of being your spring. I love you. My answer is yes. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you and have our children. Yes, I’ll trust you to never again be such an idiot about asking for help when you need it.”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled a heavy breath. “Thank God.”

  Then his arms went around her and he picked her up and twirled her around. Their lips met in a perfect kiss.

  The first kiss of spring.

  Journal Entry

  Dear Diary,

  Okay, maybe it’s silly to channel my inner teenager as I begin this, the very first page of my very first journal on the very first day of my new life, but I don’t care. It makes me happy.

  I am so very, very happy. Today at two p.m. I officially became Caitlin Tarkington. Mrs. Josh Tarkington. That’s an old-fashioned, anti-feminist manner of identification, but I love it. So sue me.

  I love him.

  It’s been a perfect day. The wedding day of my dreams. Mom and I have had so much fun planning it for the past year. I never thought I’d be one to have a destination wedding, but getting married in Telluride felt right and isn’t all that far from Eternity Springs.

  I had a fabulous dress. A-line with a sweetheart neckline with crystals and a glitter net—I felt like a Disney princess. Belle, of course, because I married my Beast.

  We did suits instead of tuxedos. Gray to match Josh’s eyes. Dad looked so distinguished, and he joked as he walked me down the aisle. He wasn’t perfectly steady, but that had nothing to do with his multifocal motor neuropathy—not ALS, thank God. The medicine Josh’s doctor friend put him on after making the correct diagnosis has improved his condition significantly. Dad said he trembled just a little bit because he was nervous about stepping on my dress.

  We made it through the ceremony without any disasters, and the reception was relaxed and so much fun. I’m still not exactly sure how it happened, but a guy caught my bouquet. Boone McBride. Mom said when the women went up for it, someone accidentally slapped it away and it hit the side of Boone’s head and he caught it instinctively. The guys ribbed him mercilessly about it, but Celeste gave him speculative looks the rest of the evening.

  And now, the honeymoon begins. We are spending our wedding night in Telluride, and tomorrow we fly to Europe. We’ll be gone a month. Tuscany and Venice and the French Riviera. Then Paris. April in Paris. Someone should write a song.

  Now, dear diary, I will bring this to a close. It’s time to take off my clothes and put on the Sokolov suite—necklace, earrings, and as of today, the ring. Josh has asked specifically that I indulge this particular fantasy of his.

  He said, “It’s only appropriate that you wear green to our marriage bed tonight. This is St. Patrick’s Day, after all.

  “And I am the luckiest man alive.”

  Also by

  EMILY MARCH

  A Stardance Summer

  Christmas in Eternity Springs

  Reunion Pass

  Heartsong Cottage

  Teardrop Lane

  Dreamweaver Trail

  Miracle Road

  Reflection Point

  Nightingale Way

  Lover’s Leap

  Heartache Falls

  Hummingbird Lake

  Angel’s Rest

  Praise for New York Times bestselling author EMILY MARCH and her beloved Eternity Springs novels …

  “With passion, romance, and revealing moments that will touch your heart, Emily March takes readers on a journey where mistakes are redeemed and a more beautiful future is forged—one miracle at a time.”

  —USA Today

  “A brilliant writer you’ll love creates a world you’ll never want to leave.”

  —Susan Mallery, New York Times bestselling author

  “A heartfelt story of family, community, second chances, and the power of love … Don’t miss it!”

  —Susan Wiggs, New York Times bestselling author

  “Heart-wrenching and soul-satisfying. For a wonderful read, don’t miss a visit to Eternity Springs.”

  —Lisa Kleypas, New York Times bestselling author

  “Characters you adore, a world you want to visit, and stories that tug at your heartstrings. Brava, Emily March. I love Eternity Springs.”

  —Christina Dodd, New York Times bestselling author

  “A heartwarming tale of courage and redemption … that will have readers cheering.”

  — Publishers Weekly

  About the Author

  Emily March is the New York Times, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels, including the critically acclaimed Eternity Springs series. Publishers Weekly calls March a “master of delightful banter,”
and her heartwarming, emotionally charged stories have been named to Best of the Year lists by Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, and Romance Writers of America.

  A graduate of Texas A&M University, Emily is an avid fan of Aggie sports and her recipe for jalapeño relish has made her a tailgating legend.

  Visit her at: www.emilymarch.com, or sign up for email updates here.

  Thank you for buying this

  St. Martin’s Press ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Journal Entry

  Chapter One

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Two

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Three

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Four

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Five

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Six

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Seven

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Eight

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Nine

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Ten

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Eleven

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Twelve

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Thirteen

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Fourteen

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Fifteen

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Sixteen

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Seventeen

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Eighteen

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Nineteen

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Twenty