“You saved my life, Mom.”
She grinned. “I did, didn’t I?” Her soft laugh filled the room. “I finally did something right by you.”
The ice pack dripped on my pants. “You do everything right.”
“No, I don’t. Paisley, today I saw a side of you I’d never witnessed.”
“All the snot-crying I did while hanging from the rail?”
“No.” Her fingers stroked my cheek. “I saw you in action as a business owner and event planner. I just didn’t get it ’til today.”
“I love my job.”
“I can see that now. And you’re good at it. Your employees adore you, they’d do anything for you, and you manage people and tasks with a determined precision that so reminds me of your father.”
It did? I’d never been compared to Dad. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“You’re right to stay in Sugar Creek.” Mom glanced at Beau, who now occupied a seat in the corner. “Good things are here in this town.”
I nodded, rattling my aching brain. “The best.”
Beau leaned his arms on his knees. “Paisley, do you have something you’d like to tell your mom?”
Now? In the ER?
“It’s not important,” I mumbled.
Beau jerked his chin toward my mom in a go on fashion.
Mom twisted the gold band on her finger. “Say it, hon.”
“Your tuna casserole is terrible.”
Beau let out a ragged breath. “Something else?”
“You’d think the potato chips would make any dish better, but your casserole proves that wrong and— ”
“Paisley.” Beau stood. “Spit it out.”
A few months in therapy, and he was now the grand pooh-bah of sharing feelings?
“Go on,” my mom said. “After tonight, I think I can take anything.”
I’d waited years to open a vein and let it all bleed out. Now here was my chance, and I could barely find words. “I wanted to say . . .that is I. . .” Oh, geez. My tongue looped in a double knot, and my brain tossed fragments about in my head. “Mom, I’m glad you can accept my career, but sometimes I think you go out of your way to make me feel inferior, and I want it to stop.” There. It was out!
“What?” My mother looked more shocked than when she saw Trina brandishing a gun. “Nonsense.”
“See. Right there. You just discounted what I said.”
“But—”
“I’ve never measured up to my siblings or to Jaz . . . or to anyone. You’ve never approved of my choices, and you belittle me.”
“Oh, Paisley.”
“You and Dad didn’t even show up to my first Grammy awards. Because I chose a music career instead of some intellectual pursuit, you acted ashamed of me.”
“I’m certainly not ashamed of you. I love you. And if I was hesitant over your music path, it was out of fear for your safety.”
“So fearful you were never around?”
“Your father and I worked. We had a business to build. Those music and dance lessons weren’t cheap, you know.”
“And then what about this visit? You came to see me, but you’ve been spending all your time with Jaz. For as long as you’ve known her, she can do no wrong.”
“She’s certainly not perfect,” Mom said. “None of us are.”
“Since you’ve been here you’ve gone out of your way to praise her and point out all her accomplishments. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“I didn’t know. I never intended to hurt your feelings.”
“Then what exactly was the intention?”
Silence.
The white paper crunched as Mom hopped up on the exam table beside me. “It’s true you were different from your brother and sister. You’ve always been more like your grandmother.” She took my bandaged hand in hers. “Your father and I didn’t know how to raise a rebellious, spirited musician. Your sister’s favorite thing at the age of one was a book. Yours was a drum set your grandma custom ordered. But just because you were different from us didn’t mean I loved you less.” She kicked her dangling legs as she paused, working something out in her head. “You’ve always intimidated me.”
“Me? I’ve intimidated you?”
“It’s true. You were always so driven and creative, so full of life. You had these big dreams, and they scared me. Maybe I thought if I could keep my thumb on you, I could make you more like me. Then I could understand you. I offered you the job with your father because I want the best for you, and I hate how little we see of one another. But now I realize Enchanted Events is the best job for you. And I’m sorry if I was absent this week. I’ve failed in so many ways as a mother to you, and I think if I slowed down enough and really spent time with you, you wouldn’t like what you saw.”
“But I love you.” I put down the ice pack and patted her hand. “You introduced me to pop music when other kids were listening to nursery rhymes. You taught me to drive and how to be independent. Mom, you plowed into Trina and risked your life for me.”
She rested her cheek against mine. “I’d take a bullet for you any day.” Mom sniffed and hugged me to her. “I love you, and I’m going to do everything I can to support your career and all your artsy endeavors. Forgive me?”
“Yes. Always.”
She hugged me even tighter. “So my tuna casserole’s terrible?”
“The worst.”
Mom giggled and slipped off the table. “I better go call your dad and give him an update. I can tell him to put that plane to good use and fly here himself.” She pulled open the heavy door and looked back. “Beau, you take good care of my daughter.”
He slipped off his cap and tucked it into his back pocket. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.”
“Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Beau reached my side, smelling of soap and safety. “I don’t ever intend to.”
Mom slipped outside, leaving Beau and me alone beneath the buzz of the too-bright fluorescent lights.
“I’d feel better if you’d let them admit you,” Beau said. “For a night of observation.”
I reached for his hand. “You just want to see me in a hospital gown.”
He stood so close, I could feel the heat from his skin. “I want you near a doctor’s care.”
“I’m not staying here.”
“Fine.” He stepped between my legs and tilted my chin. “Then you go home with me.”
That didn’t sound like someone who wanted some space. “Okay.”
Beau cocked his head. “Okay?”
I slowly nodded my bruised face. “Yeah.”
He ran his hand down my hair, then let his fingers trace a path across my cheek. “Paisley, when’s this gonna end?”
I took a few uneasy breaths. “Our relationship? This night? My stunning sex appeal?”
“Your near-death experiences. I can’t take this.” He stepped away and paced the small room.
“Hey, I’m willing to retire the sleuthing biz as soon as people quit getting murdered.” Where was that Tylenol I’d asked for?
Beau came to a halt on three tiles the color of smashed peas. “Do you know what you said as you fell?”
“A few expletives?”
He resumed that spot right in front of me and planted a hand on either side of my hips. “You said you loved me.”
“Did I?” I stared at the pale turquoise of his shirt and wondered if this were the moment he’d tell me he just wasn’t on the same page. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken? The lake air does funny things to sound.”
Beau slipped his hands against my cheeks, gentle as a whisper. “You love me.”
I’d almost died tonight. Again.
Facing your mortality had a way of thinning out the layer of self-protection I’d sprayed like AquaNet all over my heart. So I just went for it. “I do. And I know it’s too soon, and you’re still not gung-ho about commitments, and you didn’t invite me to your military award ceremony, and I’m not asking
for anything in return and—”
Beau crushed his lips to mine, stopping anymore silly, useless things like words and breathing. “Right back at you.”
In the annals of history, no kiss compared. No movie meeting of the lips had ever captured the moment a wayward girl stepped into the arms of one imperfectly beautiful man, with years of history and regrets floating like molecules around them, yet here they were—home, together, at last.
Beau tasted like hope and tenderness. His strong arms holding me captive felt like freedom.
The scent beneath his chin was magnolia trees and campfire smoke. The stubble across his cheek was my favorite rough terrain.
I pressed closer to Beau, wishing I could just dissolve into him, but loving him all the more because I knew he’d never let me. He saw me for who I was and didn’t expect me to change. He laughed at my jokes, hugged me when I cried. He brought me lunch on twelve-hour days and took me to wade in a shallow creek when life got too deep.
I kissed him with my gratitude for life, an energy that overrode my aches and exhaustion. There was half a lake of water still sloshing between my ears, yet I heard his heartbeat, and though Sylvie’s romance novels would say it needed to match mine, it didn’t. His heart tapped its own tempo, steady and true, and it was a song I’d want to hear the rest of my days.
Beau slowly drew back, brushing the hair from my forehead. “I should probably let you breathe.”
“I don’t want to rush you. We decided to go slowly, and when you didn’t invite me to your award ceremony, I assumed you meant really slowly.”
“Of course I want you at the ceremony. I was afraid you’d think it was too much. What if I asked and you said no?”
“I could never say no to you.” Except for all the times he’d asked me to stay out of a criminal investigation. Or share my fries. Or quit hogging the blankets during our couch cuddle sessions.
“I love you, Paisley Sutton.”
“Are you sure? Is it the adrenaline talking?” I felt his cheeks, his forehead.
“You’ve been in my blood since the day you rolled back into town. You drive me crazy and frustrate me like no woman has.”
I patted his chest. “You should never take a job writing greeting cards.”
He clasped both my hands in his. “But you’ve challenged me to be a better version of myself, to let go of old wounds and dream about a future that includes a wife and family.”
Whoa, now who was getting ahead of themselves? As long as we were throwing it all out there . . . “You should know I want it all—a successful business, a husband, kids. I want the boring old traditional dream.”
“I assume this includes two mutant dogs.”
“And two mutant grandmas.”
He smiled like a man who’d reeled in the biggest catch. “It’s gonna be good, Paisley.”
“We’ll be better than any band.” I thought of Trina, who would spend the rest of her life in prison. “Especially a band with a murderous, mentally unhinged member.”
His gaze darkened. “She tried to kill you.”
“But she didn’t.”
“I’d die if I lost you.”
I slipped my arms around his waist. “Boat rides sure make you poetic.”
He cleared his throat. Then did it again, working something out in his head. “When I saw you fall from the boat . . .I thought the worst. In one second, it was gone—all that mattered to me was gone.”
Now, this could sell a greeting card. “But you dove in to save me. You’re like the Michael Phelps of romantic rescues.”
“What if I hadn’t reached you?”
“But you did.” In more ways than I could count.
Picking up one hand, Beau inspected the white bandage. “I think we know better than most that life is short.” He was gracious enough to not mention all my near-death experiences. “If things had gone differently, I could’ve come back up from that water without you.” Turning his head, he blinked at the moisture in his eyes before regarding me again.
“But you didn’t. You found me.”
“I will always dive in for you, Paisley Sutton.” He pressed his lips to that red, angry palm.
“Beauregard?” I slipped off the table and into his waiting arms, the place where I was a perfect fit. “Right back at you.”
Thanks so much for returning to Sugar Creek. If you enjoyed Fanatically in Trouble and would like to leave a helpful review, please click HERE. For a little Sugar Creek romance, turn the page for a preview of His Mistletoe Miracle.
His Mistletoe Miracle
He needs a fake girlfriend. She needs a holiday miracle.
After years as a hostage in Afghanistan, wounded journalist Will Sinclair retreats to idyllic Sugar Creek, Arkansas, to finish his memoir and get his life back on track. As if the town’s match-making mamas aren’t enough trouble, his own meddling family descends on him for the holidays. To get them all off his back, Will plots a ridiculous idea. He just needs the right woman. When he finds a bossy decorator in his yard, it’s more than her ugly Christmas sweater that makes her the perfect pick.
Enjoy this preview of His Mistletoe Miracle.
Chapter 1
A Sinclair man knew how to charm a woman. It was in his smile. In his slow Southern lilt. In his obnoxiously beautiful DNA.
Will Sinclair was no exception.
But the former network reporter no longer had the clean-cut pretty boy face. His wavy blond hair had mysteriously darkened in captivity and was now longer than necessary, falling over his shirt collar. If you looked close enough, you might find a fleck or two of gray. Not that he cared. His face needed the attentions of a sharp razor and shaving cream. Four years in captivity changed a man. It could break you. At the very least, alter the heart.
But did it keep the ladies of Sugar Creek away?
No, it did not.
That was true today more than ever. He’d had a bad night of poker, too little sleep, and one soon-to-be former friend to thank for all of it.
Will had survived torture and imprisonment, but as his doorbell rang for the third time, he didn’t know if he would survive this small Arkansas town. He stomped to the foyer, certain it would be someone of the female persuasion.
Will had barely finished his long-suffering sigh by the time he peeled open the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Beasley,” he said to the woman smiling at his appearance. “You are a vision in that muumuu.”
Shivering against the blistering December wind, the plump widow stood beside a porch post whose paint job had long expired. “My dear, I just stopped by to invite you to Christmas dinner. And to give you a taste of my cooking, I brought this coconut cream pie.” She waved the baked good so close to his face, he nearly got a nose full of meringue. “Homemade crust.”
Pie could make any man cave into temptation. “I bet this is your Blue Ribbon recipe, isn’t it?” She blushed under his praise. “I’ll just put it with . . . the rest.”
“Do you know who else loves my pie?”
He didn’t need a GPS to know where this was headed.
“My Alisha.” Mrs. Beasley winked a brown eye. “You probably remember her from your childhood summers in Sugar Creek. She’s all grown up now.” She patted his bicep and gave an appreciative murmur. “Just like you.”
“You tell her I said hello. And thank you for thinking of me. That’s sure thoughtful of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work—”
“Alisha would love to see you again. She moved back a few months ago.” The gray-headed woman lowered her voice. “Nasty divorce. But not a bit of it was her fault.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“We’d love to see you at our table. Give you two kids a chance to catch up on old times.”
“I’m swamped with work, but thank you for the invitation.” He’d been staring at the same chapter on his manuscript for days, but surely that still qualified as achievement. “So nice of you.”
Peace and quiet. That’s all Will wan
ted. He’d been here three months, and word had finally gotten out, despite his low profile. And regardless what his interfering family in South Carolina thought, he wasn’t living like a mole. He’d shown his face in town maybe two or three times. Hung out at the diner with Noah, the town’s mayor and his childhood friend. He was about to overdose on talking and civilities. Because, as he’d feared, the good folks of Sugar Creek now knew he was living there. And they were bent on smothering him with howdy-dos and casseroles.
“Thanks again, ma’am,” Will said.
“I’ll set a place for you at the table! And if you happen to hear of my Alisha coming off a gambling addiction, you do not pay that any mind.”
“I know she’s pure as an angel. Take care now.”
And with that, he shut the door. Again.
After storing the pie in the refrigerator next to the banana pudding and a trifle, Will walked back down the hall to his office, a well-equipped and comfortable room in his vacation rental.
Wearing a gray Sugar Creek High School football t-shirt, dark jeans with his left knee peeking through, and no shoes, Will sat in his chair and propped his elbows on the burled walnut desk. Chapter seven was still just as blank as he’d left it when the doorbell rang the first time this morning. Just as blank as when he’d gone to bed last night. And just as blank as it had been this time last week.
He set his fingers to the keyboard. An old writing professor had once told him to just write, even if the words were nothing but junk. An empty page couldn’t be edited.
Living as a hostage in the Middle East was a nightmare I thought I’d never have to face as a reporter or world traveler. The risk was always there, but you don’t think it could happen to—
The doorbell gonged again, and Will lowered his head to his keyboard. What now?
He descended the stairs again, rubbing an old wound, and wondered if he should just move the desk to the front door.
“Hello, Will.” Rachel Sands stood on his porch in a red dress and black stilettos, a combination that promised things dark and beautiful. “I was just passing through.”
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