Ty wrestled the bouquet onto the elevator and down the hall, ignoring the amused glances from the staff. It was almost like no one brought flowers to sick people anymore.
Holland’s door was closed. He knocked softly before pushing it open.
She was sitting up in bed, her long black hair pulled into a knot on top of her head. She didn’t have any makeup on, and somehow she made the loose hospital gown look like high fashion. He caught his breath. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said.
“I must still be on the good drugs; that bouquet is talking to me,” Holland said to Misty, who sat beside her holding Wyatt. She laughed. “They’re beautiful, Ty. Thank you. But I don’t know where you’re going to put them.”
Ty shifted the bouquet and looked around. Every shelf, windowsill, and table was already covered with the gorgeous arrangements he’d brought her earlier.
“The nurses are telling me they’ll have to start moving these out of here at night, or I’ll be in danger of oxygen overload,” Holland teased as Ty squatted to set the bouquet carefully on the floor. He grinned and came to her bedside, leaning down for a kiss.
“How are you feeling?”
“Still a little lightheaded if I move too fast, but pretty good. The doctor came by this morning and thinks I should be able to go home tomorrow. Said the stitches are healing nicely.” Holland held up her bandaged hand, where the glass from the shattered table had cut deeply. Ty had brought in the top hand specialist in the country to perform the delicate surgery.
“Does he think you’ll have full movement?” he asked, giving voice to his biggest fear.
“Yes, he thinks so. I’ll need a little physical therapy, but after that I should be good to go.” Her face hardened. “Even if I didn’t, it was worth it.”
She’d been aiming for Chet’s leg and missed, but Ty knew she was prouder to have given him what would be a lovely long scar on his butt instead. As for the rest of the injuries, Ty still felt he’d let Chet off easy with only two black eyes, a busted-up lip, and bruised ribs. He still couldn’t think about what might have happened if Misty hadn’t called him. The sound of the screams over the phone and the memory of his dead sprint across the field toward the house would be with him for a long time.
But it was over. Chet was in the county jail awaiting trial for a list of crimes including attempted murder, attempted kidnapping, and arson. The prosecuting attorney expected he’d be locked away for a while. The dream house he’d burned would have to be rebuilt, but Ty didn’t care. His loved ones were okay. That was all that mattered.
Ty picked up Holland’s non-damaged hand from the bed and kissed her fingers. “You’re amazing, Miss Morrissey, did you know?”
Holland’s green eyes softened, and she pulled her fingers from his grip to run them gently over his jaw, through the stubble that he’d let grow back. “You’re pretty amazing yourself, Mr. Epperson.”
“If things are going in that direction, I’m out of here.” Misty shifted Wyatt in her arms and stood. “Don’t worry, Holland, I’ll go intercept your parents and tell them you two are having a moment.” Holland’s parents had flown in the day after the attack, and Ty had rented a private condo for them at the ski resort. They’d been visiting every day, and while over a hospital bed was not exactly the way he’d imagining getting to know his future in-laws, it seemed to be working out well.
Not that they knew he was scouting them out as future in-laws. Not even Holland knew that yet. But Ty knew. He was going to marry Holland Morrissey—he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.
He waved goodbye to Misty before pulling the chair closer to Holland’s bedside. “So they’re going to let you out of here tomorrow, huh?”
“Hopefully.”
“Do you remember what you told me right before they took you to the ambulance?”
Her brows formed an adorable wrinkle as she drew them together in thought. “I remember I felt like I needed to tell you something. It seemed important . . . but I can’t remember. Did I tell you something?”
He grinned mischievously. “Yep, you certainly did.”
“What did I say?”
“Well, maybe it was just the drugs talking,” Ty said, enjoying the moment and wanting to draw it out as long as possible. “I’ve heard that morphine can make people say some strange things.”
“Ty! Tell me,” she demanded, swatting him gently on the arm.
He leaned in close. “You told me you loved me,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “Was that just the morphine talking?”
“Only if that means morphine is also truth serum,” Holland said, her green eyes softening.
“That’s good, because I love you, too.”
She smiled and reached to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling his head toward her to close the space between them. Holland’s lips were warm and soft, a perfect fit with his, and her perfume brought up images of sunny beaches and salt-tinged air.
When they finally broke apart, Ty pressed his forehead to hers. “I know you love the beach and the sun and the energy of LA,” he said. “So if moving there means I get to keep you, let’s move there. I can run the foundation from anywhere. Or . . . I can be the obnoxious billionaire you told Jamie I was and hire a jet to fly you there at a moment’s notice when you get homesick.”
Holland’s laughter filled the room and made his heart leap. “I don’t think it needs to be quite at a moment’s notice,” she said. “Besides, I’m finding that I love Hailey almost as much as I love LA. And I love you most of all.”
As he leaned in to kiss her again, Ty couldn’t help smiling just a little. He may have gotten lucky when he won the lottery, but he’d never felt luckier than he did at this moment looking forward to a future with Holland.
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Shadows in the Curtain
Excerpt
EMMALINE SQUINTED INTO THE BRIGHT LIGHTS, focusing on the exuberant crowd instead of ignoring them as she had throughout the night. She bowed and smiled, exhausted but thrilled with the performance. Many, most particularly her aunt, would say her current situation was beneath her abilities and social status. The dilapidated Coaster Theater in Cannon Beach, Oregon, might not be the most glamorous venue, but the people she worked with were sincere in their understated talent, and she found playing narrator in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat was always a challenge.
A young girl ran to Emmy and presented her with a huge bouquet of red roses. Emmy bent and hugged the child before holding the bouquet aloft. The crowd bellowed their approval.
As she lowered the flowers, Emmy saw the note. She swallowed hard, swaying slightly. Timothy, who played the part of Joseph, rested a hand on her back.
“You okay?” he asked through his smile, waving to the crowd.
She pulled the flowers to where he could see the note. You’re Mine, written in bold permanent marker on a cut piece of blue cardstock. An exact replica of the other notes.
Timothy’s hand gripped her waist possessively. If it would’ve been anyone else, she would’ve tol
d them to back off, she was married, but Timothy was a close friend and his protection like a brother’s. “Stay close to me,” he said.
They exited the stage and hurried down the hallway. The rest of the cast trailed behind, feet tapping loudly on the concrete floor as they rushed to the front foyer to greet their fans.
The director and prop manager stood in the hallway congratulating the cast. The director, James, every inch a gentleman from his pressed vest to his bowtie, gave her a slight bow. Emmy adored the older man. The prop manager, Shane, grinned shyly at Emmy and squeezed her hand. He looked rough with his unkempt beard and dark, scraggly hair, but his kindness endeared him to the cast.
Her husband, Grayson, ducked through the doorway leading into the front hallway, a bright spot against the dingy paint. “You were unreal, Em.”
She handed him the flowers, hoping he’d see the note and know what to do. He bent and gave her a quick kiss before she was swept past him to the waiting throng.
“I’ll be here,” he called.
Emmy wished she could stay with him and let him protect her, but she couldn’t neglect her supporters. Many of these people attended performance after performance, and although her fake gaiety hid mounting fear and frustration, they deserved to at least shake her hand and receive a smile.
Timothy stuck to her side while people surged past with compliments, hand squeezes, and the occasional hug. Emmy searched every eye, but only saw excitement from a fun performance or weariness from sitting too long. If anyone had murder in mind, he was as good at putting on a fake face as she was.
No one piqued her curiosity. Until he came. She had no clue what his name was, but the past few weeks she’d seen him almost every morning at the gym. He was much too good-looking, with his rippling muscles and deep blue eyes. She always avoided looking directly at him, though she knew that was as obvious an indicator of her attraction as staring would be. She couldn’t avoid him now.
The wide entryway, which featured plush, faded carpet and wood-planked walls, shrank as he drew nearer. The babble of the crowd faded. He reached for her hand, staring deep into her eyes. Her hand fitted itself into his like he was a magnet. Her entire body leaned toward him.
“You were amazing. So passionate.” He smiled, and the room swayed.
Emmy was quite sure the passion she experienced right now had nothing to do with singing or acting. She should draw away but couldn’t force herself to. “Thank you,” she managed, embarrassed by the huskiness of her voice as she tried to catch a breath.
The crowd pressed forward, and he was forced to release her hand and move to the side. His blond date gushed over Emmy for a second, and then they were gone.
Emmy continued greeting other patrons but couldn’t forget the allure of his blue eyes. He didn’t seem like the creepy stalker type, but she had to wonder. Could he be the one sending the notes?
The last of the crowd finally filtered out the doors. Emmy congratulated her fellow cast members and accepted their praise. She looked up to see her husband leaning against the refreshment counter with a warm smile on his face, brown hair flopping into his right eye.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She’d allowed herself to react to another man. She was stronger than that. Trained to project emotions on demand, she was also an expert at reining in any untoward feelings and separating herself from her role, no matter how attractive her co-star may be. Why had she let her guard down tonight? It must be because of her fear over another note, or maybe seeing that man in a different environment.
Whatever it was, it wouldn’t happen again. Grayson reached her side and bent to kiss her. His kiss was sure and steady. Maybe not exciting or passionate, but filled with love and the only home she knew. Grayson was hot cocoa and a fire on a chilly Oregon night.
“Emmy.” Her husband almost growled her name. His normally serene green eyes flashed. “The police will be here soon. We’ll find out who’s sending these notes.”
Emmy wilted against his lanky frame. She didn’t doubt the police would try, but it had been months. She wished her stalker would either show his face and give her a chance to smack him good, or leave her alone.
Hawaiian Masquerade
by Rachelle J. Christensen
Coming July 2016
Excerpt
Lexi stared at the tube of cadmium red oil paint hanging from the shelf, remembering how expensive that color had seemed in college. She grabbed the tube and quickly selected ten additional tubes in a rainbow of colors. The shopping cart wheel squeaked as she grabbed the oil painting supplies she needed to take the first step on a new path in life. The squeaking wheel sounded like the trepidation crawling up her spine trying to tell her she was nuts for leaving behind a life that most people claimed they wanted. But Lexi knew something that most people didn’t. Millions and millions of dollars did not create a wellspring of happiness. Cold hard cash was, in fact, cold and hard.
Kauai was not cold. The brilliant sunshine and perfumed air were available free to anyone on the island. Every roadway was drenched in color from vibrant greens to bright pinks and accented with the red dirt indicative of Kauai. Lexi studied the brushes available and chose a nice long-handled round brush that would help her recreate the beautiful landscapes of the island. She decided to add a beginner set of brushes as well. Now if she could find a few canvasses, she would be ready to paint on the beach outside her home. She turned the corner down another aisle and saw a display of white rectangles and squares. They were wrapped in plastic, but Lexi ran her finger along the edge, remembering the rough feel of a blank canvas and the possibility it represented.
The sounds of a toddler crying snapped her out of her musings. She steered her cart around a stack of 12x18-inch canvases and found the source of the crying. The little girl couldn’t have been more than two years old, tiny with fine black hair pulled back in pigtails. Her red hibiscus print dress set off her dark caramel skin and even though her wail intensified, Lexi found herself admiring the pretty Polynesian girl. That’s when she noticed that the toddler was alone. Lexi glanced around, but this area of the store was empty. She stepped forward carefully and crouched in front of the girl.
“Sweetie, are you lost?” As soon as the words left her mouth, the little girl held out her arms and reached for Lexi. She sniffled, melting Lexi’s heart as she carefully picked up the child. She looked down the aisle, hoping to see the little girl’s mother, but at the same time afraid that the mother would think her daughter was being kidnapped. Lexi patted the girl’s back, and she snuggled in closer creating a surprising lump in her throat. The crying ceased and Lexi was determined to help her.
Turning slowly to scan the store again, she saw a man with dark hair, a chiseled jawline, and a worried crease in his forehead. He was tall with golden brown skin and wore a green tank top that showed off his finely sculpted biceps. Something shifted in Lexi’s heart. It thumped hard twice, and she felt blood rising to her cheeks. The man stared back at her, his face open, revealing an arc of emotions as he took in the little girl and Lexi—wonder, admiration, curiosity, and something else she couldn’t define.
She stepped forward, eyebrows raised in question, “Is she yours?”
His dark hair was spiked on top and close-shaven on the sides. He sported a bit of scruff that Lexi could only describe as sexy. One side of his mouth lifted and he shook his head. “No, is she lost?”
“Yes, she was crying right over here, and I’ve stayed put for a minute hoping her mom would show up looking for her.”
He turned around in a slow circle, repeating the search Lexi had undertaken moments before. “I can help you find her parents. This store isn’t that big. Maybe they haven’t missed her yet.”
Lexi felt her brow furrow in protest before reining in her emotions, but she wanted to disagree. It had been at least three minutes since she’d heard the toddler’s cries, and five minutes was like an eternity in a child’s world—surely it would feel just as long for a frantic parent sear
ching for her child. She gently patted the girl’s back. “It’s okay sweetie, I know what it feels like to be lost,” she murmured. Then she realized that the man was standing close enough to hear her. She straightened and spoke louder, “We’ll help you.”
The man pointed to the other side of the store. “I’ll go this way, you go that way?”
“That’s a good idea.” Lexi smiled, and her stomach flipped when the man returned her smile. The little girl moved her head, quiet and warm in Lexi’s arms. The man walked quickly across the store, and Lexi went in the other direction. There was only one other shopper, an old man with a handful of charcoal and sketch pads. Lexi smiled at him, and he winked at her and the little girl, “Beautiful kaikamahine.”
Lexi nodded, appreciating the melodic Hawaiian language. The man saw them as a mother and daughter, which was a stretch with Lexi’s fair skin, blonde hair, and green eyes. She held the child close. They were two lost souls trying to find something to keep them safe. Lexi was certain she’d find the little girl’s mother, but what did Lexi need to find to keep her safe?
“Here she is,” someone said from behind Lexi. She turned around and saw that the dark-haired man was leading an Asian woman with long dark hair toward her. “Safe and sound.”
“Keilani! Oh baby,” the woman said. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
The little girl immediately sat up and reached her arms out. She started to cry for a few seconds, but then she snuggled into her mother, clutching a handful of her light cotton shirt.
“Mahalo. Oh, thank you so much for finding my baby,” the woman gushed.
“She’s a sweetheart,” Lexi said. “She wanted me to hold her, and that seemed to help while we looked for you.”
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