by Naima Simone
What were they all doing here?
“They’re here for you,” Cole said, and she winced, realizing she’d uttered her stunned thoughts aloud. “I’m here for you,” he murmured.
She shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. This smacked too close to a grand gesture that strictly belonged in romance novels and movies. Not to her. Not with...him.
But one glance around, noting the rapt faces of the reception staff and the patients in the waiting area confirmed that, yes, this was indeed happening.
“Look, Cole, I don’t know what you’re thinking or what’s going on, but—” she started, but he moved closer, halting just shy of invading her personal space. But near enough that his earthy, sensual scent drifted to her, teased her. Near enough that she glimpsed the dark brown flecks in his amber gaze. Near enough that she didn’t even have to fully extend her arm to brush her fingertips over that strong jaw, those full lips.
She swallowed hard. And shifted half a step backward.
His eyes darkened with pain at her movement, and she had to steel herself against it. Either that or she would’ve kicked her resolve out of the way to comfort him.
“I don’t deserve to ask you for a chance to hear me out, but I am. Because for once, I’m going to be brave when it comes to you.” He studied her for several long moments, and she could almost see that beautiful mind working. “From the moment I first saw you on that hill, I was changed. And I didn’t want any part of it. I’d been numb for so long that it was...comfortable for me. I liked my world just as it was—shades of gray where I could exist. But then you came along, and everything wasn’t just color but vivid, high-definition, Technicolor. You were so bright, looking at you, being around you, hurt. In the same way it does when a man has been in darkness for so long that the sun is painful. But I needed to grow, to thrive, to live again. You made me live again, Sydney.”
She stared at him, her heart a wild thing in her chest. It pounded, raced, desperate to throw itself at this man. You made me live again. But fear crept in underneath, warning her heart not to be a fool again. She’d been led by her emotions before and what had happened? She’d been left rejected and so hurt she’d barely been able to function. Empty. Alone.
It terrified her to give him that much power over her again. Could she trust him with it?
“I admit, I resented you for it. Because I felt too much. I wanted too much. More than I believed I deserved. For so long I felt guilty for Tonia’s and Mateo’s deaths. Why had I lived when they didn’t? How could I move on without them? I didn’t deserve to be happy or to laugh or to enjoy life when I couldn’t protect my family. My one purpose as a man, and I failed. I failed them and myself.”
“No, you didn’t,” she objected fiercely, the protest bursting out of her before she could contain it. Hell, she didn’t want to. Yes, he’d hurt her, couldn’t love her like she needed, but he was a good man. A great man. “And you’re worthy of every happiness and success life has to offer you. Everything.”
Humor gleamed in his eyes, temporarily lighting the darkness there. A smile ghosted across his lips, and he inclined his head. “Thank you, baby girl. I believe that now. Thanks to you.”
Her guard shot back up, and she shifted her body, leaning away from him, wary. “Since when?” she asked, not hiding her skepticism. “In five days?” She shook her head, softly scoffing. “I don’t—”
“I love you,” he said, just as softly. But it might as well have been a deafening shout as loudly as it rang in her ears.
“No,” she whispered. “You don’t. You couldn’t even say the words. You couldn’t...” Her voice broke as she clearly recalled begging him to tell her he loved her. And he couldn’t.
“Yes, I do,” he insisted, tone solemn. “Five days ago, fear kept me from admitting it to myself, but I loved you long before then. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I fell in love with you the moment you cried in my arms over the loss of my wife and baby. Your heart, your kindness, your selflessness, the blinding beauty of your spirit... Sydney, loving you was as inevitable as the sun setting then rising again.”
He paused, his gaze dipping to her mouth, then lower to her belly, and she froze, time itself halting as he gently spread his fingers wide over her bump, his palm cradling her.
“I fought this because I wanted it so much. The fear of possibly losing you and her...” He briefly closed his eyes, and when his thick lashes lifted, her heart thumped at the emotion that shined past the shadows. “It paralyzed me, and I told myself I couldn’t do it again. That if I kept you at a distance, I could have you, but not lose you. Not lose my sanity if something were to happen to either of you. But you told me you didn’t want to live in my world of fear anymore. Well, neither do I, Sydney. Bring me into your world where there’s hope, joy, love. I need you to bring me there and hold me. Don’t leave me to simply exist. I want to live. I want to love.”
Slowly, he sank to his knees, and a soft cry of surprise escaped her. What the hell? She jerked her gaze from him to her family. All of her family. Her mother wiped at her eyes, and one of the nurses passed her a tissue. Moe leaned her head against Ian’s shoulder, her smile soft, misty. Leo gave Sydney an air fist bump, while Wolf and the rest of the Dennisons grinned widely. Valeria and Ramon, their arms around one another, smiled at each other and her. Tonia’s mother nodded, and that blessing meant everything.
Finally, Sydney returned her attention to the proud, beautiful man before her. He took her trembling hand in his, pressing his lips to the solitaire on her ring finger.
“I let go of the past hurt and bitterness because you and this little girl are my future. I have been blessed to find love with two wonderful, beautiful, giving women in this life. Now, I can allow Tonia rest knowing she would be proud of me and happy for us. I’m selling the house so we can buy a home for us—the three of us.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips over her belly, and at that moment, her baby kicked, as if giving her full approval. Cole smiled, tipping his head back to meet Sydney’s eyes again. “I don’t want to go another day without you beside me as my wife, my partner, my friend, my love, the mother of our children.”
He released her hand and slipped it into his pants pocket. When he opened his fist, a beautiful, rose-gold band, engraved with a rose, sat on the palm.
“Cole,” she whispered, going to her knees, too, cupping his face. Love—so much love—filled her heart. So much it hurt. But a good ache this time. Not of pain, but of joy. Hope. Trust.
She trusted him with her heart, her body, her daughter.
Their future.
“Will you marry me again, Sydney?” he murmured, sliding the jewelry above the solitaire so three rings banded her finger. “In front of our family, will you take me again as the man who adores you, pledges his life and everything he is and has to you? Will you take me as your husband and the father to our daughter?”
“Yes,” she declared, no hesitation. No doubts. No fear. “Yes, to everything. I love you.” She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his throat. Scattering kisses up the strong column, over his jaw and finally, across his mouth, she promised, “Forever. I trust you. I love you.”
Two large hands clasped her face and held her still as he took her mouth in a kiss that made her forget they had an audience. His tongue swept inside, and she parted wide for him, welcoming him. It’d been too long since she’d tasted him, and she’d missed him. Way too soon, he withdrew from her, and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I love you, baby girl,” he murmured. “So much. Thank you for returning to Rose Bend.”
She covered his hands with hers and smiled against his lips.
“Thank you for showing me I could come home again.”
* * *
Look for Wolfgang’s story in The Inn at Rose Bend
Available October 2021!
Dear Reader
,
I have a confession. I’m a Hallmark movie junkie. The person who schedules their weekends around the movies coming on TV? Yep. I’m that girl. Whether it’s about the bridesmaid at the summer wedding or the seamstress falling for the undercover prince at Christmas, I’m all in. Of course, it’s the swoony romance that captures me. But just as captivating are the small town settings.
There’s something almost magical about a small town. Yes, the beautiful scenery, the quaint shops, clean streets and cozy homes that often seem untouched, unspoiled by the outside world. But the true magic lies in the people, the community. The love of neighbors—even if that exhibits itself as nosiness. It’s the concern for each other, as if all the members of that town know they need each other, depend on each other, to be happy and prosperous. There’s beauty in that.
In The Road to Rose Bend, Sydney Collins and Coltrane “Cole” Dennison depend on that sense of community, that love of neighbors. I hope you fall in love with the special town of Rose Bend, its residents and with Sydney and Cole.
Naima
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, foremost, to my heavenly Father for pouring Your creative spirit into me every day. You’ve been my coauthor from day one, and not only can I not do this without You. I don’t want to.
Thank you to my husband, Gary. This journey is as much yours as it is mine, and I thank you for being the wind—sometimes the foot—at my back and the stable, unfailing, never-pitted road underneath my feet.
To my parents, Wayne L. Alston and Connie Butts. Connie, thank you for being my cheerleader and always telling me, “Change how you talk!” You won’t stand for me being negative about myself, and I love you for it. Daddy, thank you for bequeathing me the gift of sarcasm, your advice, insight and for instructing me in all things John Coltrane.
Thank you to my wonderful editor, Stacy Boyd. I am so grateful for your experience, patience, guidance and never-failing enthusiasm with not just this book and series, but with me as an author. I hope you know just how precious that is to me.
Thank you to my amazing agent, Rachel Brooks. You’ve been my advocate, champion, reality checker, encourager... I can just go on and on. Thank you for supporting me in reaching for my dreams and doing your damndest to make sure they happen. As my father says, “We have God and we have Rachel!”
Finally, thank you to Dahlia Rose, Fedora Chen and Kenya Goree-Bell for selflessly lending me your time to read this book while it was in process and making me feel like a sparkly, glittery Nalini Singh unicorn with your words of love and encouragement. You are gifts to me, and I love and appreciate you!
Slow Dance at Rose Bend
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
CHAPTER ONE
GOD LOVED HER.
Oh yes, He did.
Why else would He create such a brutally beautiful man as the one serving drinks behind the bar?
Cherrie Moore peered down into her glass. Only a really good muscat could have her philosophizing about agape love and sinful lust in the same thought.
Seriously though, she mused, sipping more wine and studying the graceful Adonis who turned drawing beers and mixing drinks into a ballet. No, not Adonis. There was nothing pretty or classical about him. Not with those scalpel-sharp cheekbones or the stubbornness in that rock-solid jaw that even the thick, half-past-five-o’clock shadow couldn’t hide. Or that mouth, with its almost-too-full, firm lips.
And don’t get her started on that body.
Atlas. She mentally snapped her fingers even as she downed the last of her drink. He wasn’t Adonis, he was Atlas. A tattooed Titan with inked biceps, thick thighs in faded jeans and shoulders wide enough to carry the weight of the world—or the weight of a bar called Road’s End. Wide enough that they, and a powerful chest, had his black T-shirt screaming for mercy.
Oh yes. This man was definitely God’s handiwork. And sex with him was probably a divine revelation.
“Either you have X-ray vision and are checking to make sure his lungs are clear, or you really, really like how his chest is stretching that shirt.” Belinda Barnes smirked, commandeering the barstool on the other side of Cherrie.
She snorted, arching an eyebrow at her friend. “Careful there, woman. Daryl would be quite interested in why you’re noticing said chest at all.”
“Please.” The lovely older woman flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “I’m married, not dead. And besides, Daryl doesn’t mind at all if I look. Especially when he reaps the benefits.”
“Oh, Jesus. I can’t unhear that.” Cherrie groaned, clapping her hands to her ears. Unfortunately, the action didn’t drown out Belinda’s lascivious cackle.
As if sensing their attention on him, Daryl glanced from his and Belinda’s daughter to zero in on them. He arched a dark eyebrow, and even with the small dance floor separating them, Cherrie caught the quirk of his mouth despite the thick gray-and-black beard surrounding it.
Beside her, Belinda sighed. “Nearly twenty-five years, and that man still does it for me.”
Cherrie nodded. Daryl, with his big build, long dark hair and handsome features, was a cinnamon roll. Crusty on the outside, but sweet and soft on the inside for his beautiful wife and daughter. Cherrie didn’t need to glimpse his eyes to witness the deep love that shone there. Daryl and Belinda weren’t just true partners in business, as they owned Ride, a motorcycle apparel shop in town, but also in life.
What must it be like to be loved so completely?
To know that a person’s affection, commitment and approval weren’t based on your actions or inactions? To be accepted and cherished simply because you were...you?
Cherrie had once believed she knew the answer to those questions. Believed she’d had a great shot at obtaining what Daryl and Belinda had. But time and an unexpected health scare had ripped off the blinders she’d been desperately clinging to.
God, it’d been one helluva year.
And it was only July.
“Rachel and Jared will have that kind of marriage. How can they not, with you and Daryl as an example?” Cherrie murmured, circling a fingertip around the base of her empty glass. “And thank you for inviting me to their engagement party. You guys are like my family here in Rose Bend, and I’m honored to celebrate with you.”
“Like family?” Belinda slid an arm around Cherrie’s shoulders and squeezed hard. “Cherrie, there’s no ‘like’ about it. You’re family, plain and simple.” Belinda smacked a kiss on Cherrie’s cheek. “I love this time of year. Not just because of the motorcycle rally, but because every July brings you back to Rose Bend. Brings you back to us. And just let me know when you and that boyfriend of yours are ready to take the next step. We’ll throw you the hugest party right here, too.”
Well, that would be a problem. She inwardly winced, brushing her dark, red-tipped curls out of her face. One, she’d been with Kenneth for three years and he’d never made the trip to Rose Bend, Massachusetts, with her, claiming it wasn’t “his type of thing.” And two...
Two, Kenneth was no longer her boyfriend. Which kind of made it hard to have an engagement party with him.
“Actually, Belinda—”
“Hey, ladies. Can I refill your drinks?”
Whoa. That deep, low rumble rippled through her like a tranquil stream meeting the wildest river. She didn’t need to turn around to confirm who it belonged to. Her every instinct, every taut muscle, every pulse beat identified its owner.
Belinda whipped around on the barstool, and Cherrie turned much slower. As if the extra few seconds could prepare her for coming face-to-face with the man who’d captured her attention since she’d stepped foot into the bar an hour earlier.
“Yes, please,” Belinda chirped. “I’ll take ano
ther Sam Adams. Thanks, Maddox. Hey, I know you’ve been busy—and thank you again for letting us have Rachel’s engagement party here,” she said, reaching across the bar and squeezing his hand. “You probably haven’t had the chance to meet a friend of mine and Daryl’s. Maddox, this is Cherrie Moore. Cherrie, I’d like you to meet the owner of Road’s End, Maddox Holt.”
A big hand with short, clean nails entered her line of sight, and Cherrie traced the surprisingly elegant fingers up to a thick wrist, past a heavily tattooed arm, onto a broad shoulder, and finally, to the face of angles and slants that edged too-harsh and slammed right up against beautiful.
A ginger.
In the dimmer lighting of the bar, she’d assumed his hair was a dark brown. But this close, the light directly above them revealed the rich auburn strands that gleamed like fire and the longer strands that tickled his sharp cheekbones and the deep red scruff that covered his jaw and emphasized that carnal mouth.
Aw, hell. She had a weakness for gingers. She had ever since Corey Rowe stole her language workbook in the eighth grade and drew anatomically correct dicks all over the inside cover. Yes, today that would be considered sexual harassment. But back then? She’d crushed on him harder because he’d cared enough to draw his very best.
With a silent, almost defeated sigh, Cherrie pressed her palm to his and wasn’t surprised at the electrical current that tingled from their clasped hands up her arm and zipped to her breasts. And lower.
Oh God.
This wasn’t good.
“Nice to meet you,” she murmured, then snatched her hand back and unobtrusively rubbed it along her denim-clad thigh.
His crystal blue eyes narrowed on her. Huh. Maybe not as unobtrusive as she thought.
This sooo wasn’t good.
“Same here,” he said, then nodded at Belinda. “Be right back with your beer.” And true to his word, moments later, he returned with a brown bottle with the blue label. “Here you go, Belinda. What about you, Cherrie?” he asked, and she fought not to let him or Belinda see the shiver that rocked through her at the sound of her name on his lips. In that voice.
