Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set

by James, Maddie

“Of course, but that’s hard to come by anywhere near Boston.”

  “You’d want a workforce of reliable people. Good weather helps, too.”

  Whitney started to think there was some creativity at work here. “Are you suggesting—”

  “And, of course, you’d want a reliable builder. Someone you already have a relationship with.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’ve built a business here. I’ve found a home here. I’m just missing one thing.”

  “I’m missing one thing, too,” she said slowly. This was incredible. Could she move here, build a business here, leave her old life behind? Perhaps the real question would be…could she have it any other way? Could she stand to leave this island and leave Chris?

  He watched her intently. “Will you stay?”

  Would she? Could she? Kelly could manage the business in Boston. She could run the facility here. She would still see Taylor’s family when they came to this home. And Chris was here.

  “I think…I think I have to stay,” she said slowly and raised her eyes seriously to his face. “I can’t give up Mavis’s chicken.”

  Chris pulled her close and kissed her. This kiss held all the tension and desire of their previous ones, but something more, too.

  It held long days working together on storm damage.

  It held sunshine, sand, and water.

  It held shared meals and stories.

  It was possessive, suggesting more to come.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said in a husky whisper.

  Whitney pulled back slightly. “Can’t,” she said. “Maid of honor duties.”

  “How long?” he said.

  She slipped her hands under his coat and ran her fingers over the smooth white shirt beneath. She brushed her fingers over his hard chest muscles. “Two hours, tops,” she said. “Dinner, a short speech, cut the cake, some dancing, and then we’re free.”

  “Won’t Taylor miss you if we slip out of here later?”

  Whitney glanced over to Taylor and Jackson holding hands and talking with guests under the twinkling white lights. She looked radiant and happy. Whitney knew her old friend wouldn’t begrudge her some happiness for herself.

  “No,” Whitney said, “I think she’ll get along fine without me tonight. But I did promise to tell her our whole story one of these days.”

  “Well, then,” Chris said, taking her arm and leading her toward the edge of the lawn. “It all started about two weeks ago. I was at the airport when I noticed the most beautiful girl I had ever seen trapped in a revolving door with an enormous red suitcase.”

  Whitney punched him on the arm. “Better just skip to the part where we live happily ever after,” she said.

  They walked through the lighted pavilion now deserted by the other guests in favor of the food and drink tables. He pulled her close under the twinkling lights and kissed her and suddenly took one step back. Whitney hardly had time to react before she realized he was down on one knee in front of her.

  “I love you, Whitney.”

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  “Will you live happily ever after with me?” he asked.

  She could hardly breathe. Maybe it was the warm tropical air, the excitement of the beautiful wedding, the lights. No, she knew what it was.

  “Yes,” she said. He stood and crushed her into a powerful embrace.

  “Do you think they rent this place out for weddings?” he asked.

  “I think you might have to know the owners,” she whispered, emotion rushing through her voice.

  Whitney looked into Chris’ eyes, the white lights reflecting in the blue like the sun on the waves. She felt a rush of heat and love as he pulled her close and kissed her with such abandon that several guests noticed and started clinking their spoons on glasses.

  “Then I think I’d better get busy making friends with them,” he said.

  THE END

  THIS MAGIC MOMENT

  Bobbye Terry writing as Daryn Cross

  Chapter One

  “It’s dead and the only way you can save it is resurrection.”

  “For crying out loud, Zack! It’s Christmas Eve!”

  “So what? We’ve got one month until the Super Bowl and our commercial’s flat.”

  Zack Graham strode toward the elevators. Staring at Mike Kramer, he wondered what was wrong with his cousin and VP of sales. The guy was acting like a green exec, not a man who’d weathered the worst on their way up the ladder.

  Mike pulled to a stop beside him in front of the closed doors and glared at him. “It’s fixable.”

  “Fixable?”

  Mike stood there, his face twitching out of control. If Zack didn’t know better he’d have sworn the guy had a disorder. Zack shook his head in concern. His cousin was coming unglued. Stress was something few people could handle like he could. The kid… Zack winced, silently correcting himself. The twenty-five-year-old man should be able to handle things better than this. He let out a deep breath as Mike finally nodded.

  “Yeah, fixable.”

  Zack whistled. “Get with the program. Right now it doesn’t have a pulse. And if we don’t figure out how to resuscitate it, more than a million’s flushed down the toilet.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Mike threw his arms out wide in that over-exaggerated gesture he made.

  “Get downstairs to marketing, now, and kick some ass.”

  The doors of the elevators opened. At the sight of the full elevator, Zack started to count. At three, he waved it on.

  “Why not let the marketing department work on it by itself?”

  Cringing at Mike’s desperate tone, Zack turned and fixed on him with a laser-sharp gaze. “You can’t trust anything to get done unless you stay on top of it, especially in this season of good cheer and idle carelessness.”

  Mike grabbed Zack’s shoulder. “Look, George is our Director of Marketing and a twenty-year veteran. He can handle it, at least until New Year’s.”

  “Never let down, Mike.” Zack rubbed his forehead. Had he not taught his friend and executive anything? “Never let down, or the competition will pass you. Wipe you out. Every snack cake company’s out there waiting for Scrumbles to slip.”

  Taking a deep breath, he glanced back at Mike. “Just a hint of weakness and the vultures attack. They’ll gobble us up faster than you can eat one of our double chocolate chip delights. I’ve saved this corporation once. We’ve successfully diversified out of tobacco, and I’m not gonna let some conglomerate get their hooks into us. This is an American employee-held enterprise. And it’s going to stay that way.”

  “Right.”

  Zack watched the doors of the elevator open again. Full. He waved it on.

  “How many elevators are we going to wait on, cuz?”

  He ground his teeth at the humor in Mike’s voice. “Oh hell, let’s take the stairs. It’s good exercise.” Zack strode towards the nearest exit door.

  “We’re on the fifteenth floor.”

  Zack bounded down the stairs. To hell if he’d waste precious time. This place would be emptying out like rats deserting a sinking ship for a holiday which was only meant for children.

  “Cuz,” Mike puffed, “don’t you have to be somewhere for Christmas? I mean…don’t you have a girlfriend, someone you want to spend some time with?”

  Stopping and pivoting on the stairs, he glared at Mike. “I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”

  “Neither do I,” Mike muttered.

  He stared at him, puzzled. “I thought you had one.”

  “I do. Gretta? I’m supposed to be spending tonight and the next couple of days in New York with her, remember? I only get to see her one weekend a month if I’m lucky. But this was for more than two days. This is Christmas?”

  “Yeah. Right.” Zack looked down at the floor, his jaw twitching. “Bottom-line it, Mike. Tell me straight out what you want.”

  “A compromise. Let’s meet in fou
r days on December twenty-eighth. Hell, we’ve closed the corporate offices until January second. So if we meet with George then, we’ll get the work done in half the time than it would be otherwise, and without interruption. Then I can leave and spend a couple more days in New York, if I’m lucky.”

  Zack heard Mike muttering to himself as he turned and began his charge down the stairs. He was an emotional train wreck. Probably because the guy was so out of shape. For crying out loud, he heard him gasping for breath with every step they took right behind him. On the third floor landing, Zack turned and glanced back at him, deciding to give the wimp a breather. “Okay, you can have until the twenty-eighth, but on one condition. You read the draft annual report and edit it between now and then.”

  “Deal. I’ll pick it up later.”

  “Why not get it now and then take off? Come on, let’s head up and get it.”

  Mike glanced up the stairwell. “Tell you what, I’ll meet you there.” He grabbed the doorknob to the hall and the waiting elevator and turned back to him, smiling. “In fact, I’ll bet I beat you.”

  “Coward.”

  “Wrong. I’ve reached my peak heart rate.”

  Zack continued to climb. He had to get that boy in a habit of going to the gym with him every day.

  ****

  “Crandall, my plane leaves in ten minutes.”

  Charging down Concourse-B of San Francisco Airport, Crandall stared back at Gretta’s red face. Why was she even trying to keep up the pace? Gretta was the one who had a plane to catch, and if she kept slogging along like this, she wouldn’t make it. The woman wouldn’t make it two miles in a marathon. “Look, I need to review the changes to the ad campaign. Since reading that book on branding, I’m not sure we’ve positioned ourselves right. Pretzelicious is sagging, and we’re still in danger of a hostile takeover by Washington Enterprises. Believe me, Gretta, you don’t want any part of working with their worthless leader.”

  Gretta bit her lip and looked at Crandall like she might start crying. She hoped the woman wasn’t going through peri-menopause.

  “Crandall, honey, you can read through all our plans and I’ll make changes as necessary after Christmas. The due date for the TV blitz isn’t ‘til February first. So stop worrying. There’s plenty of time for tweaks.”

  “Not if I’m going to stay on schedule and roll out my new Cherry-Lemon Margarita pretzel in January.” She stopped short and squared her shoulders. Be damned if anything was going to stand in the way of a spectacular debut and soaring profits to keep Xavier Washington’s hands off what belonged to her.

  “Look,” Gretta said, “I’m already fifteen minutes late for my gate due to being one of the lucky ones who got searched. I promise, Crandall, I’ll look at your changes between Christmas and New Year’s. Fair enough?”

  Crandall broke into a smile. She knew she’d ultimately have it her way. “As long as I can have them before the first. You know how I am about my deadlines. I promised myself I’d have everything finished by the end of the week. Is the twenty-eighth okay with you?”

  Gretta looked like she was biting nails in half. The woman was way too tense. Another reason she needed more exercise. Thank God Gretta was getting a few days off, because she apparently had difficulty handling the normal hustle and bustle of Crandall Drake’s world. But she had a hell of a creative flair, so Crandall had long ago decided to grin and bear it.

  “Don’t you have plans for Christmas?” Gretta asked. “I mean, someone special to spend it with and relax. You know, unwind?”

  Crandall blinked in surprise, then slowly shook her head. Gretta was staring at her like she pitied her. She felt her ire rise up like the hair on an irritated cat. “Well, no, not really. It’s just me and my tropical fish. Most animals shed you know. Not good if you don’t like to vacuum. Not only that, I just sold my condo. It went months faster than I thought, and now the new owners want to close earlier than I expected. I have to find a place to stay before my new house is ready the beginning of March.” Crandall tapped her chin with her forefinger. “I have it until after the holiday, but then…I don’t suppose you have room in your apartment?”

  Gretta cleared her throat. “Uh, Crandall, Mike’s planning to visit. I’m not sure how long he’ll be there. Then, I’m not sure about…”

  “Mike, oh yeah. Forget I said anything.” Crandall was consumed by a bleak feeling of total loneliness. Why did the holidays always do this to her? She supposed it was the price she had to pay for her job. “Look, do you think you can finish any changes I have before New Year’s?”

  Gretta nodded her head, still not meeting Crandall’s eyes. “Oh yeah. As long as it’s not a total start at the beginning kind of thing. Plenty of time. I’ll fit it in between Christmas dinner and opening presents.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  The loud speaker activated directly over their heads. “Last call for Flight 223 to New York.”

  Crandall watched as Gretta scrunched her lips together and slung her carry-on out in the air like she was ready to drop kick it. No way would she close the distance in time. “I’m sorry you missed your flight, Gretta.”

  “Give me a minute.” Gretta whipped out her cell phone, dialed her travel agent, and ten minutes later, she turned and smiled at Crandall. “I’m rebooked on a flight leaving in an hour. I’d better get to my gate and check-in. Wouldn’t want to miss this flight, too.”

  “Right. And look on the bright side, this gives us more time to work on the campaign.”

  Chapter Two

  February First

  “Gotta leave it to Magic.” Tom Kreger leaned forward on his barstool and scooped up another giant oyster. Just like everything else in Texas, Gulf oysters were bigger. “As always, he knows how to pick ‘em.”

  Grinning, Tom studied the Gulf through the windows of Cocoanuts. For a first visit to Texas in winter, this was turning out to be a dandy vacation.

  The flight into Austin had been smooth and on time. The drive down to South Padre had been fast and free of traffic. Yep, being on the waterfront of South Padre Island sure as hell beat Philadelphia in February. The fact the hated snow hardly ever fell here was just an added bonus.

  Tom tipped another oyster to his mouth and promised himself that he was moving south. All it would take was one more year with Maxwell, and he’d have the money. Maybe not for down here, but hopefully he could find a spot in Austin. If not there, then in the rolling hills that surrounded the city.

  Keep your nose clean, Kreger, and do what Maxwell tells you. No screw-ups, Kreger, no matter how weird the assignment.

  He glanced around the bar. Where was the old codger? It wasn’t like him to be late for their appointments. Then again, it wasn’t like he was an expert on Maxwell. He’d only worked for him one year and, even then, had only a few meetings with the guy.

  Suddenly, people began to turn, and Tom knew why.

  Maxwell was in all his gaudy glory, and, as usual impervious to the stares he received as he crossed the room.

  Tom shook his head. Well, at least the white Stetson, tank top, shorts, and a pair of ostrich quill cowboy boots weren’t as bad as some of his outfits last year. Still, as Maxwell eased onto the stool beside him, Tom, in spite of his best efforts, grinned.

  “Hi there, boy. Sorry I’m late. Been practicing at the pool tables. There’s a tournament coming up in a couple of days.”

  “Pool tables?”

  “Yep. Haven’t played eight ball in a few years. Haven’t really cared since Fats died.”

  “Fats?”

  Maxwell clapped his hands in front of Tom’s face. “Get with it boy. Minnesota Fats. The best there ever was.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Yep. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him?”

  “Sure I’ve heard of Minnesota Fats. It’s just that he seems like Elvis, a legend, but not someone you know.”

  Maxwell laughed and ordered a bottled water. He leaned forward
and exposed a tuft of gray hair on his barrel chest. “Fats was special. A real kidder and a great pool player. You would’ve liked him. Elvis was another matter. Oh, well, at least he knew how to treat his mother.”

  “Right. You knew both Fats and Elvis.”

  “Yep. By the way, with Elvis, I didn’t match him and Priscilla. But I guess you’d figure that one out seeing how they divorced.”

  Tom chuckled. “Right. Not Elvis and Priscilla. Only the really great ones like Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, Bill and Camille Cosby, Phil Donohue and Marlo Thomas…”

  “Exactly! You’re learning fast. Now, down to business.”

  Tom swiveled his chair so he faced Maxwell. “I’m ready. What’re we going to do this year, boss?”

  “You tell me, boy.” Maxwell crossed his legs and pumped his booted foot. “I placed my ad in all the world newspapers January first just as I always do. I included the usual stuff, you know, ‘please send me information on a friend or family in dire need of love that will last forever.’ Got near a million replies this year. But right there, smack dab in the middle of them all, was one from a woman named Gretta. Funny thing about what she wrote me. Seems you gave the go-ahead for her to write me about a match.”

  Tom closed his eyes and cursed silently. Nothing like screwing up a good thing before you got started.

  “Um, about that. I didn’t think she had a chance when I told her she could use my name in the letter. I mean, with the millions you get…” At Maxwell’s stare, he glanced away. “Gretta helped me a long time ago. I… err. I was a stupid kid in foster care, separated from my sister and only living kin, who thought he still lived on the right side of the tracks. She saved me from getting killed by the rest of the kids in our foster home. Let’s say she’s more like my big sister than my real one is, despite the fact she’s younger than I am.”

  Tom picked up another oyster, tipped it to his mouth and swallowed. He hoped the mollusk added good fortune, not just stamina. “Gretta deserves a little happiness. And her boyfriend Mike’s the perfect man.”