by Carol Grace
Boys, she thought with a flash of intuition—this is what they do. They take chances. They climb up too high. They ride too fast and they fall off their bikes. They skin their knees. And this is what their moms do. They clean them up and send them back out to play. But she was not his mom. She was nobody’s mom. And wasn’t likely to ever be. Not the way her life was going. That was okay. There were other things to do besides being a mother. And she was doing them. But for the first time in weeks the face of Scott Marsten flashed before her eyes. His cruel words rang in her ears.
“Face it, Bridget, you just don’t have what it takes to make a man happy. I thought it was because you put all your effort into your job, but now it turns out you haven’t got what it takes to make it in advertising, either.”
Blinking back a sudden rush of tears, Bridget peeled the adhesive off an extra-large-size Band-Aid when heavy footsteps resounded down the hall, and a loud, angry voice called, “Max, where are you?”
So that was his name. Max froze, his eyes wide with fright. Bridget slapped the bandage on the boy’s knee while she imagined an angry Paul Bunyan on his way to skin both their hides with his ax.
“What in the hell is going on here?” the man demanded, filling the doorway with his six-foot, three-inch frame, and pinning Bridget with his piercing blue eyes.
“It...it was an accident,” she stuttered, suddenly feeling five and a half, going on six, instead of a mature thirty-one, going on thirty-two.
His gaze shifted to his son, who was now standing, feet planted apart, staring up at his father. “Max?”
“I ran into this lady on my bike, and I gotta go get it. She came to see you ‘bout a horse,” he said edging around his father. Bridget’s wobbly legs wouldn’t hold her up another minute. She sank to the commode as she listened to Max’s footsteps racing back down the hall. When the front door slammed shut, she looked up into stormy blue eyes under a furrowed wide brow.
“I can explain,” she said weakly. This was not how she planned to meet the man destined to sell a million bottles of men’s cologne in the next year. Not sitting on a toilet seat with her leg gashed in six places, her forehead pounding, one eye almost swollen shut. But now that he was standing only a few feet away, she was more convinced than ever that he was the one. On his horse he was a magnificent figure of a man. Off his horse, he was...he was everything she’d ever dreamed of. For her men’s cologne campaign, of course. Tough, handsome, rugged, sexy— Suddenly she felt faint. She leaned forward and put her head between her knees.
“What’s wrong?” Leaning forward too, Josh Gentry braced his hands on her shoulders and lifted her head to face him. He’d been so worried about Max he hadn’t noticed the woman’s eye was black-and-blue and almost completely closed. Not only that but one leg was gashed in several places.
“Good God, you’re hurt. Did Max do this?”
She shook her head, which didn’t make it feel any better.
“It was nobody’s fault. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Josh grabbed a clean towel from the shelf, doused it with soap and water and gently cleaned the dirt from her wounds. He’d done it many times for horses, and often for Max, but never for a woman with spectacular legs in linen shorts. It had been so long since he’d noticed a woman’s legs or anything at all about them, he felt slightly dazed himself, as if he was the one who’d been run down by a bicycle.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said, applying antiseptic cream and bandages, then helping her to her feet. “Where did you say it happened?”
She pointed in a general westerly direction. “On the dirt road, just outside your fence.”
He nodded, clamping his lips together to keep from exploding. Max was supposed to be at his grandparents’ ranch today, learning to groom horses. “Let’s get some ice for your eye,” he said grimly.
“I’m fine, really,” she protested, grabbing her camera case and binoculars before he walked her down the hall toward the kitchen, holding tightly to her arm in case she decided to bolt and then sue him later for negligence. She was gutsy, he’d give her that. She hadn’t even winced when he’d washed her wounds, and didn’t complain about her eye. On the other hand, she was a city woman no doubt, from her clothes and her manner, a tourist taking pictures, one who might walk out of here saying she was okay and then fall apart and have hysterics.
A vision of his late wife, Molly, drifted before his eyes. Calm, serene and capable in the face of emergency, be it a crop failure or an accident in the field or feeding twenty-five hungry men on a moment’s notice. If she were here, she’d have the woman wrapped in a quilt on the couch, treating her with an ice pack and some hot soup. The quintessential nurturer. So good at coping with emergencies he almost thought she went out looking for them. So busy taking care of everybody else, she didn’t seem to have time for him.
He forced those traitorous thoughts from his mind. Molly was a saint. Everyone said so. They said so even before she died from a deadly virus two years ago. Certainly his life had never been the same since. And never would be again. Just thinking of how his plans for the perfect life with the perfect wife had gone so wrong left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He reached into the freezer and grabbed a handful of ice cubes, put them in a plastic bag and pressed it against the woman’s eyelid, holding it tightly for her as she sat at his kitchen table.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said, taking the ice bag from him and laying it on the table instead of against her eye. She was lying. She was too pale to be fine, but her smile was more determined than sincere.
“I’m Bridget McCloud,” she said extending her hand. “McCloud Advertising.” Automatically he took her hand and was struck by her firm grip. A woman used to getting what she wanted, he guessed.
It didn’t take long to find out what she wanted. Him.
http://www.amazon.com/Wild-Mustang-Man-ebook/dp/B005FAT952/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1312149518&sr=1-1
Read an Excerpt from Almost Married
Chapter One
Laurie Clayton, meet your goddaughter.”
Laurie held out her arms and took from her friend Gretel the most adorable baby she’d ever seen. The baby’s little fingers tangled in Laurie’s hair and her sweet smell filled her with a bittersweet longing for a child of her own. “Oh, Gret, she’s sooo cute. A perfect angel.”
Gretel sighed. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard her crying all the way down to the airport. She’s teething and it’s been awful.” Laurie hugged the baby to her and Morgan gurgled happily. “She likes you,” Gretel said, then surveyed her friend carefully. “Still slim, gorgeous and single. How come? I thought you’d be the first to take the plunge and have a family. You like kids so much.”
“Yes, well, it’s still customary to get married first,” Laurie said ruefully. “Like you did. Like my sister did.”
Gretel nodded understanding. “You wait here with Morgan. I’ll get the car from the garage and bring it around.”
Laurie hardly noticed Gretel was gone, she was so entranced with this baby, this miracle of soft skin and round, chubby cheeks. The baby gave her a toothless smile and Laurie thought she’d landed in paradise instead of Buffalo, New York.
“I’ll let you get over your jet lag tonight,” Gretel promised as they headed out of town into the fertile farmland of upstate New York where Gretel and her husband raised apples, “but tomorrow I’m going to give you the royal tour, from the museum to the zoo and last but not least, Niagara Falls!”
“All in one day?”
Gretel laughed. “We’ve got five whole days before I join Steve in Seattle. Plenty of time to see everything and let you get to know Morgan. If you’re sure you’re still up for baby-sitting for two weeks.” Gretel shot an anxious glance at her best friend.
Laurie turned her head to smile at her goddaughter. “Of course I’m up for it,” she assured Gretel. “I can’t wait to have her all
to myself. You’re right, I’ve always liked kids. And I adore Morgan already. Her pictures don’t do her justice. You don’t have to entertain me. I’ll be happy to help out around the place. With Steve gone away to school, you must need help picking apples or something.”
“We’ve got a small staff who do the year-round stuff, spraying, grafting, but during harvest a whole crew comes in to work. By that time Steve will be back to oversee the whole thing.” She turned to smile at Laurie. “I’ve been waiting for you so we can relive those carefree days when we were young and foolish, when we flew from coast to coast, flight attendants without a care in the world except which restaurant to go to and which guy to go out with. We’ll put Morgan in the back seat with her teething ring and we’ll be off.”
Laurie noticed Morgan had nodded off and was sleeping peacefully in her car seat, her pale eyelashes dusting her fair skin, her cheeks the color of her pink dress.
“We’re in apple country now,” Gretel explained, waving her hand at the green fields dotted with heavily laden fruit trees, “one of New York state’s major crops.”
Laurie tore her eyes from the sleeping child to look out the window at the acres of trees, trying to pay attention to what Gretel was saying. Young and foolish. Laurie didn’t ever want to be young and foolish again, not foolish enough to fall in love with a married pilot and foolish enough to believe him when he said he loved her.
Gretel continued her lecture on the cultivation of apples until they arrived at a cobblestone house set on a rise above the orchard. Laurie stood in the living room of the vintage structure admiring the rustic furniture, the Native American blankets hanging on the wall and the huge old fireplace while Gretel rushed to answer the ringing telephone in the kitchen.
When Gretel reappeared with Morgan in her arms, her expression was anxious and her face a shade paler than before. “That was Steve,” she said. “He’s finished his agriculture course early and wants me to come right away.”
Laurie spread her arms out, palms up. “Well, why not? I’m here. You haven’t seen him in what, six weeks? You haven’t taken a vacation together since your honeymoon. I say go for it.”
Laurie hugged her daughter to her and sat down on the couch. “You’re right, I know you’re right. It’s just that—I’ve never even left Morgan overnight before. When you offered to stay with her I was—I am so grateful. But...” Gretel’s lower lip trembled as she buried her face in her daughter’s red curls.
Laurie watched the interplay between mother and daughter and her heart filled with sympathy and a touch of envy. If things had been different, if she’d been more sensible...
“It must sound silly to you,” Gretel went on, “but you’ll understand when you have a baby of your own.”
One of her own. Laurie felt a lump form in her throat. With her luck she had small hope of having one of her own, let alone finding a man to have a baby with. She nodded at Gretel. “I understand perfectly.”
“You’re a true friend,” Gretel said earnestly, “the best. Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’re offering, staying with a teething baby while I fly off to take a second honeymoon. If I weren’t such a worry-wart… Come on,” Gretel said, getting to her feet. “You must be tired. I’ll show you your room. I told Steve I’d sleep on it and let him know tomorrow.”
The guest room was furnished in the same style as the rest of the house, with a handmade quilt on the antique iron bed frame and a large oak armoire against the wall. After Gretel said good-night and took the baby with her down the hall, Laurie sat on the edge of the bed, her stocking feet resting on a handwoven braid rug, and tried to stifle the feelings of envy that threatened to engulf her. A charming old house, a husband and a baby. What more could anyone want?
She shook off her unbecoming feelings and got undressed. In bed, snuggled under a fluffy comforter, Laurie told herself now that she’d quit her job with the airline and forgotten about the handsome but married pilot who’d nearly broken her heart, she had her whole life ahead of her, that anything was possible, that all her dreams could come true. But the niggling questions remained: How, When, Where and Who?
The next day Gretel called Steve back and told him she couldn’t leave so soon and she and Laurie and Morgan headed off to see the sights. Morgan was tucked safely in her car seat, gnawing happily on her teething ring. It was Gretel who didn’t look happy. Not the next day nor the day after that. No matter how interesting the pictures in the art museum or how dazzling the view of Ontario from the Peace Bridge, she was racked with indecision about when to leave.
“So, Morgan,” Laurie said one afternoon as she held the little girl in her lap and fed her applesauce. “Shall we put your mother on the next plane for Seattle before she has a chance to change her mind?” Each day Laurie found herself growing more attached to her goddaughter, and Morgan was more willing to go to Laurie when her mother was tired or busy.
Gretel gave Laurie a wry smile. “How did you know what I was thinking?” she asked.
“Intuition,” Laurie answered. “I’ve known you a long time. Longer than Morgan here. And she and I agree that it’s time for you to cut the cord. Vamoose, skeedaddle, be on your way.”
Reluctantly Gretel met Laurie’s gaze. “But we haven’t seen the Falls yet. I’ve been saving it for last. And a friend of Steve’s was going to give us a personal tour. A gorgeous guy. I wanted you to meet him.”
“Morgan and I can see the Falls on our own. We don’t need a guide, no matter how gorgeous, do we, Morgan? After we drop you at the airport, we’ll go.” Laurie put Morgan in her high chair and reached for the phone. “I’ll make the reservation for you. You’re ready. You’ve been packed for days.”
Gretel listened to Laurie and watched her write down the flight information. She didn’t say yes and she didn’t say no. She did call Steve, though, and gave him her flight number. She didn’t change her mind, but she came close. She hugged Morgan and said goodbye a dozen times. At the airport she walked down the long tunnel to the plane with one very wistful backward glance at Laurie and her daughter. Laurie smiled confidently and even Morgan waved to her mother before the plane took off.
Laurie turned to Morgan in her arms just as the baby screwed up her face into a frown and began to scream.
Chapter Two
Once in her car seat, Morgan turned bright red and flailed her arms in anger and frustration. It could have been her teeth, but Laurie suspected she was witnessing separation anxiety the likes of which she’d never imagined. And Gretel had barely left!
Laurie gripped the steering wheel tightly and wondered what to do. She realized, belatedly, that she didn’t know anything about babies except that she wanted one. Would Morgan prefer to go home or would she rather see Niagara Falls the way her mother had planned before she took off? Morgan didn’t say. She just cried as if her heart were broken.
So Laurie decided on the Falls. Maybe Morgan needed a distraction. Laurie certainly did. With one hand on the steering wheel, she reached into the glove compartment with the other for the map. Gretel had marked the route and Laurie soon saw the signs for the tollway.
Laurie kept driving and Morgan kept crying until they reached the parking lot for the viewing area of Niagara Falls. The noise of the white water was thunderous, almost loud enough to drown out Morgan’s sobs. Laurie unbuckled the baby from her seat, shoved the car keys into her pocket and grabbed Morgan’s backpack and diaper bag, all the while keeping up a line of chatter designed to soothe the child. With Morgan on her back and the diaper bag over her arm, Laurie approached the fence and gasped at the sight.
The water cascaded to a two-hundred foot drop sending a mist back up into the air. It was stunning. It was breathtaking. But not to Morgan. Her wailing reached new heights. Other tourists stopped snapping pictures of each other and looked at the baby. A man at the edge of the crowd stared at them. Probably wondering what torture Laurie was inflicting on the poor child.
“Please, Morgan,” Laurie beg
ged under her breath. “Please don’t cry. Look at the Falls. Aren’t they beautiful?”
Laurie sank down onto a wooden bench, lifted Morgan out of the backpack and onto her lap. And Morgan continued to cry. Desperate, Laurie reached into her pocket, pulled out her car keys and rattled them in front of Morgan.
The baby stopped crying instantly, grabbed the keys out of Laurie’s hand and threw them over the fence and down into the depths of the turbulent Niagara River.
Laurie gasped, stood and looked with disbelief into the white water. “Morgan,” she breathed, “what have you done?” A better question was, what had Laurie done, handing her keys to a baby to play with?
Read the rest at:
http://www.amazon.com/Almost-Married-ebook/dp/B005DFDJ9Q/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1311193549&sr=1-1
MORE BOOKS BY CAROL GRACE
Return to Paradise
Rancher Parker Robinson was having one of those weeks. His cook quit and his daughter was trying her best to get expelled from boarding school. To top it off, he found a strange woman on his ranch who didn't know who she was! What he knew was that she was off limits. She could be another man's wife!
Christine couldn't remember her name or how she got to the ranch in the middle of Colorado. All she knew was that she'd landed in some kind of paradise where men were rugged and women were cherished. Somehow she had to find out who she was, where she came from and most important - was she free to love again?
http://www.amazon.com/Return-to-Paradise-ebook/dp/B004ZG8M3C/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1308684909&sr=1-3
Trouble in Paradise
