“…and I will beat you if you do!” she exclaimed indignantly. He laughed again and picked up the book that lay on the grass beside her, opening it curiously and then cocking a quizzical eyebrow at her.
“You’ve been out here for a good hour with that book open,” he accused. “I saw you when I came down for coffee, and you haven’t turned a page yet! You’re right where you were last night. What’ve you been doing out here, anyway?”
She looked away, to the house, and felt his unspoken concern. “I’ve been looking back.”
His voice was very quiet. “Good thoughts?”
“Oh, yes!” Her response was immediate and total, and she felt his relief. A welling of tenderness rose up inside of her at that. He still could be unsure. “I’ve been thinking of all that you’ve given me. You’ve made me so very happy. We have a good life here, David. But when I look back, I get such a strange feeling when I think of how we met and what we went through together. Peter still calls it our ‘mutual need’, but though I can see what you helped me with, I can’t really understand what I did for you. If I hadn’t experienced the flashback, you would have, sooner or later, and you would have got help.”
“Would I have?” he asked strangely. She faltered and looked at him uncertainly as he stared at a chittering bird in the tree. “Or wasn’t I more along the path of no return? As I recall, I was breaking myself with my rigidity. No, my love, the one essential thing that you gave to me and that you still give me every night with your sweet, warm body and your eager loving, and every day with your peaceful tranquility—the one thing that I drink from you constantly and always come away refreshed—is,” he turned his head and looked into her eyes, “redemption.” They stared at each other for a long moment, and it was a silent giving and taking, a mutual sharing and a mutual filling. The wind blew through the tree leaves above, and a few fell to the ground in a scattered, random pattern. Then he smiled at her, and the smile was a communication of continued love and affection and human desire. “Come, sweetheart. It’s time to go inside.”
And after he stood, he bent to pick up her slight form and deposit her in the chair that waited nearby, wheeling her into the house.
About the Author
Thea Harrison started writing when she was nineteen. In the 1980s and 1990s, she wrote for Harlequin Mills & Boon under the name Amanda Carpenter. The Amanda Carpenter romances have been published in over ten languages, and sold over a million and a half copies worldwide, and are now being reprinted digitally by Samhain Publishing for their Retro Romance line.
For more information, please visit her at: www.theaharrison.com. You can also find her on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/TheaHarrison and on Twitter at: @TheaHarrison.
Look for these titles by Amanda Carpenter
Now Available:
A Deeper Dimension
The Wall
A Damaged Trust
The Great Escape
Flashback
Writing as Thea Harrison
Novellas of the Elder Races
True Colors
Natural Evil
Devil’s Gate
Hunter’s Season
The Wicked
Coming Soon:
Rage
Waking Up
Rose-Coloured Love
Reckless
The Gift of Happiness
Caprice
Passage of the Night
Cry Wolf
A Solitary Heart
The Winter King
A girl on the run from her past meets the man determined to foil her great escape…
The Great Escape
© 2013 Amanda Carpenter
Fleeing her isolated, lonely existence, Dee has been on the run for close to a year. And everywhere she goes, Mike Carradine follows. A private investigator hired by her aunt and uncle to track her down, he is impossible to shake in their high-stakes game of cat and mouse.
And when the day comes that he finally catches her, Dee knows she can’t run again. This time, she’ll have to follow Mike as he leads her back to the life she tried so desperately to escape, and to the relatives who would do anything to gain control of her fortune.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Great Escape:
“Hi, kid,” Kim answered cheerily. “The big bad, nasty man is gone now. He said something about going to the local hospitals, so I’d say you’re safe for a little while. You didn’t wreck my car, did you?”
“Of course not,” Dee answered absently, thinking hard.
“Too bad, sugar. I could use the insurance money—who cares about the car, it’s a health hazard, anyway! Well, I need to run, a table has just been seated in my section. See you!”
Replacing the receiver, Dee wandered back to packing. She didn’t have much time before her cab would be here. Picking up her knapsack and stuffing her handbag inside, she went into the bathroom to get some personal items. Nobody could be sure of what Carridine would really do, and it was a gamble to assume that he had gone to the hospitals, but she had no choice. She couldn’t afford to waste any time, that was for sure.
A crunching of gravel sounded outside, and she froze. It couldn’t be! It had to be the cab coming early. She ran out to her bedroom window, and looked out—and nearly fell from shock. Mike Carridine was opening up the car door and getting out. How in the world did he know to come here? she asked herself frantically as she swept through the apartment, closing her suitcase and shoving it back into the closet. He would be inside any moment now—what should she do?
She sank slowly onto the couch, her hands idle and her face calm enough, though her thoughts were churning chaotically. There was nothing she could do but meet him. Mrs. Gordon would tell him that she was home, so there could be no pretence on that score. For the time being, she was neatly trapped.
She went into the kitchen to start some coffee. Soon the pungent smell was filling the tiny apartment and she stood indecisively in the minuscule cooking area, hands clasped nervously. No, there wasn’t any use in pretending to herself: she was very apprehensive about meeting the man who had been able to track her thus far. She had become used to thinking of him as the enemy, the pursuer, the stalker bent on his prey, and the imagery was now frightening to contemplate.
What would he be like? she asked herself. She couldn’t really remember anything about his personality, though his physical presence had impressed her, years ago. Would he be a thug? She wouldn’t put it past Judith to hire one, but no, that didn’t fit in with what she knew of him. One thing she could be sure of was that he wouldn’t be easy to fool.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairway, and she tensed. They were very deliberate and unhesitating. She had herself so keyed up that when the quick, hard knock sounded on her door, even though she had been expecting it, she jumped violently. This wouldn’t do, she scolded herself. If you aren’t feeling poised, then act it, stupid. With that tender admonition to herself, she took a quick look in the mirror at herself.
The last of the adolescent plumpness had disappeared in the past nine months, leaving her still small but more slim in tight jeans and a black sweater. Her blonde hair could use a comb, she saw fleetingly, but then it always could. Her vivid blue eyes were larger than ever in a naturally pale face. This impression was created by delicate bone structure and high thin cheekbones. There was a thinness about her face and body that had become apparent as she had matured. She had often thought she might have been a cat in a former life, for her entire body was built along a slim, streamlined grace that was reminiscent of a cat’s lithe fragility, or perhaps a greyhound’s raciness. The impression was not a mere illusion: she could run very swiftly and well, having a natural aptitude for speed.
She was not taking time to stand and contemplate all this, however, for that firm knock sounded again at her door, and she went to answer.
The door swung slowly open, and her eyes looked up to meet those of Mike Carridine. She received a slight jolt, for she hadn’t remembered th
e colour of his eyes and found herself looking into jewel-green eyes, arresting in the man’s brown face. He was large, with masculinely wide shoulders encased in a light spring jacket over a grey shirt that was casually open at the throat. He had on a pair of black slacks that looked to be well fitting and yet comfortable. His frame, she noticed, as she ran assessing eyes over him, was not as bulky as she remembered, but instead more on the slim side, though well muscled. Of course, she acknowledged fleetingly, she was remembering with the eyes of a child. His dark hair was ruffled from the March wind.
She finished her perusal and looked up, only then realising that he had been looking her over too. It was not a sexual look or crude: they both had been sizing each other up as opponents, assessingly and objectively. “Mr. Carridine,” she said quietly, holding out a slim hand. It seemed to startle him, for his eyebrows shot up as he took her proffered hand and shook it briefly. She felt the latent strength in his grip as he held her small hand carefully and then let go.
“Miss Janson. May I come in?” was his pleasantly smooth reply. She inclined her head and stepped back, and he paced into her living room. It seemed suddenly smaller than ever, and she felt restricted.
“I’ve made us coffee,” she offered politely. “Would you like a cup? But I was forgetting—you had coffee at Dandy’s, didn’t you?”
After a quick, cursory glance around at the cheerful atmosphere of the small room and the homey decorations on the walls, he had brought his gaze back to her and was watching her with a disturbing closeness. “Yes, but it was only one cup. Another would be nice, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she answered automatically. “Have a seat and I’ll pour us some.” She walked into the kitchen space, feeling a little better as the intervening wall hid her from his steady, alert gaze. She called out, “What do you take in yours?”
“Nothing, thank you.” That voice was really pleasant, she thought idly, spooning sugar and milk into her cup. The humour of the situation had her smiling wryly as she came back into the living room space with the two carefully balanced mugs. Her sparkling, amused eyes met his and she received another jolt, though she couldn’t explain why. “A good joke?” he enquired politely, taking the cup from her.
“I suppose so,” she murmured, then broke through her reserve and told him frankly. “Isn’t this a rich scene? I’ve done my best to shake you loose from my trail, and for nine months we’ve been in opposition with each other, and here we are, face to face for the first time, politely drinking coffee and acting civilised.”
“You see me as being your opponent, then?” he queried curiously, cocking an eyebrow while sipping from his cup. Dee was very aware of that green, keen gaze, and she dropped her eyes to his hands.
“Yes,” she replied shortly. “Opponents matching wits—yes, I’d say so.” She set her cup down without tasting it and studied her fingernails carefully. They needed attention, for they were getting a bit too long for comfort at work.
Tense silence. Then, “You were unsurprised when you answered the door just now,” he commented, and the comment was a question. He leaned back in the only chair in the room, stretching out his long legs. They reached nearly to where she sat, and she transferred her gaze to one shoe for a moment’s perusal before answering.
There was no reason to lie. “I was working today and saw you. But then you know that from talking to Kim, don’t you? She called me when you left the restaurant, but I wasn’t sure that you would be right here.” Her lips twisted. “I was gambling that you weren’t coming here right away.”
“Ah, yes,” he answered mildly. “The hospital gambit. It was a good try for a last minute effort, Deirdre. May I call you that? I’ve been looking for you so long, I feel I know you.”
Her head came around to his face and she found him smiling slightly. Her eyes narrowed at that. He looked complacent, well in control of the situation, in charge. In charge of her? Like hell, she thought grimly. It would be worth it to see his face when he found her gone, soon. It did not pay to become too complacent. The only problem was, she didn’t know how she was going to get out of this one. “Call me Dee,” she offered casually, widening her eyes and smiling at him, friendly.
That sharp green gaze flickered over her again. “And of course my first name is Mike. Your landlady told me you were sick. Is it really true or were you just being consistent with your story?”
“I’m not feeling well,” she said ruefully, “but I think it’s more from nerves than anything else. I’d begun to relax a bit, you see, and seeing you get out of your car this afternoon gave me a jolt.” When she had answered the door a few minutes ago, she had been very pale from apprehension. “Tell me, how did you know to check here? Kim surely didn’t let the cat out of the bag, did she? I thought she was a better liar than that.”
“It was an educated hunch. You see, I’d guessed from a very strange conversation that I overheard when—Kim, is it?—answered the restaurant’s phone. She jotted down a number and promised the party that she’d call back. I got a look at the number that she had put down and called from a pay phone, finding that it was a local time and temperature recording. Nothing conclusive,” he ended dryly, “but enough to make me wonder, and it couldn’t hurt to check here before checking the hospitals. I’m beginning to recognise your methods.”
She acknowledged that with a nod, her eyelids down to hide their expression. She was thinking rapidly, furiously, and for the first time since she had seen him getting out of his car, hopefully. Her knapsack and bag were in the bathroom, and there was a window. Could she pretend sickness or something, and get in there to try to get out? The problem was that it was a second story window and she had no idea if there was anything to climb down, or that she would even fit through the tiny square. It was, however, worth considering.
She needed a little time to think, so she sat back and looked at him directly, her blue eyes losing their friendly light. “So,” she said abruptly, “now what? Surely you had something in mind for this occasion?”
A quick turn of his head had him looking at her oddly. “I’m going to take you back home, of course,” he stated calmly. The confidence in his manner made her hackles rise, but she managed to hide her antipathy for the moment as she stared at him unblinkingly, eyes wide. His expression changed, became more gentle. “There are some very worried people back in Kentucky, Dee. They care about you and want you back home. Surely you can work things out, now that everyone’s had plenty of time to think?”
“Don’t make me laugh!” she snarled, and as quickly as her hostility had surfaced, it vanished, as she got a grim hold on herself. She had time to notice that his brows had shot down at her outburst, his eyes becoming sharper, stern. She continued hardly, “Do you happen to know the law in Ohio, Mr. Carridine?” She saw him register her deliberate use of his last name, felt him tense. “I don’t. In some states it’s against the law to try to force a minor over sixteen years of age to go back home. Don’t you think you’d better check up on that before you so blithely decide your course of action?”
“I don’t need to,” he said quietly, his eyes now as hard as hers, implacable, frightening. He really was the enemy, she thought, sickened. He was as much the enemy as all the others. “You see,” he said gently, the tone making her shudder, “you’re going to come with me, or I’m going to the newspapers and telling them your name, address, place of work and real identity. It’s one or the other, Deirdre. Your choice.”
“God!” she muttered, paling. Her eyes searched his and found him absolutely sincere, with no softening of resolve. He didn’t exactly look cruel, she had to admit. He was merely doing his job, no matter what. “Why? Why does it have to be that way? Why can’t I just go on with my life as it is here? Damn it, man, it’s my life, not yours or anybody else’s!”
“You should go back if for no other reason than your obligations,” he said sternly. “I was hired to find you. If you don’t wish to accompany me back, I can easily call your
aunt and uncle to fly out and make the trip back with you, if you’d like. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ve done my job.”
When a city slicker buys her family farm, country girl Sarah will do anything to get it back.
The Gentleman Farmer
© 2013 Lynn Patrick
When the wealthy, city-raised Colin Wyndham buys her family farm, Sarah McFarland is determined to get it back at any cost. Standing by while the inexperienced Colin makes mistake after mistake with the land, Sarah knows it is only a matter of time until Colin gives up and goes back to his fancy life.
Colin is determined to make his new life as a farmer a success. But when he finds out his pretty next-door neighbor is actively rooting for his failure, even going so far as to plot against him, he knows it’s time to teach that cute little country mouse a lesson she’ll never forget…
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Gentleman Farmer:
The familiar silhouettes of the McFarland barn and silos stood in sharp relief against the cold, clear February sky. The buildings had always been a landmark, an inviting beacon of sorts, when Sara McFarland had driven home to the family farm through the years.
But today would be different. Instead of pressing her foot down on the car’s accelerator to cover the last half mile of rock road, instead of hurrying toward the warmth of home, Sara found herself intentionally letting the car slow. As she caught sight of the long driveway that led to the farmhouse and the barn and buildings beyond, she noted the large number of pickups and cars parked on either side of the private entryway.
Sara glanced at her watch. Surely the auction must be over by now. She’d come late today on purpose in order to miss most of the event, having no desire to see her family’s land and possessions pass into some interloper’s hands. She wouldn’t have come at all if her parents, George and Alice McFarland, hadn’t expressly requested her presence. They needed her.
Flashback Page 16
