I felt my heart lighten and tried not to throw myself into his arms with relief.
“Stella,” Jake said, his voice husky with emotion, “what we shared last night was a beginning, not an end.”
My heart started tap dancing. I reached over and took Jake’s hand in mine.
“You think?” I whispered.
“I hope,” he murmured, and brought his lips down to meet mine.
I took his hand in mine and stood, pulling him with me.
“Come on,” I said. “I want to show you something.”
Jake grinned, his eyes sparkling.
“You want to show me something?” he asked.
“Oh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “What, you think you’re the only one with a set of handcuffs and a bagful of tricks?” I chuckled. “You know, I was a professional law-enforcement officer,” I said. “We are highly skilled professionals. I can show you things civilians only dream about.”
And fifteen minutes later, when I’d tied him securely to my bedpost, I did just that.
Epilogue
The snow fell throughout the night, piling and drifting to near-record heights in tiny Surfside Isle, New Jersey. The entire village lay still under its blanket of white; businesses were closed, roads impassable. Even Marti had to concede defeat and stay snug under her covers. It wasn’t so bad, really, not with Tom there to warm her body and her heart.
Across town, on Forty-eighth Street, a lone snowplow lumbered slowly down the block that led to the beach, halting with a loud, moaning sigh of brakes in front of a small, gray beach cottage.
Inside the house, Lloyd the dog ran to alert his elderly benefactor, yipping at her heels as she tried to prepare breakfast, tugging at the hem of her black dress, and in general making a pest of himself.
“In a minute, Lloyd,” the old woman murmured. “It’s coming. What have I told you about your heart and bacon, eh?”
She didn’t hear the approaching footsteps, didn’t see the elderly man making his way to the front door bundled in an arctic parka and clutching a small bouquet of violets to his chest to shield them from the cold.
When the doorbell rang, Lucia Valocchi whirled around, grabbed her ancient Colt .45 and crept softly to the door, finger on the trigger. She peered through the peephole, gasped and fumbled quickly to unlock the door.
The heavy door slid open, snow blew in over the threshold and Aunt Lucy faced her visitor for the first time in over fifty years.
“You!” she cried softly. “It was you!”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5769-0
STELLA, GET YOUR MAN
Copyright © 2005 by Nancy Bartholomew
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