by Brenda Gayle
Table of Contents
The Hungry Heart
Copyright
Reviews of Brenda Gayle’s
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
The Hungry Heart
Heart's Desire Series
by
Brenda Gayle
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Hungry Heart: Heart's Desire Series
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Brenda G. Heald
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Debby Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2012
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-406-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-407-5
Published in the United States of America
Reviews of Brenda Gayle’s
SOLDIER FOR LOVE
(A Joyfully Reviewed Recommended Read)
"Reading it cover to cover just won't do for me—I may have to read it twice!"
~Romance Junkies
~*~
"Brenda Gayle turned up the heat from the first page....spicy for its romance and exciting for its action; I was captured from the very beginning."
~Coffee Time Romance & More
~*~
"This is a story that has you turning the page, wanting to read just one more chapter."
~Writers & Readers of Distinctive Fiction Review
~*~
"SOLDIER FOR LOVE is a fascinating story featuring two strong characters and a plot that will keep you enthralled."
~Long & Short Reviews
~*~
"The story never slowed down. A terrific way to spend your day!"
~Huntress Reviews
Dedication
For my family:
My parents, who instilled in me a love of reading
and have supported all my writing endeavors;
My sister, Carolyn, who finds my writing “surprisingly literary” despite its genre nature;
Madeline and Sean, who are inordinately proud of having a mother who is a published author even though they are too young to read my books;
And especially my husband, Bruce, whose love, patience, and support allow me to live my dream.
Acknowledgements
At its core, The Hungry Heart is a book about family—what it means to be part of a family, whether by blood or by bond. In addition to my immediate family, I want to acknowledge the other families who have supported me on this writing journey.
My Ottawa Romance Writers’ Association family: I wouldn’t know the first thing about writing romance and getting published if it wasn’t for the generous advice, constant encouragement, and occasional kick-in-the-pants this wonderful group provides. Special thanks to my critique partners Kris, Lillian, and Tammy, as well as to LeeAnn for her promotional assistance.
My Wild Rose Press family: Rhonda and RJ have built an exceptional publishing house that respects both its authors and its readers. My editor, Maggie Johnson, has been a joy to work with, so much so that I requested her for this series even though it’s not her usual imprint. Thanks to Debby Taylor for The Hungry Heart’s wonderful cover, to Lisa Dawn for her marketing expertise, and to all the TWRP authors, editors, artists, and readers who are a daily inspiration to me.
My extended family and friends: They receive special recognition for not discouraging me when they learned I wanted to be a romance author. They may have thought I had lost my mind, but no one said so to my face—and for that I am grateful.
Finally, my romance-reading family: Romance readers are unfailingly loyal to their favorite authors, but also generous enough to take a chance on new voices. Without their love of happily-ever-after, the world would be a dreary place.
~Brenda Gayle
Chapter 1
The limo had barely cruised to a stop when Nora Cross reached into her purse to check her cell phone. Hallelujah! There’s service here. She felt relief wash over her and she hit redial.
It had been twenty minutes since she’d been cut off during the call with the chair of her board of directors. She could imagine Sylvia pacing impatiently, waiting for her to call back so that they could resume their discussion. Well, debate may be a better term, though argument was probably the most accurate.
Nora sighed and turned to look out the passenger window while she waited for the call to go through.
Where are we? She probably should have asked more questions, gotten more details, but frankly she’d just wanted to get her sister off her back at the time. Karen had said she was going to a cooking lesson at Casita Hunter.
She’d never heard of the place and the limo driver wasn’t particularly forthcoming. As the car had left downtown Santa Fe and cruised through the national forest Nora had started to feel a sense of unease.
Ever since Karen had moved to Santa Fe she’d been trying to become a part of Nora’s life. This was going to be the last straw. A cooking lesson with some famous chef Nora had never heard of? Really, who had the time to cook anymore? Karen sure as heck didn’t—not with her housekeeper, nutritionist, and all those fancy dinners she went to with her husband.
Nora should have cancelled—called Karen and told her she was too busy. If this was such a great opportunity, Karen shouldn’t have had any trouble finding a replacement. But Nora had said she’d go. She couldn’t renege on her commitment, as much as she might want to.
Now she was stuck in the middle of heaven-knows-where, about to be given a cooking lesson by heaven-knows-who, and the timing couldn’t be worse.
The view outside the limo was exquisite, like a picture on a postcard, and Nora gasped as she gazed at the two rows of perfectly-spaced evergreens that marked a path down to a small lake. She could make out a wooden dock jutting out from the shore and a floating platform further out in the water.
She would have better appreciated the spectacular view if she hadn’t just been routed to Sylvia’s voice mail. Dammit. Nora waited through the annoying message, and then apologized for having their call dropped and requested a callback as soon as possible.
A dark shape cut the light into the limo and the driver opened her door. He took her hand to help her out of the vehicle.
“I’ll take you inside, ma’am. Follow me.”
She turned to look over the limo’s roof at this Casita Hunter. In an instant she realized two t
hings: first, it wasn’t a restaurant and second, it certainly wasn’t a casita. It was two-and-a-half sprawling stories of natural wood, accented by soaring windows. Boldly colored, over-stuffed chairs on the large wrap-around veranda invited visitors to lounge and soak up the atmosphere.
“It’s so beautiful,” Nora whispered. But the rustic tranquility did little to sooth her rattled nerves. The building was isolated and she still had no idea where she was.
What had Karen gotten her into?
The driver had already climbed the steps of the veranda and was turning a corner, presumably heading to the front door. She rounded the limo and followed the flagstone path that led to the building. It was unnaturally smooth and flat, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the numerous feet that would have had to tread across these stones to create the effect.
She looked more closely at the building as she mounted the rugged wooden stairs. The original structure must be almost a century old. The vertically-planked wooden walls made it seem comfortably worn despite the upgrades that must have been made over the years, especially the installation of those magnificent windows.
The driver waited for her to catch up, and then held open the door for her before announcing, “I’ll get Mr. Graham.” He slipped past her and disappeared down the hallway to the rear of the building.
There was nothing rustic about the inside of the house—for now she was sure this had to be someone’s home. The entry was large and welcoming. An elegant staircase rose to her left and double French doors opened into a huge wood-paneled room to her right.
Searching for more clues as to where she was, Nora stepped into the room and looked up. Even the ceiling was natural wood, held up by massive hand-hewn beams. An enormous bay window looked out toward the lake—the perfect view now blocked by the limo. Scattered throughout the room were several groupings of multi-colored couches and chairs. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined one wall and she headed for it. She dropped her purse on a chair, but hung on firmly to her cell phone so she could answer quickly when Sylvia called back.
Nora was astonished to discover most of the books were bound copies of New Mexico’s legislative proceedings and committee reports, some dating back as far as the late 1940s. There were other books on government and democracy, and the occasional presidential biography.
If someone had been setting a trap for her, they couldn’t have done it more beautifully. She was a political junkie who had spent over a decade working with New Mexico’s state politicians and bureaucrats to forward her association’s child welfare agenda. She stepped onto the lowest rung of the bookcase’s stepladder to get a better look at the collection.
“Mrs. Cross?”
The husky voice was right behind her. Nora turned too quickly and her foot slipped off the ladder.
Strong arms caught her. She looked up into the most unusual lavender eyes—their paleness enhanced by the dark indigo rings that circled the irises and the dilated black pupils at their center.
She blinked and took in the rest of his face. His blond hair was short and spiky—the current fashion according to her twenty-something assistant, Becca—and the skin around his eyes and mouth was smooth. He had well-defined cheekbones and a square chin, both with just the barest hint of blond stubble. And his lips—amazing how they could look soft and full, and at the same time firm and powerful. He was, quite possibly, the most gorgeous man Nora had ever seen.
At that moment, she was surprised to find herself regretting that the terribly impractical burgundy jumpsuit Karen had purchased for her to wear tonight was still hanging in her apartment closet.
It wasn’t only the look of the man who held her that sent her senses reeling. He smelled like chocolate. Not the sweet milk chocolate candy, but a deep, dark, earthy cocoa that was complemented by the barest hint of something spicy. Part of her wanted to close her eyes and rest in a cocoon of pure chocolate rapture, but the other part was reluctant to tear her gaze from his astonishing face.
It took her a few moments to realize he hadn’t moved, and that he was staring at her just as intently. She felt a warm glow radiating from where he held her. It snaked its way along her arms, and headed up her neck to her face. The current also flowed downward through her body, warming her abdomen and weakening her knees. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and for a moment she forgot she was supposed to breathe.
Suddenly he released her and stepped back.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. And I’m sorry for staring,” he said.
Nora straightened and grabbed the stepladder for support, forgetting to hold on to her cell phone. She heard it skitter across the floor. Dammit!
“I was struck by your marvelous eyes. They’re like an elixir of café noir. I completely lost myself,” he added.
Yeah right. As if this Adonis would find any part of me worth getting lost in, Nora thought. Her cosmetic-free face was probably tired-looking after a long day at work. She knew her unruly long black hair had refused to stay in its bun, and she was uncomfortably aware that her dated skirt-suit fit just a little too snuggly around her hips these days.
She looked away, avoiding his gaze, and scanned the room for her cell phone. She could see its black edge peeking out from under a green- and gold-striped armchair.
Before she could move, he’d crossed the room and retrieved it for her. His fingers felt warm as she took it from his hand. She thought he held on a little longer than was necessary, but she couldn’t be sure. Her sense of time seemed altered, everything seemed to be moving slower than usual. And those incredible eyes…they never left her face.
“Thank you,” she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “I’m expecting a very important call.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Cross. It is Mrs. Cross, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” She shook her head to bring some order to the chaos swirling in her brain. “It’s Miss Cross. Nora.”
I know I’m supposed to know who he is, but dammit, I can’t remember what Karen said. Well, there was no way she could go through the whole evening pretending to know who he was—even if he was supposed to be famous. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember—”
If he was surprised, he hid it well. “Hunter Graham. Call me Hunter.”
“Hunter. That’s an unusual name,” she said. That bit of awkwardness survived, she glanced down at her phone. Thank goodness it seemed undamaged by the fall. Why hadn’t Sylvia called back? Maybe she should text her or send an email. Email, of course.
“It was my mother’s maiden name.”
“Hunter?” she murmured and began typing on the miniscule keypad.
When she finished she glanced up at him. He was watching her, a slightly perturbed expression on his face. She was being rude. “Sorry. It’s just that I have this emergency at work that I have to resolve.”
Unable to take the intensity of his stare, she looked toward the bookcase. “You were saying Hunter is your mother’s maiden name?” Suddenly it hit her: the political books, the volumes of New Mexico’s legislative proceedings. “As in Stewart Hunter?” She turned to him in excitement. This was the home of Stewart Hunter. Of course: Casita Hunter.
“Usually it’s the Graham part of my name that garners that kind of reaction, but okay. Yeah, my grandfather was Stewart Hunter. This is my grandmother’s home.”
“Libby Hunter?”
“Yes.” He seemed to find her reaction humorous.
“I can’t believe it. Stewart Hunter was a brilliant bureaucrat, a legend in political circles—not only in New Mexico, but in Washington, too. He turned down several direct requests from presidents to join their staffs so he could remain here.”
Nora knew she was speaking too quickly because she had to pause to catch her breath. “And Libby Hunter. Well, what hasn’t she done? Her fundraising, her charity works. God, I’d love to meet her. Is she here?”
“Who?”
“Libby Hunter. Your grandmother.” Nora rubbed her free hand down her skir
t to smooth out the day’s wrinkles.
“Unfortunately she can’t join us this evening,” he said dryly. “It’s just the two of us.”
“Oh.” She could see her disappointment confused him. Then what he had said struck her. Just the two of us? Surely there was someone else in the house. What about the driver? A housekeeper? An assistant chef? She grabbed the stepladder again, and stood up straighter.
His voice broke into her rising panic. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied. “So, uhm, what’s for dinner?”
His face brightened into the most beautiful smile, causing her stomach to tumble. She swallowed hard. No doubt about it, he was gorgeous.
“Petit fillet mignon with red wine and shallot bordelaise sauce, wild field mushrooms, and a potato tarte tatin. And for dessert, a warm dark chocolate soufflé with a whipped orange cream sauce.”
“Let me get this straight: I’m here to learn how to make steak and potatoes?”
His face fell.
She had offended him. She searched for something to say that would dig her out of yet another social faux pas. But come on: steak and potatoes?
Hunter recovered before she could say anything. He smiled at her, mischief dancing in his pale eyes. “That’s a popular misconception. Everyone thinks they can cook steak and potatoes, but, as I will prove to you tonight, there is a vast difference between throwing a hunk of beef on hot coals to cook the hell out of it and teasing out the subtle flavors of a well-seasoned fillet.” He spoke softly, his voice low and throaty.
Nora tried to slow the beating of her heart. He made his method of cooking sound almost obscene.
“Come into the kitchen and let me introduce you to the succulent art of creating the perfect ‘steak and potatoes.’” He held out his hand.
Nora hesitated. She couldn’t tell if he was putting her on or if he was serious. His voice was seductive, but his eyes seemed to dance with mirth. Regardless, she found him difficult to resist.
As she accepted his hand and stepped toward him, her ankle wrenched painfully and she toppled forward. Somehow her foot had become wrapped around the leg of the stepladder. She could feel Hunter release her hand in an attempt to stop her from falling, but her momentum was too great and he tumbled backward. The stepladder crashed down beside them, its ancient wood shattering on impact.
