He should turn Ryder loose on the place. Let the other man finish it and put the house up for sale.
There’s nothing left for me here.
Yeah, he was starting to know the feeling.
The crunch of gravel alerted him to a car’s approach, and he hoped it wasn’t Sophia or another member of his family—but the familiar lime-green Bug didn’t belong to Sophia. And his stupid heart started pounding against his chest, ready and willing to throw itself out there to get trampled a third time.
He soaked in the sight of her, as if it had been two years instead of the two days since he’d last seen her. She looked tired. Her hair was caught back in a low ponytail, her face washed clean of makeup and she was wearing his sister’s borrowed clothes. And he’d never seen her look more beautiful. Because despite all those things, when she met his gaze she lifted her chin, holding her head high. Still strong, still a fighter, still the girl he’d fallen in love with—hell, maybe as far back as the day of her mother’s funeral.
“I was wrong.” Her voice carried across the cool, crisp morning air, her misty breath forming a cloud around her words. A bit of color came to her cheeks as she closed the space between them. “I want you to rebuild the bakery.”
“So you’re here looking for a contractor?”
She nodded. “A contractor, a white knight...the man I love.”
Her voice caught on the last word, but it didn’t matter. Drew still heard it. Still felt it shining in the bright blue of her eyes, in the warmth of her smile, and he realized he’d been wrong. As that feeling wrapped tight around his heart, all the pain did go away.
“God, Debbie, I am so sorry,” he whispered as he pulled her into his arms. He breathed in the sweet smell of her shampoo as he held her tight. “About the fire. About acting like I could just ride to the rescue and make everything better.”
“You can. You have.”
“No, you were right. Offering to rebuild the bakery as if I could make it as good as new was stupid. I can’t give you back all the memories you lost in the fire.”
“Maybe not,” she agreed as she pulled back just far enough to gaze up at him. Tears swam in her eyes, making the blue that much brighter, but he had no doubt that they were tears of joy, of hope. “But you can help me make new ones. I thought the fire was a chance to break free of the past, and maybe it is. But more than that, it’s a chance for me to embrace the future. I want you to rebuild the bakery and to help me make it mine. The way you’ve built this house to be yours.”
“This house isn’t mine,” he confessed with a shaky laugh. “It never was. It’s always been ours. Whether I knew it or not, from the moment I broke ground, I was building it for us. For our family.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Well, I hope you like the sound of this even more. I love you, Debbie Mattson. I love that you’ve been my friend all these years and that you know me so well and yet you never cease take me by surprise. I love that you were willing to give up your own dreams to take care of your mom and that you still have courage to go after them now.”
“I’m glad you see me that way, but the truth is I’ve been a coward. I tried to tell myself that having a fling with you was my way of living in the moment, but instead it was just me hiding from my feelings. I think the best way to seize the day is to hold on to the people you love and never let them go.”
“Where am I going to go when the woman I love is right here?”
“Well, you can’t just stand around for too long. We have a future to build, remember?”
“That we do,” he promised. “And you know, if you’re going to rebuild the bakery of your dreams, you’re going to need a new name.”
“You’re right. It’s something I should have done a long time ago. Something my mother would have wanted me to do.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking long and hard about this, and I’ve come up with the perfect choice.”
Judging by the smile tugging at Debbie’s lips, he wasn’t doing a very good job keeping a straight face. “And what is that?”
“I was thinking...Pirelli’s Pastries.”
Debbie’s laughter filled the morning air, and Drew didn’t bother trying to hold back his smile as she threw her arms around his neck. “Is that a yes?”
“To marrying you? That’s an absolute yes! To renaming the bakery? I think we need to give that one another try.”
* * * * *
Theresa Pirelli had come to Clearville to escape her past—not look for love in all the wrong places!
But when local cowboy Jarrett Deeks gets
under her skin, the big-city nurse realizes she just
might have the skill to heal both their wounded hearts....
Don’t miss the next installment of Stacy Connelly’s
Special Edition miniseries
THE PIRELLI BROTHERS
Coming in early 2015!
Keep reading for an excerpt from A KISS ON CRIMSON RANCH by Michelle Major.
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Special Edition story.
You know that romance is for life. Harlequin Special Edition stories show that every chapter in a relationship has its challenges and delights and that love can be renewed with each turn of the page.
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Chapter One
Sara Wells gripped the steering wheel of her ancient Toyota and tilted her chin. “Punch me,” she said, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Right in the face. Go on, before I lose my nerve.”
She heard movement next to her and braced herself, flinching when a soft hand stroked her cheek. “I’d never hit you, Sara, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
Sara opened her eyes to gaze into the kind, guileless face of her best friend in the world, April Sommers. Her only friend. The friend whose entire life savings Sara had recently lost.
She swatted April’s arm. “You should. I deserve it.” A bead of sweat slid between her shoulder blades and she rolled down the window a crack. Her lungs stung as she inhaled the crisp alpine air. “How does anyone breathe around here?” she muttered. “I miss the L.A. smog.”
“Go see the attorney. Stop avoiding reality.”
“Reality Bites.” She paused, then lifted a finger. “1994. Starring Ethan Hawke, Winona Ryder and a very green Ben Stiller. Who would have thought that of the three, Ben Stiller would end up the biggest star? Come on. Little Fockers? Are you kidding me?”
“You’re doing it again.”
Ignoring the soft admonishment, Sara leaned forward to gaze out the car’s front window at the row of brightly colored Victorian stores lining Main Street. “Look at that. Warner Bros. couldn’t have created a better Western set.”
“This is the West.”
Right.
Crimson, Colorado. Population 3,500 if the sign coming over the pass into town was accurate. Altitude 8,900 feet. Sara blamed the lack of air for her inability to catch her breath.
April rummaged in the sack at her feet. “Aren’t you curious?” She offered Sara an apple. Sara held up a half-eaten Snickers in response.
“I gave up curious a long t
ime ago.” She stuffed the candy bar into her mouth. “Along with cigarettes, savage tans, men and chocolate.” She swallowed. “Okay, scratch chocolate.”
That resolution had fallen by the interstate about four hours into the thirteen-hour drive from Los Angeles. While Crimson was only thirty minutes down the road from the ritzy ski town of Aspen, it held as much appeal to Sara as a blistered big toe.
Sure, it was beautiful if you were one of those back-to-nature types who appreciated towering pines, glittering blue skies and breathtaking views. Sara was a city girl. A blanket of smog comforted her; horns blaring on the I-5 made her smile. In her world, ski boots were a fashion statement, not a cold-weather necessity.
She was out of her element.
Big-time.
“Go on.” April leaned over and opened the driver’s-side door. “The sooner you talk to the attorney, the quicker we’ll be back on the road to la-la land.”
Sara’s need to put Rocky Mountain Mayberry in her rearview mirror propelled her out of the car. She couldn’t do that until she met with Jason Crenshaw, attorney-at-law, whose cryptic phone call two days earlier had started this unplanned road trip.
If nothing else, she hoped the money Crenshaw had for her would buy gas on the way back. And groceries. Sara could live on ramen noodles and snack cakes for weeks, but April was on a strict organic, vegan diet. Sara didn’t understand eating food that looked like cat puke and tasted like sawdust, but she had no right to question April’s choices. If it weren’t for Sara, April would have plenty of money to spend on whatever she wanted. And rabbit food cost plenty of money.
She pulled her well-worn jeans jacket tight and squinted through a mini dust tornado as a gust of wind whipped along the town’s main drag. Mid-May in Southern California and the temperature hovered at a balmy seventy degrees, but Crimson still had a bit of winter’s chill to the air. The mountain peaks surrounding the town were covered in snow.
Sara didn’t do snow.
She opened the pale turquoise door to the office of Crenshaw and Associates and stepped in, lifting her knock-off Prada sunglasses to the top of her head.
The desk in the reception area sat vacant, large piles of paper stacked precariously high. “Hello?” she called in the general direction of the office door at the back of the lobby.
A chair creaked and through the door came a younger man who looked like he could have been Andy Griffith’s rumpled but very handsome son. He peered at her over a pair of crooked reading glasses, wiping his hands on the paper napkin stuffed into his collared shirt.
Sara caught the whiff of barbecue and her stomach grumbled. No food envy, she reminded herself. Noodles were enough for her.
“Sorry, miss,” the man said as he looked her over. “No soliciting. Try a couple doors down at the diner. Carol might have something left over from the lunch rush.”
Sara felt her eyes widen a fraction. The guy thought she was a bum. Fantastic. She pulled at her spiky bangs. “I’m looking for Jester Crunchless,” she said with a well-timed lip curl.
“I’m Jason Crenshaw.” The man bristled. “And who might you be?”
“Sara Wells.”
Immediately his posture relaxed. “Ms. Wells, of course.” He pulled out the napkin as he studied her, revealing a tie decorated with rows of small snowboards. “You know, we watched Just the Two of Us religiously around here. You’re different than I expected.”
“I get that a lot.”
“Right.” He chuckled self-consciously. “You’re a heck of a lady to track down.”
“I’m here now.”
“Of course,” he repeated. “Why don’t you step into my office?”
“Why don’t you hand over the check?”
His brows drew together. “Excuse me?”
“On the phone you said inheritance.” She reached into her purse. “I have ID right here. Let’s get this over with.”
“Were you close to your grandmother, Ms. Wells?”
“No.” She could barely remember her grandmother. Sara’s mother had burned a trail out of Crimson as soon as she could and had kept Sara far away from her estranged family.
“The heart attack was a shock. We’re told she didn’t suffer.” He paused. “It’s a loss for the whole town. Miss Trudy was the backbone of Crimson.”
A sliver of something, a long-buried emotion, slipped across Sara’s heart and she clamped it down quickly. Shaking her head, she made her voice flip. “It’s tragic that she was your backbone and whatnot. I barely knew the woman. Can we talk about the money?”
Another pause. “There is no money.” Crenshaw’s tone took on a harsh edge. Harsh was Sara’s home turf.
Sara matched his emotion. “Then why in the hell did I just drive all the way from California?”
He cleared his throat. “We discussed an inheritance on the phone, Ms. Wells. Not money, specifically.” He turned to a rickety file cabinet and peered into the top drawer. “I have it right here.”
Great. She and April had driven almost a thousand miles for an old piece of costume jewelry or something. She mentally calculated if she could get to Denver on the fumes left in her gas tank.
He turned back to her and held out a set of keys. “There’s some paperwork, for sure. We should talk to Josh about how he fits into the mix. He and Trudy had big plans for the place. But you look like you could use a rest. Go check it out. We can meet again tomorrow morning.”
Tomorrow morning she’d be halfway to the Pacific Ocean. “What place?”
“Crimson Ranch,” he told her. “Miss Trudy’s property.” He jingled the keys.
Sara’s stomach lurched. “She left me a property?”
Before Crenshaw could answer, cool air tickled Sara’s ponytail. She turned as her mother, Rosemarie Wells, glided in with bottle-blond hair piled high on top of her regal head. A man followed in her wake, indiscriminately middle-aged, slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, slight paunch and cowboy boots that looked custom-made. Sara assumed he was the latest in her mother’s long string of rich, powerful, jerk boyfriends.
Could this day get any worse?
Rose slanted Jason Crenshaw a dismissive glance then snapped her fingers at Sara. “We need to talk, Serena.”
Sara’s stomach lurched, but she focused on the attorney, snatching the keys out of his still-outstretched palm.
“May I help you?” he asked, his eyes a little dazed. Her mother had had that effect on men since Sara could remember. It had been at least two years since she’d seen her mother last, but Rose looked exactly the same as far as Sara could tell. Maybe with a few less wrinkles thanks to the wonders of modern plastic surgery.
“You can ignore her.” Sara bit at a cuticle.
“Serena, stop that obnoxious behavior.”
She nibbled harder. “This is kind of a coinkydink, Mom. You showing up now.” Sara locked eyes with her mother. Rose knew about the will, she realized in an instant.
Her mother’s gaze raked her. “You look like hell, Serena.”
“Stop calling me that. My name is Sara.” She narrowed her eyes but crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly conscious that she was wearing an ancient and not very supportive sports bra. “Sara Wells. The name you put on my birth certificate.”
Her mother’s large violet eyes rolled to the ceiling. “The name I had legally changed when you were eight.”
“I changed it back and you know it.” Sara took a step forward. “A monumental pain in the back end, by the way.” She cocked her head to one side. “Although it’s handy when collections comes calling.”
Her mother’s nose wrinkled. “I can help you with that, Serena.”
“Sara.”
Rose ignored her. “Richard wants to buy your grandmother’s property.” She tilted her head at the aging cowboy, who tipp
ed his hat rim at Sara, Clint Eastwood style.
“I don’t understand why Gran left it to me.”
“To make things difficult for me, of course,” Rose said with an exaggerated sigh. She dabbed at the corner of her eye. “Mothers are supposed to look out for their children, not keep them from their rightful inheritance.”
Sara never could cry on cue. She envied her mother that.
“No matter. I know you’ve gotten yourself into another mess, Serena. A financial nightmare, really. We can fix that right now. Mr. Crenshaw, would you be so good as to draw up the paperwork?” She leveled a steely gaze at Sara. “I’m bailing you out again. Remember that.”
Rose had never helped Sara out of anything—contract negotiations, come-ons from slimy casting directors, defamatory tabloid headlines, a career slowly swirling down the drain. The only times in Sara’s life her mother had stepped in to help were when it benefited Rose at Sara’s expense.
“I’m not selling.”
“What?”
“Not yet. And not to you, Mother.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rose darted a worried glance toward the cowboy, whose hands fisted in front of his oversize belt buckle. “What choice do you have?”
“I’m not sure.” Sara turned to the attorney. “Can you give me directions to the ranch?”
“I’ll write them down,” he said, and with obvious relief, disappeared into the back office.
“What kind of game are you playing?” Her mother pointed a French-tipped finger at Sara. “We both know you’re desperate for money. You don’t belong on that ranch.” Rose’s tone was laced with condescension. “She had no business leaving it to you.”
Decades of anger boiled to the surface in Sara. “She did, and maybe if you’d look in the mirror beyond the fake boobs and Botox you’d see why. Maybe she wanted to keep it out of your hot little hands.” She leaned closer. “Want to talk about that?”
Small-Town Cinderella (The Pirelli Brothers) Page 20
