She froze again, listening. This time she was sure she heard the sound. Turning, she crossed quickly to the window and leaned out. The night was still, the street in front of Grammer’s house quiet as a tomb. Then she heard it. The sound. A woman crying? she wondered.
Celeste?
At the thought, tears filled her eyes. Cope’s ghost. Was he still on the island? she wondered, her thoughts turning unerringly to him. He hadn’t attempted to call her again. She knew because she’d raced to the phone every time it had rung. And he hadn’t come by Grammer’s house, either. She knew because she’d never left it.
She wanted to see him. That was so hard for her to admit, but it was true. But pride—or was it shame?—had kept her from calling him or driving out to the beach house. Shame, she decided. She’d been so rude to him, so callous. Constantly throwing his professions of love back in his face, stubbornly refusing to admit that she loved him, too. Yet, in spite of her callous treatment of him, he had remained on the island and continued to attempt to convince her to marry him.
Marriage.
Deanna shuddered at the thought of the word. Marriage meant settling down, giving up the freewheeling lifestyle she enjoyed so much. She frowned. Or did it? She thought back over the last two weeks and the time she’d spent with Cope. The thrill of selecting furniture for his beach house. The fun she’d had with him at the auction. Walking on the beach with him. The thrill of having his hand over hers as she’d piloted the plane. Traipsing over the land he wanted to buy in Oklahoma and planning with him the dude ranch he would build there. That crazy game of strip poker.
Her thoughts segued to Texas and the time she had spent with him there. Skinny-dipping in the lake. Moonlit horseback rides. The flour fight that had resulted when she’d attempted to teach him how to make biscuits.
Oh, God, she thought, realizing her mistake, her blindness. If she were to marry Cope, she wouldn’t be sacrificing her freewheeling lifestyle or sentencing herself to a life of boredom. Life with him would always be exciting. He was exciting, so how could their life together possibly be any different?
She whirled from the window and flew across the room, grabbing her purse as she darted out the door, praying that he hadn’t left. When she reached the front yard, the Lamborghini was parked at the end of the sidewalk, as if waiting for her.
She climbed inside, turned the key, revved the engine. With her heart racing, she reversed down the driveway. She made the drive quickly, the high-powered sports car eating up the miles. When she turned onto the narrow lane that led to the beach house, the headlights flashed across a sign posted on the corner. She stomped on the brakes and reversed, angling the car around to shine the headlights on the sign. Through the fine mist of rain that fell onto the windshield, she read, For Sale By Keever Properties.
Her heart sank. He was selling the beach house, she thought, gulping back tears. Did this mean he’d given up on her? Had she destroyed whatever chance of happiness they may have had together with her stubborn blindness?
Spinning the wheel, she stomped on the accelerator and raced back onto Beach Road, slinging wet sand to splatter against the for sale sign.
Cope had given up on sleeping. He sat on the sofa, his gaze on the view of the Gulf beyond the window. Though dark, he could see the white tips of the waves as they dragged at the shore, pulling the debris that Hurricane Leslie had washed up onto the beach back out to the ocean.
Four days, he thought. Four days had passed since he’d seen Deanna last. Four miserable, nail-biting days without a word from her. He’d been so sure that he could win her over. Was so confident that he could resolve whatever hang-up she had about marrying him.
But he’d failed. Miserably.
He stiffened, then stood, sure that he saw a light flicker on the beach below. He crossed to the window for a better look. Though he scanned the beach in both directions, he saw nothing. Convinced that his eyes were playing tricks on him, he started to turn away. But as he did, he caught, out of the corner of his eye, a flash of light again.
Celeste? he wondered, then snorted a laugh. “You’re losing it, Copely,” he muttered beneath his breath. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
But as he continued to stare, the light remained, a faint, narrow beam that seemed to be moving toward the stairs at the base of his pier.
Knowing he was a fool for even considering the possibility that Celeste was walking the beach in search of Fen, he headed for the door.
As he jogged down the stairs that led down to the beach, the misting rain blurred his vision. Blinded by it, he missed the last step, swore, then righted himself and dragged a sleeve across his eyes. Turning, he searched for the light he’d seen from his living room above.
It took him a moment to find it. The darkness and the rain made seeing much of anything difficult. When he spotted it, he started off, keeping his gaze riveted on the tiny circle of dancing light. He’d covered less than two hundred feet, when he stopped and stared, able now to make out the shape of a woman behind the circle of light. As he stared, she called out to him.
“Cope?”
Sure that it was Deanna’s voice he’d heard, he gave himself a shake. He wouldn’t answer. What fool talked to ghosts?
But then the circle of light grew nearer, its beam blinding him. He threw up an arm to shade his eyes.
“Who’s there?” he called.
The light blinked off.
“It’s me. Deanna.”
His heart shot to his throat. “Deanna? What are you doing out here?”
“I’m looking for my lost love.”
He dragged his sleeve across his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the rain that blurred his vision. He was crazy, he told himself. Or asleep and dreaming. Deanna wasn’t there.
But then she drew closer, close enough that he could make out her face. Her hair was loose and curling riotously around her face and down to her waist. And her eyes…deep green pools of uncertainty that seemed to reach out and tug at his heart.
It was a joke, he told himself. She hadn’t returned to tell him that she’d changed her mind about marrying him and finally admit that she loved him. She was pretending to be Celeste, the ghost that she had insisted haunted his beach house. That was something she would do on a lark. As a joke.
But he wasn’t going to be the butt of the joke.
He turned his back on her and started back to his house. “Sorry, Celeste. Go jump in the Gulf. I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Cope! Wait!”
He slowed at the panic in Deanna’s voice, then plowed on, the wet sand sucking at his boots. “You had your fun, Deanna,” he called over his shoulder. “Now go on back home before you catch a cold.”
“Cope! Please!”
He felt her fingers clamp around his arm, heard the desperate plea in her voice. Heaving a frustrated breath, he turned. “What is it you want from me, Deanna? Isn’t it enough that I’m soaking wet? That I’ve probably ruined a perfectly good pair of boots chasing a ghost who doesn’t exist? Okay,” he said and jerked from her grasp to throw his hands wide. “I’m a sucker. I fell for it. For a minute, I actually believed that it was Celeste I saw from the window up there,” he said, pointing. “For a second, I really thought it was Celeste walking down the beach, carrying a lantern while she searched for her lost love.”
With rain running down her face, dripping from her chin, she shook her head. “No, Cope. This was no joke. I wasn’t pretending to be Celeste.” She took a step closer. “But you were right about one thing. The woman you saw from your window was searching for her lost love. But it wasn’t Celeste. It was me, searching for you.”
The anger slowly drained from him, leaving him weak, speechless. “Deanna…”
A smile trembled at her lips and she lifted a hand to thumb the rain from his cheek.
“I was so blind, Cope. So stubborn. Can you forgive me?”
He closed a hand over hers and held it against his cheek. “I—”
Choked by emotion, he brought her fingers to his lips. “Love means never having to say your sorry.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over her lashes to mix with the rain that streaked down her face. “Does that mean you still love me?”
He gathered his arms around her and drew her close. “I never stopped loving you. I never will.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Cope,” she cried. “I love you so much. When I saw the For Sale sign on the lane, I was so afraid that you’d given up on me.”
He drew back to look at her. “What For Sale sign?”
She sniffed, dragging a hand beneath her eyes. “The one on the side of the driveway.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t list this house for sale.”
She wrinkled her brow. “You didn’t? But, who—”
“Celeste,” they both said together, then laughed and hugged each other.
Pulling back, Deanna grabbed his hand. “Come on,” she cried.
“Where are you going?” Cope asked in confusion as he struggled to keep up.
“I’m going to pull up that For Sale sign,” she replied, as she tugged him along with her. “Lacey’s been pulling up signs for weeks and messing with that Darcy Keever’s mind. I want in on the fun.”
“Deanna, wait,” he said, pulling her to a stop.
“What?” she asked in frustration.
He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “I need to ask you something first.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “And what would that be?”
“Would you marry me?”
Laughing, she threw her arms around his neck. “I thought you would never ask!”
TO THE ONE I LOVE
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-0303-0
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
THAT OLD FAMILIAR FEELING
Copyright © 2003 by Emilie Richards McGee
AN OLDER MAN
Copyright © 2003 by Allison Lee Davidson
CAUGHT BY A COWBOY
Copyright © 2003 by Peggy Bozeman Morse
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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To the One I Love: That Old Familiar FeelingAn Older ManCaught by a Cowboy Page 30