by Elle James
A soft click sounded, and the doorknob turned.
“Uh, I’ll leave you two alone,” Tag said and backed away before the door opened and Jane peered out at him, her makeup smeared by the tracks of her tears.
She’d changed out of her dress into a thin, oriental robe and stood in her bare feet.
“Why did you lie to me?” she asked, more tears streaming down her face.
“I wanted to find someone real, someone who would be satisfied to live on a ranch, raise children and make a home with me. I’d had enough of the women who were only after me because I was a famous football player and had a lot of money.” He reached for her hands. “Why did you lie to me?”
“I wanted all those things, too. I want to hold my babies in my arms before I’m too old to have them. I wanted a man to love me for Jane, not because I’ve been Angel for the past sixteen years. I need to be loved for me.” Tears made trails through the mascara smeared on her cheeks.
Max shook his head, pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her tears. “I fell in love with you, not Angel.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Now that you know I’m Angel as well, you haven’t changed your mind?”
He shook his head and raised the hand holding the little box. “I was going to call you after this event. If you’d have let me, I’d have come to your house.”
“I would have let you in,” she said, her voice softening.
He smiled and brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away another tear. “It might have been too soon, and you will probably tell me no, but I couldn’t wait another minute to tell you.”
She looked up into his eyes. “Tell me what?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He knelt on one knee. “To tell you how much I love you and want you to be a part of my life, forever.” He opened the little box, displaying the beautiful diamond engagement ring he’d chosen because he thought it would look perfect for her hand.
“Jane Gentry, will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”
She sniffed. “What about Angel? Will it bother you that I’ll be stalked by the paparazzi and asked to make guest appearances at charity events like this?”
“Jane Gentry, will you and your alter ego, Angel, marry me and make me the happiest man on earth? I promise I’ll love all of you and do my very best to give you the babies you have your heart set on and the home to raise them in.”
More tears trailed down her cheeks.
“Oh, sweetheart, if you don’t want to marry me, tell me,” he said. “I hate to see you cry.”
She laughed, choking on a sob. “These are happy tears.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you about being just a rancher. But I am just a rancher now. I’m not going to play football again. I want to keep what’s left of my body healthy enough to watch my children and grandchildren grow.” He held the ring box a little higher. “If you don’t like the ring, we can trade it for one that you like better. Anything. Just say yes.”
Jane dropped to her knees in front of him and flung her arms around his neck. “Yes!”
He laughed, his heart swelling against his ribs. “You’re not just saying that because I’m a Super Bowl champion, are you?”
“No, I’m saying yes, because you aren’t playing football anymore. You’re just a rancher, and I’m going to be a rancher’s wife.” She leaned back with narrowed eyes. “The ranch… it’s yours?”
He nodded. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yes! If it wasn’t, I was thinking we’d have to buy one of our own.” She smiled and lifted her face to his. “I love you, Max Smith, or Smithson, or whatever name you go by.” She placed a hand against his chest. “Because I love what’s inside your heart, not your bank account. And oh, by the way, I have more money than I can ever spend as well.”
Max rose to his feet, bringing her with him. “We’ll have to start a scholarship for future football players and models.” He took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her finger.
She held it out, admiring it on her hand. “How did you guess my size?”
“I think it was BODS.”
She frowned. “I didn’t put my ring size on BODS.”
“No, but BODS set us up with a perfect fit. It only seemed right that the luck rubbed off on my ability to guess your ring size.” He winked. “I called Leslie.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, long and hard.
He returned the gesture, happier than he’d ever been in his life.
He needed to remember to thank Leslie and her Billionaire Online Dating Service for finding his perfect match. He would never have found Jane without the help of Leslie’s genius program.
Within a week of signing up on BODS, Max was engaged to the woman who would make all his dreams come true.
“I love you, Max,” Jane said.
“I love you, too, Jane,” he said and kissed the tip of her nose. “Can we set a date soon?”
She nodded. “I have one request.”
“That is?”
“I want you to teach me how to ride a horse before we get married.”
“Then, sweetheart, let’s get going.” He frowned. “But why before we get married?”
“I think it would be special if we said our vows on horseback.”
Max’s frown deepened. “On horseback? Do you know how temperamental a horse can be around a lot of people?”
“All we need is someone to officiate, you, me, the horses and witnesses.” She grinned. “I told you I was willing to learn to ride.”
“Our wedding can be anything you want. We can have monkeys hanging from the rafters, if that’s what you want.”
She shook her head. “No, I want to be on horseback so that I can ride into the sunset with my very own cowboy.”
“Deal.” He stepped back. “Grab your stuff. We’re going out to the ranch. We have work to do. I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary to make you mine.”
Epilogue
Five years later…
“After you caramelize the onions, you add the garlic and sauté until the garlic is clear.” Jane stirred the ingredients in the pan and looked up at the camera. “Remember nothing is exact in cooking, except the amount of love you put into the effort.”
Two small, tow-headed children slammed through the back door and raced into the ranch kitchen, screaming and laughing.
“Momma, Momma, he’s going to get us!” the first twin yelled.
“Slow down,” Jane called out.
“Can’t, or he’ll eat us!” the second twin said.
“Cut!” yelled the cooking show producer.
“Sorry,” Jane said. “Layne, could you round up Aurelie and Parker?” She pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Where is their father? He was supposed to be keeping them out of the kitchen while we filmed the show.”
Layne scooped up Aurelie under one arm and Parker under the other. “Gotcha!”
They laughed and giggled.
Parker wiggled in Layne’s grasp. “Let us down. The monster is after us.”
Jane was halfway to the back door when it burst open and a six-foot-four monster, wearing a cowboy hat, charged in roaring like Sasquatch in a rage.
“Max, you’re going to have those two hooligans so riled up, they’ll never go down for a nap.” She yanked off his cowboy hat and leaned up on her toes to kiss him.
He smiled down at her and reached out to pat her swollen belly. “I thought you weren’t going to do any more shows until after the baby was born. Besides, you need to take a break and put your feet up.”
“I will when I’ve finished the show. We only need another fifteen minutes for me to complete this episode. After that, I go on hiatus until next fall. That should give me time to get back into shape and adjust to having a third child in the house.”
Max wrapped his arms around her. “I couldn’t resist a chance to hold my beautiful wife.” He bent to kiss her, making a loud smackin
g noise which made the children laugh. Then he slapped Jane lightly on the bottom, grabbed the two children from Layne and tossed them over his shoulders. “Fifteen minutes, or I’ll be back to carry you out next.”
Jane shook her head, smiling.
Layne’s gaze followed Max and the children out of the room. Then he turned to Jane. “How do you manage them and a cooking show?”
“I wouldn’t do it all, if I didn’t love everything about my life,” she said simply.
“I’ve never seen you happier,” Layne said.
“And I’ve never seen you more relaxed.” She gave him a pointed stare. “When are you bringing Briana and the kids out to stay with us again?”
“We have to wait until the boys are out of school for the summer. Are you sure we won’t be a strain on you and Max with the new baby?”
“Briana promised to help me with the twins while I nursed the baby. I’m looking forward to seeing her again.”
“I should have known you had it all figured out. You women talk.”
Jane grinned. “Yes, we do. Now, if you’ll let me, I have a show to finish and a husband to cuddle with before our guests arrive for dinner.”
“Are you feeding them what you’re cooking?”
“Oh, no. Max is grilling. I’m going to sit back with my feet up and let him do all the work. It was our agreement when he arranged this get-together.”
“Anyone I know?”
“His usual crowd, Sean, Coop, Gage, Tag and their wives.”
“Is he cooking steak?” Layne asked.
“He is,” Jane said, moving back to her position behind the counter. “Along with the usual hot dogs for the kids.”
“I’m glad I still get to be a part of your life.”
“Me, too. You’re not so much my agent as a member of my family.”
“Your crazy, beautiful family.” Layne touched a finger to his chin. “What do you think about me and Briana buying a ranch and moving to Texas?”
“It’s not for everyone,” Jane said, “but I love it here, and wouldn’t live anywhere else.”
“You don’t miss LA?”
“Never. I have everything I want and need here.” She tipped her head toward the back of the room. “Let’s get this filming done before my recipe spoils. I have a houseful of guests on their way and I’m not ready.”
Max ducked his head back into the kitchen with the twins still over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got it all under control. All you have to do is sit and watch the master at work.”
Jane laughed and threw a dishtowel in his direction. “Yeah, right. And who is going to watch the twins?”
Her life was all she’d dreamed of and more. And it would never have happened without the help of one online program called BODS.
Wyatt’s War
Hearts & Heroes Series Book #1
New York Times & USA Today
Bestselling Author
ELLE JAMES
Chapter 1
Sergeant Major Wyatt Magnus pushed past the pain in his knee, forcing himself to finish a three-mile run in the sticky heat of south Texas. Thankfully his ribs had healed and his broken fingers had mended enough he could pull the trigger again. He didn’t anticipate needing to use the nine-millimeter Beretta tucked beneath his fluorescent vest. San Antonio wasn’t what he’d call a hot zone. Not like Somalia, his last real assignment.
It wouldn’t be long before his commander saw he was fit for combat duty, not playing the role of a babysitter for fat tourists, politicians and businessmen visiting the Alamo and stuffing themselves on Tex-Mex food while pretending to attend an International Trade Convention.
The scents of fajitas and salsa filled the air, accompanied by the happy cadence of a mariachi band. Twinkle lights lit the trees along the downtown River Walk as he completed his run around the San Antonio Convention Center and started back to his hotel. Neither the food, nor the music lightened his spirits.
Since being medevaced out of Somalia to San Antonio Medical Center, the combined armed forces’ medical facility, he’d been chomping at the bit to get back to where the action was. But for some damn reason, his commander and the psych evaluator thought he needed to cool his heels a little longer and get his head on straight before he went back into the more volatile situations.
So what? He’d been captured and tortured by Somali militants. If he hadn’t been so trusting of the men he’d been sent to train in combat techniques, he might have picked up on the signs. Staff Sergeant Dane might not be dead and Wyatt wouldn’t have spent three of the worst weeks of his life held captive. He’d been tortured: nine fingers, four ribs and one kneecap broken and had been beaten to within an inch of his life. All his training, his experience in the field, the culture briefings and in-country observations hadn’t prepared him for complete betrayal by the very people he had been sent there to help.
He understood why the Somali armed forces had turned him over to the residual al-Shabab militants that were attempting a comeback after being ousted from the capital, Mogadishu. He might have done the same if his family had been kidnapped and threatened with torture and beheading if he didn’t hand over the foreigners.
No, he’d have found a better way to deal with the terrorists. A way that involved very painful deaths. His breathing grew shallower and the beginning of a panic attack snuck up on him like a freight train.
Focus. The psych doc had given him methods to cope with the onset of anxiety that made him feel like he was having a heart attack. He had to focus to get his mind out of Somalia and torture and back to San Antonio and the River Walk.
Ahead he spied the pert twitch of a female butt encased in hot pink running shorts and a neon green tank top. Her ass was as far from the dry terrain of Somalia as a guy could get. Wyatt focused on her and her tight buttocks, picking up the pace to catch up. She was a pretty young woman with an MP3 device strapped to her arm with wires leading to the earbuds in her ears. Her dark red hair pulled back in a loose ponytail bounced with every step. Running in the zone, she seemed to ignore everything around but the path in front of her.
Once he caught up, Wyatt slowed to her pace, falling in behind. His heart rate slowed, returning to normal, his breathing regular and steady. Panic attack averted, he felt more normal, in control and aware of the time. As much as he liked following the pretty woman with the pink ass and the dark red, bobbing ponytail, he needed to get back and shower before he met the coordinator of the International Trade Convention.
Wyatt lengthened his stride and passed the woman, thankful that simply by jogging ahead of him, she’d brought him back to the present and out of a near clash with the crippling anxiety he refused to let get the better of him.
As he put distance between him and the woman in pink, he passed the shadow of a building. A movement out of the corner of his eye made him spin around. He jogged in a circle, his pulse ratcheting up, his body ready, instincts on high alert. The scuffle of feet made him circle again and stop. He crouched in a fighting stance and faced the threat, the memory of his abduction exploding in his mind, slamming him back to Somalia, back to the dry terrain of Africa and the twenty rebels who’d jumped him and Dane when they’d been leading a training exercise in the bush.
Instead of Somali militants garbed in camouflage and turbans, a small child darted out of his parents’ reach and ran past Wyatt, headed toward the edge of the river.
His mother screamed, “Johnnie, stop!”
By the time Wyatt grasped that the child wasn’t an al-Shabab fighter, the kid had nearly reached the edge.
Wyatt lunged for the boy and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck as the little guy tripped. Johnnie would have gone headfirst into the slow-moving, shallow water had Wyatt not snagged him at the last minute.
Instead of thanking Wyatt, the kid kicked, wiggled and squirmed until Wyatt was forced to set the boy on the ground. Then Johnnie planted the tip of his shoe in Wyatt’s shin with razor-sharp precision.
&n
bsp; Wyatt released him and bent to rub the sore spot.
Little Johnnie ran back to his mother, who wrapped her arms around the brat and cooed. Safe in his mother’s arms, he glared at Wyatt.
Wyatt frowned, the ache in his shin nothing compared to the way his heart raced all over again.
The boy’s mother gave Wyatt an apologetic wince and hugged her baby boy to her chest. “Thank you.”
A small crowd had gathered, more because Wyatt, the parents and child blocked the sidewalk than because they were interested in a man who’d just rescued a child from a potential drowning.
His heartbeat racing, his palms clammy and his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears he couldn’t hear anything else, Wyatt nodded, glancing around for an escape. Fuck! What was wrong with him? If he didn’t get away quickly, he’d succumb this time. Where was the woman in the pink shorts when he needed her? Some of his panic attacks had been so intense he’d actually thought he was having a heart attack. He hadn’t told his commander, or the psychologist assigned to his case, for fear of setting back his reassignment even further. He wanted to be back in the field where the action was. Where he was fighting a real enemy, not himself.
As it was, he’d been given this snowbird task of heading up the security for the International Trade Convention. “Do this job, prove you’re one hundred percent and we’ll take it from there,” Captain Ketchum had said. To Wyatt, it sounded like a load of bullshit with no promises.
Hell, any trained monkey could provide security for a bunch of businessmen. What did Ketchum think Wyatt could add to the professional security firm hired to man the exits and provide a visual deterrent to pickpockets and vagrants?
Wyatt had tried to see the assignment from his commander’s point of view. He was a soldier barely recovered from a shitload of injuries caused by violent militants who set no value on life, limb and liberty. Sure, he’d been so close to death he almost prayed for it, but he was back as good as—