She looked down at the scene below in horror. “What in the world is going on here?”
Tara ran up the stairs to help her down. “I think it’s time we installed an alarm system,” she answered, trying to make light of the situation, and at the same time thinking that might not be a bad idea.
Officer Dailey cuffed Tim and then dragged him outside. She watched as Easton went out with them. Her mind was spinning as a gamut of emotions assailed her. She didn’t know what to think. Had Easton used her, as that criminal implied? The thought sickened her. Last night, his emotions had seemed so real…the way he’d touched her…made her feel… That couldn’t have been an act, could it?
She helped her grandmother into the parlor and sat next to her on the sofa as she explained everything.
When she finished, her grandmother said, “All this because of Addison’s codicil.”
Tara sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess when there’s money at stake, people will do just about anything.”
Her grandmother reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m not surprised that Boyd and Bennett would want to get their hands on it, but I find it hard to believe that Easton would be a party to that. Don’t jump to conclusions and believe what a crook says. You need to speak to your young man.”
Tara swallowed hard and quickly looked away so her grandmother wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She glanced out the window to see Officer Dailey coming up the walkway. Although they’d left the front door open, he used the brass door knocker before entering the house. “I’m taking the suspect down to the station now. You ladies are welcome to pick up a report any time. I’m sure you’ll be sleeping a lot easier now.”
“Thank you, Officer Dailey.” Tara got up and walked him out. Easton was standing beside the police car. Blood still oozed from the cut above his eye. He caught her looking at him and held her gaze. She had a hard time reading his expression but thought she saw a glimpse of regret, although she couldn’t be sure because he turned and walked away. She watched him cut across the lawn to go next door. When he was out of sight, she slowly closed the door. There was a heavy feeling in her stomach and chest as she walked back into the parlor.
“Where’s Easton? Isn’t he coming back inside?” her grandmother asked.
Tara shook her head. Her tongue felt thick. “He went home. I’m going to go clean up the glass.” She walked with leaden steps to the kitchen. When she got there, she just stood in the center of the room, staring at the back door’s broken window but not really seeing it. A haze of despair blurred her vison. All she could think about was last night. Just a few short hours ago, she’d been in Easton’s arms and blissfully happy. How quickly that happiness had been shattered. She glanced down at the floor and all the glittering pieces of glass and realized she’d forgotten the broom. It was still in the foyer. When she went back for it, her grandmother was coming down the stairs with her book tucked down her arm.
“Thought I’d do some reading, but I’d rather have you come sit with me for a while. Don’t worry about the glass now. It can wait.”
“You’re right, and I’d rather sit and talk to you anyway.” Tara walked with her into the parlor, and then sat down next to her on the sofa.
Her grandmother put the book in her lap and studied Tara’s face. “You remind me so much of your father. Every time I look at you, I see him, and it makes me regret even more what happened between him and your grandfather. Many times I wished I could go back in time and change things. Addison felt the same way, you know. He loved your dad and always regretted letting his dream—the brewery—come between them. That’s why when he made the change to his will, he gave me specific instructions on what to do with it should he die. He didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.” She opened the book’s cover and reached inside its flap to pull out a paper folded in thirds.
When she opened it, the first thing Tara noticed was the notary stamp, then the witness signatures. She clasped her hand over her mouth and gasped. “Grandmother, that’s the codicil!”
“I wanted to keep it in a safe place, and one that I’d remember, so where better than inside my book.” She handed the document to Tara. “I was waiting to give this to you until after you’d been here awhile. You see, your grandfather and I wanted to give you the chance to make up your own mind, to determine your own future, not what we wanted for you. However, considering all that’s been going on here the past few days, I thought it was time you knew about your inheritance.”
Tara shook her head in disbelief as she read the codicil. “Grandfather left his half of the brewery to me?”
Her grandmother gently put her hand on Tara’s arm. “Only if you want it. If not, you can sell it to Frank.”
Her mind was awhirl. “Do I have to make the decision right now?”
“Of course not, dear. I know there’s a lot to consider. I don’t know if this’ll be of any help to you in making up your mind, but Frank’s a good man, and he’s not stupid. He knew Boyd and Bennett needed to be monitored. That’s why he asked Easton to be his eyes and ears.”
Her heart swelled with the realization that Easton might not have deceived her after all. “Thanks for telling me that, Grandmother. It is very helpful.”
~*~
After Tara cleaned up the kitchen, she arranged for a glass company to come out and replace the broken window pane, then went upstairs to take a shower. The hot water felt good. Every muscle in her body was tense as she mulled the pros and cons of both scenarios. If she sold her share of the brewery, she’d be set financially, but what else would she have? There was nothing waiting for her back in New Hampshire. But if she kept her inheritance, what then? She knew nothing about running a brewery and had never even considered owning a business. Was she up for the challenge?
Tara squirted shampoo into her hands. As she lathered up her hair, she thought back to the tour Easton had given her of Spencer Douglas and the huge process that went into making the beer. She remembered his passion and excitement for the business as he explained the role of each piece of equipment. She imagined her grandfather feeling that same joy every day he went to work, and how disappointing it must have been when her father didn’t share in it, choosing instead to take another path in life. If she gave up her inheritance, the brewery would no longer be Spencer Douglas, and her family’s legacy would die.
She thought of her grandmother wandering around that big old house all alone with no one to talk to but a ghost.
She could see more clearly now which direction she was leaning. There was only one part of the equation that she needed to help make her final decision. Tara quickly finished her shower, then put on a pair of jeans and a yellow tank.
Last night’s storm had given way to a gorgeous summer day. She opened the French door and stepped onto the deck, thinking she’d let her hair air dry in the sun. Down below, though, out at the end of the pier, she spotted Easton.
This was the perfect time to put her mind at ease. She went back inside and then downstairs. Her grandmother had fallen asleep in the parlor with her book still in her lap. Tara gently touched her shoulder. “I’m going out back for a bit. I’ll be on the pier. There’s someone I need to talk to.”
Her faded eyes twinkled with understanding. “You don’t have to rush back in, my dear. I’m perfectly content right where I’m at.” She closed her eyes, and a small smile turned up the corners of her mouth.
She kissed her grandmother’s cheek, then raced out the door. When she reached the pier, Easton had his back to her as he stared out at the ocean.
She walked up to him. “My grandmother told me what happened to your mom. I’m so sorry.”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and turned his head to look at her. He had a bandage covering the cut above his eye and an ugly discoloration on his cheek. “It was a long time ago, but some hurts never go away.”
“I also found out your grandfather asked you to keep an eye on Bennett and your dad. I just need t
o know, though, if what we had was real or were you just going along with things because you had to?”
He took his hands out of his pockets and faced her. “That might have been the case to begin with, but almost immediately I knew I was falling for you. What we have is one hundred percent real.” He pulled her into the circle of his arms. “Last night was the best night of my life.” He crushed her against him, and his mouth sought hers hungrily.
When their lips parted, she said devilishly, “You know, I’ve been thinking, if I’m going to own a brewery, I’m going to need someone to teach me the business. Not to mention help me deal with certain members of your family.”
Astonishment touched his face. “Are you saying what I think you are?”
She slid her fingers around the back of his neck and stared up at him. “Yep, my grandfather made me his beneficiary, and Grandmother had the codicil hidden in her book.”
His eyes shone with joy. “So you’re going to stay here forever?”
She arched a brow. “Well, I don’t know about that. Forever’s a long time, unless you’re spending it with someone you love.”
He dipped his head, so that his mouth brushed hers. “My feelings exactly.”
A Note from the Author
Thank you for reading Surrender to Love, book one of the Breakers Island romantic suspense series. I hope you enjoyed it. Look for book two in late summer 2015.
I also write paranormal and sweet small-town romances. My new lighthearted contemporary romance series, Love Always, will be available June 2015. It features three childhood friends who encounter a lot more than anticipated while searching for love.
To receive information on all of my new releases, please sign up for my newsletter at www.RaineEnglish.com, like my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/RaineEnglish, and follow me on Twitter at @RaineEnglish.
The Merry-Go-Round
Donna Fasano
Copyright © 2009 by:
Donna Fasano
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
Acknowlegment
To the authors of Book Boyfriends Café.
Thanks for including me, ladies!
Praise and Awards
USA Today Bestselling Author
Books & Pals Readers’ Choice Best Romance 2015
3-time HOLT Medallion Winner
Kindle Top 5 Bestselling Author
Nook Top 10 Bestselling Author
“…complex, funny and realistic.”
~ Wilmington News Journal
“An utterly charming romantic comedy ... funny, imperfect characters, sexual attraction … Told with humor and honesty…”
~ Karen McQuestion, author of A Scattered Life
“…a romantic comedy that works so well because it turns the clichés upside down.”
~Books & Pals Book Reviews
Chapter 1
You don’t know a woman till you’ve met her in court.
~ Norman Mailer
“It’s a great day for a divorce.” Lauren took a quick look around to see if anyone had heard her talking to herself before she hurried up the courthouse steps. If everything went according to plan, she would walk out of this building a free woman. She’d sleep a lot better and breathe a lot easier minus the hundred and eighty pounds of man meat she’d been lugging around for far too long.
A blessed blast of cool air billowed from the building when she hauled open the plate glass door. Although it was a few days into September, the hot, humid temps that plagued Sterling through the lazy months of summer were stubbornly hanging on. She lifted her hand in greeting to Rusty as he tucked the floor polisher into the janitorial closet; she nodded to colleagues she met in the hallway. The reverberation of her high heels clicking against the marble floor had her smiling. It was a satisfying sound—one she’d heard nearly every workday since she’d passed the Maryland Bar and ordered the door plaque that read Lauren E. Hunkavic, Attorney At Law.
Of course, it was Flynn now. The name change was about the only good thing that had come from her marriage. Not that she wasn’t proud of her maiden name. Her Czechoslovakian great-grandparents had risked everything, left everyone they loved in search of a new life across the ocean. But kids were mean. And mercilessly unrelenting. Every Halloween she had been saddled with Hunk-a-trick. The summer she went through a chubby stage, it had been Hunk-a-thick. She lost the weight and they’d come up with Hunk-a-stick. She hadn’t gone on a single Saturday movie outing with friends that she hadn’t heard Hunk-a-flick at least once. Missing a couple of days of school turned her into Hunk-a-sick. Although the teasing during her adolescence had been mostly innocuous, it had been endless and irritating as the hell. Her parents and teachers alike had explained that the kids were simply goading her into reacting. “They’re paying for a ticket,” her dad had told her, “but you don’t have to put on a show.” High school seemed to mature most of her peers, but there had been a moron or two who just seemed to get crueler and nastier in their twisting of her last name.
Turning the corner, she wasn’t surprised to see her father sitting on the bench near the elevator. His beat up Dodge Ram had been parked on West Main Street directly in front of the courthouse steps. He must have arrived at daybreak to bag the prime spot. Even though she was ten minutes early for their court appointment—the first slot of the day—Lauren had been forced to use the side lot.
She tried to gauge her father’s mood as she got closer. If Eeyore ever took sick in the 100 Acre Wood, Lew Hunkavic would be the perfect stand-in for the pessimistic Equus asinus.
“Hey there, Dad. You look good this morning. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You must have slept well.”
Asking her dad how he was feeling held too great a possibility of opening a huge can of big, fat blood worms. Instead, she made a habit of making the most positive assessment possible.
“My hair hurts.” He raked his stubby fingers through the thatch of silver covering his scalp, tilting his head and wincing as he did so. “Been hurting for days. You’da known about it if you’da called.”
“Dad, we had dinner on Sunday,” she reminded him lightly. “It’s only Wednesday.”
“I know what day of the week it is,” he groused.
She punched the elevator call button. “Come the weekend, you won’t have to worry about me calling you, will you?” A slight movement had her eyes darting to his face. She’d thought she’d seen his mouth quirk, but surely she was mistaken. He had to be as dismayed about these circumstances as she.
“Besides that,” she continued, “your hair can’t hurt.”
He rose from the bench, the rubber tip of his cane squeaking on the polished stone floor.
“Hair is made up of nothing but dead cells, Dad. No nerve endings, no pain.”
He glowered, his gray-green eyes narrowing on her, just as the elevator dinged, the up arrow lit and the doors slid open. “It’s carbunculosis.”
They stepped inside and Lauren touched the button that would take them to the third floor.
“An infection of the scalp. I researched it at that website I told you about. All Natural Health dot org.”
The internet. It was both a blessing and a bane. A person could find information about anything there. Anything.
Most people spent their golden years traveling the country, or engrossed in some well-loved hobby, or immersed in great works of literature. Not her seventy-year-old dad. Oh, no. He spent his days hunched over a keyboard, trolling the Web for medical maladies with which to label every ache and pain he experienced.
Softly, she warned, “Dad, it wouldn’t hurt to get a professional opinion.”
He straightened. “You telling me my scalp isn’t sore?”
“I’m not saying that at all.” Suddenly, Lauren realized she’d better
backpedal a bit. She needed her dad in good spirits this morning. Well, as good as his spirits could be, anyway.
The doors slid open and they exited the elevator.
“I have no doubt you’re hurting,” she told him. “I can see by the look on your face. Maybe you should go see Dr. Amos.”
“Charlie Amos is a dimwit.”
“Dad, you and Dr. Amos have been friends for—”
“I don’t need a doctor, Lauren. I bought myself some tea tree oil. A few drops in my shampoo should take care of the problem.”
“Tea tree oil, huh?” She stifled the sigh building at the base of her diaphragm. “Where’d you hear about that? Find A Cure dot com?” Before he could respond, she said, “Dad, you need to forgive Doc.”
“Bless my butt and call me Betty. The man couldn’t diagnose a simple rash, Lauren.” Lew shook his head in disgust. “Dry skin, my ass. I knew I had a problem, and I found a cure, too. That old quack can’t even turn on a computer, let alone do a Google search. He’s way behind the times. How can he ever expect to keep up with advances in health care?”
Medical journals, maybe? Professional conferences? Refresher courses? But Lauren zipped her lip.
The fact was that the good doctor had the gall to warn her father not to take everything he read on the Net as gospel truth. That had been four months ago, and since then her dad had refused to acknowledge Dr. Amos existed.
They arrived at the double doors of the courtroom, and Lauren spun to face her father.
“Okay, Dad—” she lifted her free hand, palm up “—can we set this aside for now? This is very important to me.”
The deep sigh he emitted could have been his reluctance to veer off the topic of his latest infirmity, or it could have been his reaction to the court petition she’d filed. Either way, she’d felt it best to ignore his gloom.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 39