by Lori Wilde
She wanted to touch him, to kiss him, but she didn’t know how to begin.
“You know what,” he said cheerily.
“What?”
“That medication is good stuff.”
She smiled. “I’m just happy you’re feeling better, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
“What’s that?”
She told him about the motorcycle.
“Hey, it’s just a motorcycle.”
“That represented freedom to you.”
He reached for her hand. “Maybe freedom isn’t so important to me anymore.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Beau Jenkins is trying to selling his Harley. Maybe you could buy his.”
“Maybe we should just take the money and buy a trip to Paris.”
“We?” Her voice went up an octave.
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “As in you and me.”
Natalie gulped, moistened her lip. This was her dream. Paris. And she’d overcome her fear of flying. Why not?
“I was thinking maybe we should make it a very special, once-in-a-lifetime trip,” Dade murmured. “Include a visit to a real Prada store where I buy you your first pair of Prada shoes.”
“What are you saying?” Her heart was a butterfly in her chest.
“I’m thinking boots. For the honeymoon. Black. Thigh-high. Stilettos.”
“What?” She blinked, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing.
“Okay, scratch the boots. That’s my fantasy. You tell me what kind of shoes you want.”
“The boots are fine. But are you sure we should be having this conversation? You’re drugged up. You don’t know what you’re saying.” Her pulse was at a full gallop, and her heart! Oh, her crazy heart was soaring high on the wings of love.
“I’ve been thinking more clearly,” he said. “I should probably wait and do this the right way. Get a ring first. Get down on one knee. But I can’t wait one more minute to ask this question. Natalie McCleary, will you marry me?”
Natalie’s eyes widened and Dade’s heart stopped as he waited for her answer.
A few hours ago, as they’d carried him from the caves on a stretcher in the wee hours of the morning of July 6, amid the hullabaloo of rescue workers, firefighters, policemen, and medics who had saved him and Red, Dade had been startled to see that the parking lot was slick black from an unseasonal summer rain.
It felt surreal, and he experienced the same dulled, apathetic sensation he’d experienced when he’d been taken prisoner by the Taliban, but as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance, dawn had peeped tentatively through the tunnel of darkness, revealing ghostly wisps of fog skimming above the asphalt.
And then there was Natalie, battered and bruised, rushing up to him. He was fading in and out of consciousness, but he heard her repeat what she’d told him the night they’d made love.
“I’m in love with you, Dade Vega, no matter what. Completely and unconditionally.”
The paramedics carrying the litter paused and let her kiss his cheek. At that very same moment, a double shiny rainbow slowly unveiled itself in the rising light, shifting to reveal shimmering stripes of blue, purple, orange, and yellow, and twin arches straddling the Davis Mountains like a glorious crown.
The truth was there right in front of him, invisible to touch, taste, sound, sight, smell, but as wide and alive as the Chihuahuan Desert.
He loved her, but he had no idea how to express it. How to form those words. He’d never uttered them to anyone. What did love mean except you had so much more to lose?
Salty tears were in his throat. Oh hell no. He wasn’t going to cry. He would not cry. He was a tough Navy SEAL. He hadn’t cried since that night Red had saved him from Tank.
He’d been wrong in believing that never staying in one place was what kept him safe. He wasn’t safe. He was stunted. Arrested development. You couldn’t fully trust a stranger and he was that stranger. Flowing in and out of towns and cities alike, no anchor, no home, no place to call his own. He hadn’t saved himself. Instead, he’d cut himself off, left beauty and love for only one reason.
He was terrified.
Afraid of being hurt. Afraid of loss. Afraid of love.
He was a coward.
Dade realized that he had two choices open to him. He could face forward and keep moving, or he could take the biggest gamble of his life, but that meant taking a giant leap of faith. That meant believing in this love that he’d felt for Natalie the second he’d first laid eyes on her.
Trust that it was real and solid. Something that they could build a future on.
The fog evaporated in the sunrise and he could see the village nestled in the valley, quiet and welcoming. The vineyards shone green as emeralds. Orange tile roofs glistening bronze in the dawn. The church steeple rose tall and majestic into the sky. Streetlamps flickering off one by one, letting the morning take over. The town yawned, stretched, awoke.
Home.
This place could be his home. He could be loved. All he had to do was reach out and accept it, but before he could do it, he’d been loaded into the ambulance and whisked away.
He squeezed her hand. “How long are you gonna leave me hanging here, Natty?”
She smiled.
Love.
It was all over her for anyone to read.
She truly loved him.
Just one look one summer dawn was all it had taken, and they’d fallen in love at first sight.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I can see that,” she said. “You’re strapped to a gurney.”
He reached up to cup her face with his palm. “As crazy as this love-at-first-sight thing sounds, I’m a believer. I love you, Natalie McCleary. I don’t want to live another day without you and this nutty town.”
Her eyes shone with joy. She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
“I’m in love with you but I’m so scared I’m going to screw this up. I don’t know how to stay in one place. I don’t know how to be part of a community. Will you teach me? Will you show you me how to trust?”
“Dade,” she whispered. “You just showed yourself.”
“No,” he said. “It’s all you. You lift me up. Cleanse me. Make me a better man, and I want to spend the rest of my days living up to your expectations of me.”
“You will,” she whispered. “You’ve been in my blood since the beginning of time.”
“You never did answer my question. Will you marry me, Natalie McCleary?”
“Dade Vega,” she said. “There never has been and never will be another man for me. Yes. Yes. Of course I will marry you.”
He tugged her down on the gurney beside him, kissed her with every ounce of love he had in him. He’d come to Cupid to find a friend but he’d found much more than that. He’d also discovered his one true love and a whole new life.
“Let’s have it,” Aunt Carol Ann said the following Monday when Natalie walked into the community center. “Your time is up. You do have an answer, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Natalie said. Grinning, she pulled the letter from her pocket and passed it to her aunt.
Dear Shot Through the Heart,
Love at first sight is indeed a rare gift. Cherish it because you and your beloved have something special that many people will never know. And while love at first sight is thrilling, it can also be a bit disorienting.
If you know it in your heart that this love is strong and true, then you have nothing to fear. His love will not waver and neither will yours. You can go to Oxford and his love will be with you whether he is near or far away. His thoughts will always be on you, and yours on him.
He is in your heart, your mind, your soul, your blood, and you are in his. Together you are stronger, better, richer because of your love. Trust it. Love never diminishes you, but always lifts you up. Let love guide you. Love will find a way. Have no worries because love is always enough.
Yours in love,
Afterword: The Marfa Lights
The Marfa Lights are a mysterious phenomenon that has baffled scientists for centuries. Often dubbed “ghost lights,” these mischievous nocturnal illuminations appear unpredictably in the night sky, mostly east of Marfa, Texas, in a region known as Mitchell Flats. This location is also the site of an old army airfield where, during WWII, tens of thousands of pilots were trained. The lights pulse and shine, dance and change colors, and the patterns are different with every sighting. The lights can last from a few minutes to several hours.
Believers in paranormal activities have attributed the lights to everything from otherworldly spirits to space aliens, while cynics say it’s nothing more than atmospheric reflections of car lights or campfires. Still others claim that the lights are a mirage caused by sharp temperature gradients between layers of hot and cold air. While Marfa is in the Chihuahuan Desert plateau, it is also at an elevation of 4,688 feet above sea level, so rapid shifts in temperature are quite common.
But in spite of the Marfa Lights having been heavily investigated by scientists and ghost hunters alike, no consensus on the cause of the phenomenon has been reached. The site is so popular that the State of Texas has created a viewing park for visitors who are hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Marfa Lights.
GO WILDE THIS SUMMER!
Here is a sneak peek at
ALL OUT OF LOVE
The next in the delicious Cupid, Texas, stories,
available in mass market and as an e-book
June 25, 2013
And
If you want to know how
the legend of Cupid, Texas,
all began,
here’s a tidbit from
ONE TRUE LOVE
Available now from Avon Impulse!
ALL OUT OF LOVE
Prologue
Millie Greenwood High School, Cupid, Texas, 2001
Dear Cupid,
I am crazy in love with Pierce Hollister! You should see him in his gym shorts when he’s out on the football field running sprints. Omigod, he’s got the most amazing thighs. Of course, that’s nothing compared to the way his butt looks in Wranglers. Be still my pounding heart!
And his eyes! Blue as the ocean. He made eye contact with me once. It was a moment I will never, ever forget until my dying day. I’d dropped my books in the crowded hallway and I was fumbling to pick them up, when suddenly, out of nowhere, I see a pair of black cowboy boots and a hand reaching out to help me.
I looked up and it was him! I got tingly all over, and honest to God, I thought I was going to die right there on the spot! This is no ordinary boy. He’s the quarterback of the football team! He dates cheerleaders! His daddy is the biggest rancher in Jeff Davis County and here he was helping me!
And I’m nobody. I’m pudgy (Mama calls me fluffy) and I wear glasses and I stutter. I’ve had speech therapy, but I still can’t speak without stammering, and that is in a relaxed atmosphere. Believe me, there was nothing relaxed about this. Every muscle in my body was tuned as tight as the strings on a concert violin and I couldn’t have said a word if my life depended on it.
His eyes met mine and he smiled.
Smiled! At me!
“Here you go,” he said, handing me my biology book (it had to be biology, didn’t it?) and our knuckles brushed. I don’t know how I kept from bursting into flames. “Have a nice day.”
And then he was gone, leaving his heavenly sunshine and leather scent lingering behind, as I stared after him with my mouth gaping open.
Pierce Hollister had smiled and touched my hand and said seven whole words. To me!
I have no chance with him. I know that. He’s a senior. I’m a freshman. He’s handsome as a movie star. Way out of my league. He’s filet mignon and I’m day-old bread. Okay, so I am a direct descendant of Millie Greenwood, but so are half the people in this town. It’s not a unique claim to fame.
It’s silly of me to wish and pine, I know. But Cupid, I just can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much I try. Every night before I go to sleep, I imagine what it would feel like if he were holding me tight against his muscled chest, our hearts beating in perfect time together. Beating as if we were one.
That’s why I’m writing to you, Cupid. I’m miserable with love for him. I want him to love me back so badly that I can barely breathe. Please, Cupid, please let Pierce Hollister fall in love with me. I know I’ll have to wait for him. I am only fourteen after all and he’s got a girlfriend and a football scholarship to the University of Texas next year, but one day? Someday? Please!
Yours in total despair,
Hopelessly Tongue Tied
Lace Bettingfield stood frozen in freshman homeroom, half in the doorway, half out of it, her backpack slung over one shoulder.
Seated in front of her were seventeen students, and every single one of them was reading the current issue of the school newspaper, the Cupid Chronicle.
Ominously, hairs on the nape of her neck stood up.
The fact that everyone was reading—including the stoners and the jocks—was odd enough, but when they all looked up at her with what seemed to be perfectly choreographed smirks, Lace’s stomach took the express elevator to her Skechers.
In a split second, her gaze darted to the student nearest her. It was Toby Mercer, her biology lab partner.
Toby was six-foot-six and weighed the same as Lace, a hundred and sixty-two pounds; on him the weight was gaunt, on her it was zaftig. He possessed strawberry blond hair and skin so pale he’d earned the nickname Casper way back in kindergarten. She’d known him her entire life. His family lived just down the block from hers. She’d comforted him when kids had picked on him. They’d attended each other’s birthday parties. They’d dissected frogs together.
But right now, Toby was looking at her all narrow-eyed and smug, like she was a dilapidated barn and he was a wrecking ball.
She flicked her eyes from Toby’s face to the paper that he held in his hand and there it was.
Dear Cupid,
I am crazy in love with Pierce Hollister!
It was the letter she’d written to Cupid, her private letter that had never been meant for anyone’s eyes but her own, printed on the front page of the school newspaper.
Her letter. Front page. Declaring her love for Pierce.
How? How had this happened?
Tourists often deposited letters to the Roman god of love in the special box in the botanical gardens, expecting them to be answered by town volunteers and published in the Cupid Chamber of Commerce’s weekly circular, but Lace had never meant for anyone to see this letter. She’d written it in study hall three days ago as she gazed out the window, watching the football team practice. She’d carefully folded the letter and tucked it into her side pocket of her notebook with every intention of burning it in the chiminee on the back patio that weekend when her parents were out of town.
Reality hit her like a fist to the face.
Mary Alice.
Mary Alice Gilbert, her second cousin, who was also editor of the Cupid Chronicle. Pierce had recently dumped her for the head cheerleader, Desiree Hartford. Two nights ago, Mary Alice and her parents had come over to Lace’s house for dinner, and at one point, Lace had caught Mary Alice snooping around in her bedroom.
Oh God!
Now, everyone knew her secret crush. Her life was ruined. Nausea splashed hot bile into her throat. Her entire body flushed hot as August in the Chihuahuan Desert.
One heartbeat later, and the class erupted into a feeding frenzy.
“Do you imagine she calls out Pierce’s name when she’s touching herself?” sniggered Booth Randal, a smart-assed stoner who spent the bulk of his time in detention.
“P . . . Pa . . . Pa . . . Pa . . . Pierce,” another boy stuttered in a fake falsetto, “Yo . . . yo . . . yo . . . you . . . ma . . . ma . . . make me so hot.”
Moaning and breathing heavily, the two boys pretended to kiss and fondle
each other, while the other students hurled derisive catcalls like stones.
“Poor me,” wailed Tasha Stuart, whose mother worked in the teller cage next to Lace’s at Cupid National Bank. “I’m sooo in love with the most popular boy in school and he doesn’t know I exist.”
“Who knows,” someone else called out. “She might stand a chance. Pierce could be a closet chubby chaser.”
“Na . . . na . . . na . . . not unless she can sta . . . sta . . . stop stutt . . . stutt . . . stuttering.” Toby stabbed her in the back.
“Yeah, who wants a girl whose tongue is hopelessly tied?”
“One day. Someday.”
“Please, Cupid, please, please, please.”
The words slapped her harder than any physical blow. She knew these people. Was related to some of them. Had thought many of them were her friends, but they’d turned on her like hyenas. Blindly, Lace spun on her heels, and almost crashed into the teacher, Mr. Namon.
He put up his palms, “Whoa, slow down, what’s going on here?”
Head down, Lace shoved past him, and fled down the corridor.
But there was no sanctuary here.
The hallways were lined with students, several of them holding copies of the Cupid Chronicle. Some laughed. Some pointed. Some made lewd gestures. Some threw out more catcalls. A goth girl was slyly singing, “Crush,” a song about a stalker.
Everyone was going to think she was a stalker.
Hey, Tongue Tied, drop thirty pounds and maybe you can land your dream man.
Reality check. No guy like Pierce could ever love someone like you.
Yes, he touched your hand, but I heard he washed it off in Lysol afterward.
Lace plastered her hands over her ears, willed herself not to cry, but it was too late, tears were already streaming hotly down her cheeks.
Nightmare. It was a living nightmare.
And just as in a nightmare, everything moved in slow motion. It felt as if she was trying to run through knee-deep mud. Her lungs squeezed tight. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it was going to beat right out of her chest.
