Seeing Stars: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Baker, Fran

  Seeing Stars is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Edition

  Copyright © 1986 by Fran Baker.

  Excerpt from Flirting with Disaster by Ruthie Knox copyright © 2013 by Ruth Homrighaus.

  Excerpt from The Story Guy by Mary Ann Rivers copyright © 2013 by Mary Ann Hudson.

  Excerpt from ’Til the End of Time by Iris Johansen copyright © 1986 by Iris Johansen.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Seeing Stars was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1986.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-53518-4

  www.ReadLoveSwept.com

  v3.1

  Thanx, Pat

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Ruthie Knox’s Flirting with Disaster

  Excerpt from Mary Ann Rivers’s The Story Guy

  Excerpt from Iris Johansen’s ’Til the End of Time

  One

  * * *

  Darn!

  Dovie stopped at the foot of Spicey Hill, her spirits and the tip of her fly rod sinking in tandem when she saw the fisherman.

  What rotten luck … not only had some Johnny-come-lately commandeered her favorite spot at the river’s bend, but, judging from the way his line just went taut, he’d also caught her Christmas dinner!

  He played it so perfectly, though, even reeling backward at times, that she couldn’t help but admire his skill.

  And when the trout made a futile attempt to turn downriver against the toughest rod pressure she’d ever seen applied, Dovie had to admit that the man could probably fish rings around her, four days out of seven.

  “Careful,” she cautioned softly when he started down the steeply sloped bank toward the water’s edge.

  She didn’t want to distract him; a trout that big could break free in the blink of an eye. But the riverbed was so littered with rocks this time of year, he’d be well advised to look before he leaped. She couldn’t swim, and the closest doctor was in Richmond—an hour’s drive away.

  Surely he’ll see them, Dovie thought, frustrated because she suddenly couldn’t see a blessed thing from where she stood.

  Curiosity killed the cat, she reminded herself glumly as she took a few cautious steps forward. But satisfaction brought it back! She rejoiced as she got a better grip on her fly rod and broke into a run toward the riverbank. Heckfire. She’d landed that trout a thousand times in her dreams, and she sure wanted to be front and center for the real thing!

  All at once the trout turned and streaked upstream, stretching the fisherman’s line as long and straight as hot, sticky taffy being pulled. The tip of his rod snapped down past his knees, bending in a thin fiberglass horseshoe, and Dovie knew he had a bona fide fight on his hands.

  He brought the rod tip up and tightened the drag of his reel. Then he lunged into the cold, churning water and began stalking the trout with a savvy that seemed born of experience. Surprisingly, he never looked down. He simply tested the riverbed for rocks with the toe of his wader boot before taking each step.

  Around and round they went. And it was exhausting yet exhilarating to watch. Two worthy opponents linked in a life-and-death struggle that came to a stunning conclusion.

  Dovie watched transfixed as the trout jumped high in the air. It shook the lure embedded in its mouth while flinging drops of liquid silver water against the somber December sky, then jackknifed back into the water.

  A lesser fisherman would have lost it then and there.

  But when this man reared back and reeled hard, she suddenly became aware of how strong he must be, how the muscles in his arms and shoulders tautened like sinuous thongs beneath his chamois-cloth shirt.

  In the tremulous winter light Dovie could almost see him three hundred summers ago: the noble savage, naked but for a loincloth. Leading his warriors into battle at the crack of dawn. Bedding his woman by a brilliant Shenandoah moon.

  She laughed self-consciously at her own imagery.

  The object of that imagery turned his head, as though he’d heard her laughing over the trill of the rapids, and she found herself really looking at him for the first time.

  His windblown black hair framed a face that had weathered fortune’s hurricane with flint and style. The high, spare cheekbones bore a few faint scars; that machete of a nose had been broken at least once; and the wide mouth mocked convention in a way that both frightened and fascinated her.

  Dovie couldn’t tell what color his eyes were behind the large opaque sunglasses he wore, but she would have bet her bottom dollar they were blue. She didn’t know why she felt so certain about it, or, for that matter, why she should even care. But she did.

  Without so much as a “how do you do” he turned his attention back to the trout. She stood on the bank, mulling over a tiny stab of—what? Disappointment? How absurd! He was a stranger, for heaven’s sake. Chances were she’d never see him again. And yet something within her craved his notice.

  “Atta boy,” he crooned as the trout began swimming in small, tight circles directly in front of him, fanning its tail as though admitting defeat. “Come on home.”

  His vibrant baritone voice enveloped her as gently as an embrace. Dovie shivered despite the warm woolen shirt she wore, and wondered if she was getting addlepated in her old age.

  Not that she equated turning thirty-five on her next birthday with being over the hill. It was just that there were times when she would have loved to share the joy of the simpler things in life with someone special. Her joy at finally seeing the trout, for example.

  “Okay, big fella …” He urged the trout toward shore, and it was finally tired enough to go along. And when he dipped his arms in up to the elbows and lifted it out of the water, Dovie couldn’t take her eyes off it.

  A beautiful rainbow—five, maybe six pounds—with a thick, streamlined flank. Its gills moved in and out, feeding its strength, as the fisherman cradled it in his large, capable hands.

  He took the hook from its mouth, his supple fingers working swiftly but tenderly, and tears clustered in her throat when a trace of blood trickled from the corner of its jaw, to be carried away by the current.

  It was more magnificent than any trout she’d ever even hoped existed in these icy waters … its iridescent body contrasting with a belly the color of fresh cream … its velvety sides heaving in exhaustion. And more than anything on God’s good earth, she wanted him to let it live.

  As if he’d read her mind, the fisherman laid his fly rod on the bank and waded out into the river. And when he lowered the trout into the water and opened his hands, it shot away like a bullet.

  He threw his head back then and laughed, a mellow sound that made her think all the fun in the world had lodged in his chest and was trying to break free … and she was smitten on the spot.

  Dovie stood dumbfounded. His laughter had touched a part of her that she’d thought had
atrophied from disuse a long time ago. But as she stared at his powerful body, silhouetted against the steely sky, that same part of her suddenly ached to be touched again.

  He wheeled and started back to the bank, still testing the riverbed for rocks with the toe of his wader boot.

  Frantically she racked her brain for something reasonably intelligent to say to him by way of introduction.

  He stopped, whipped off his dark glasses, and dried his sun-bronzed face on his shirt sleeve. The wind tossed his black hair, making him look wild and reckless and totally male.

  Frustrated by the small delay, she stamped her foot. The bank was slick and damp and steep. She slipped and, too startled even to scream for help, fell into the freezing water.

  His head snapped up as if the trap door of a gallows had opened beneath his feet.

  Right before the river of darkness engulfed her, Dovie saw his eyes. Blue as water. Bleak as winter.

  “What the hell—?”

  A million icy needles hit Nick full in the face. He spit out a mouthful of slushy water, totally baffled by what had caused such a big splash. Cursing silently but eloquently now, he reached up to rake back the sodden strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes, and halted in mid-action.

  His sunglasses were gone.

  Angrily he began groping around in the bone-chilling water, trying to find them before he stepped on them.

  There. What was that?

  His fingers closed on a firm, round breast, and his mood went from bad to worse when he realized that he’d overlooked the obvious reason for that splash: The woman with the low, malty laugh had fallen into the river!

  “Son of a—” Biting off the oath of utter self-disgust, he gathered her inert figure into his arms and carried her unerringly to the bank. When he laid her on the ground she choked up the water she’d swallowed and drew a shuddering gasp of air, her first since he’d found her.

  Nick crouched beside her and checked her vital signs. Respiration shallow, pulse rapid but weak—symptoms of shock. Playing it safe, he also examined her neck and skull. No bumps or palpable fractures to indicate a head injury of any sort.

  She was soaked to the skin and shaking so hard that he could feel the vibrations where his knees touched the ground. Having treated dozens of hypothermia victims in his day, he knew he’d better get her into some warm, dry clothes immediately.

  Careful not to disturb her any more than necessary, he slipped the straps of her rubber waders off her narrow shoulders, then peeled the unwieldy things down her short but shapely legs and pulled them over her small, booted feet. The water that her jeans and shirt hadn’t already absorbed rushed onto his hands in a freezing cascade.

  That done, he shucked his own waders and undressed to his thermal underwear. Then, using his own body as both brace and windbreak, he propped her limp form into a sitting position, unbuttoned her wet wool shirt, and slid the sleeves off her arms.

  She had a delicate bone structure despite her hourglass shape, something Nick couldn’t help but notice as he clasped her graceful rib cage with one hand while removing her damp cotton bra with the other. The blood surged to his head when her generous breasts finally spilled free, and he clamped down a highly unprofessional urge to stroke their satiny undersides.

  Gut instinct warned him to get this done quickly and get the hell out of there. Her head lolled as trustingly as a child’s against his chest, and his arm tightened possessively, protectively, for a traitorous heartbeat before he set her firmly away from him.

  He’d already lost everything else. Damned if he was going to lose his fool head over some Barbie doll who’d practically fallen into his lap!

  Back to the business at hand, he put his shirt on her and buttoned it to her neck against the piercing cold. His fingers lacked their usual dexterity, but then, it had been a while since he’d dressed a woman. Or undressed one, he reminded himself wryly.

  All right, you dumb son of a gun, you started this.… He reached for the snap at her wasp-thin waist, remembered he’d forgotten to remove her boots, and bent to the task as gratefully as a condemned man granted a stay of execution. Her soggy knee socks then went the way of her boots.

  Strictly by rote he rubbed her bare feet to stimulate her circulation. When he kneaded her ticklish soles, ten tiny toes curled reflexively in his palm. Amusement ripened the ironical smile on his lips as his sensitive fingers followed the pedial lines upward, to ankles so daintily boned he could have crushed them with his bare hands.

  He caressed them instead. Her breath came out in a raspy sigh that played counterpoint to his rapidly escalating pulse. He dropped her feet as if they’d suddenly become too hot to handle, and her heels hit the bank with a dull thud.

  Dear Lord, why had he gotten involved in this anyway? Nick raised his forearm to wipe the cold sweat off his brow, and his mouth tensed into a grim line when he remembered his missing sunglasses. It never paid to play the Good Samaritan. He should have learned that by now!

  Having gone this far, though, he was determined to see it through. The zipper of her jeans parted with a frostbitten protest. He drew the wet denim down her sweetly flared hips and slender thighs, over her slightly knocked knees, shapely calves, and finely arched feet. He hesitated only an instant before peeling off her panties and tossing them aside too.

  She moaned, alerting him to the fact she was finally coming around.

  Nick knew he’d better get this done before she realized she was naked from the waist down and started screaming bloody murder.

  Damn! If only he could slip into her subconscious mind for a moment and … What the hell, it was worth a try.

  “Listen, lady, I’m a doctor,” he stated with more confidence then he’d felt in a year. His fingers circled her slim ankle as he prodded her memory. “You fell in the river—remember?—and I pulled you out.”

  She sighed as if to say she’d heard him.

  “Well, I’m right in the middle of changing your clothes and …” His hand grazed her smooth calf muscle, and he wished to high heaven that she didn’t feel so good.

  As though she’d divined the direction of his thoughts, she groaned and locked her legs together.

  “Sorry.” Mentally cursing himself for the lapse, Nick slid his hand back to her ankle, treating it as neutral territory, and promised softly, “That won’t happen again—I swear it.”

  When her muscles and the meter of her breathing relaxed, he resumed speaking in normal conversational tones. “Now, the next thing you’re going to feel is just me putting my jeans on you.”

  There were more words. Inconsequential words. The important thing was, she didn’t fight him when he pulled his dry Levis on over her feet. Or her calves. Or her knees. But when he reached her silky thighs, she suddenly pushed his hands away and rolled sideways.

  “Wait! I’m a doctor, remember?” He reached to roll her body back. “Besides, I won’t see anything I shouldn’t, because—”

  Pain cracked through his head as the palm of her small hand connected smartly with his cheek.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” The aggressive side of Nick’s nature abruptly reasserted itself as he forced her down and straddled her legs. When she swung at him a second time—with both hands, no less—he sensed it coming and caught her wrists, imprisoning them above her head in his iron fists.

  “Let me go!” she ordered, gasping.

  “Look, lady”—he smiled coldly at his choice of words and spat the bitter truth at her through clenched teeth—“I’m blind!”

  Two

  * * *

  Dovie stared at him in disbelief. She was so close, she could see every line in his burnished skin, every scar that should have lessened his appeal but didn’t, and every spiky black lash defining those deep blue eyes that seemed to look into infinity.…

  “How did you get me back to the bank?” The instant the words left her mouth, Dovie wanted to bite her tongue. Just because he couldn’t see didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything
else!

  “I’m not totally inadequate,” Nick retorted. And nothing riled him more than someone implying otherwise.

  “I—I didn’t say you were.” Embarrassed to think he’d taken her question the wrong way, she tried to make amends. “I’m impressed. Really! I mean, I can’t even swim, and here you—”

  “Spare me the platitudes,” he snapped.

  Of all the pompous, self-pitying … Irritated that she was paying for something that was none of her doing, she shot back with, “It could be worse.”

  “Oh, sure.” He breathed out a short laugh that lacked humor. “I could be a blind eunuch.”

  Dovie sucked in a shocked lungful of air, suddenly aware of his heat and his hardness pinning her partially nude body to the cold ground. The tightly waffled knit of his long underwear clung so snugly to his lean torso that it left nothing to her imagination. Not even the fact that he’d begun to desire her …

  When she shifted nervously beneath him Nick gritted his teeth, trying valiantly to ignore the voluptuous press of her breasts against his chest and the sweet promise of her hips against his. But after the long months of abstinence, there was a limit to what a man could take!

  The silence was pregnant enough to bear twins.

  She lay still, afraid to move again, sensing she’d aroused a sleeping tiger that nothing in her experience had prepared her to tame. He raised one eyebrow, as if the notion of having her at his mercy appealed to him, and a rage she’d never known she was capable of shook her from head to toe. Damn him for putting her on the defensive!

  “Get off of me,” she ordered sharply.

  “Gladly,” he said, and groaned.

  But instead of being relieved when he released her wrists and pushed lithely to his feet, Dovie felt a perverse sense of loss. And when she saw the dark red imprint of her fingers against his face, she really wished she hadn’t slapped him that hard. After all, he’d only been trying to help.

  “I haven’t thanked you yet for saving me,” she said, remembering suddenly. Law, he must think her a real ingrate!