by Janet Dailey
REUNITED
“Nothing’s happened.” She looked into his face, felt a clamping sensation around her heart, then looked away. “A kiss. We’re two adults. There’s no reason to make a big deal out of such a little thing.”
“We’re not just any two adults, Jane. We were in love.”
“When we were seventeen to twenty-two. Practically children. People that age fall in and out of love all the time, Roy. They—”
“You didn’t,” he said. “I didn’t,” he added, pulling her to him.
It would be so easy to throw herself into his arms, to lose herself there. Instead, she planted her hands against his chest. “But we drifted apart for a reason.”
“What was the reason?”
Before she could answer, he bent down and nuzzled her ear. A gasp escaped her lips, and her mind blanked for a moment before rational thought broke the surface again. “We went our separate ways,” she said.
“And now our paths have crossed again,” he murmured before brushing his lips against hers.
Once their mouths touched, pulling apart was impossible . . .
Books by Janet Dailey
LET’S BE JOLLY
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
MAYBE THIS CHRISTMAS
SCROOGE WORE SPURS
EVE’S CHRISTMAS
SEARCHING FOR SANTA
MISTLETOE AND MOLLY
AMERICAN DREAMS
AMERICAN DESTINY
SANTA IN A STETSON
MASQUERADE
TANGLED VINES
ALWAYS WITH LOVE
BECAUSE OF YOU
CAN’T SAY GOODBYE
DANCE WITH ME
EVERYTHING
FOREVER
HEIRESS
RIVALS
SOMETHING MORE
TO SANTA WITH LOVE
BANNON BROTHERS: TRUST
BANNON BROTHERS: HONOR
A COWBOY UNDER MY CHRISTMAS TREE
From the Calder Series
SANTA IN MONTANA
CALDER STORM
LONE CALDER STAR
CALDER PROMISE
SHIFTING CALDER WIND
GREEN CALDER GRASS
Books by Cathy Lamb
JULIA’S CHOCOLATES
THE LAST TIME I WAS ME
HENRY’S SISTERS
SUCH A PRETTY FACE
THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE
A DIFFERENT KIND OF NORMAL
IF YOU COULD SEE WHAT I SEE
Books by Mary Carter
SHE’LL TAKE IT
ACCIDENTALLY ENGAGED
SUNNYSIDE BLUES
MY SISTER’S VOICE
THE PUB ACROSS THE POND
THE THINGS I DO FOR YOU
THREE MONTHS IN FLORENCE
Books by Elizabeth Bass
MISS YOU MOST OF ALL
WHEREVER GRACE IS NEEDED
THE WAY BACK TO HAPPINESS
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
You’re Still The One
JANET DAILEY
Cathy Lamb • Mary Carter
Elizabeth Bass
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
REUNITED
Also by
Title Page
THE APPLE ORCHARD
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
A KISS BEFORE MIDNIGHT
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
ROMEO & JULIET . . . AND JANE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
THE DEVIL AND MR. CHOCOLATE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Copyright Page
THE APPLE ORCHARD
Cathy Lamb
Prologue
For most of my childhood I was poor.
I spent years living in a dismal trailer next to an apple orchard. I have spent years trying to forget those years.
My mother died the day after we made an apple pie.
I left home at sixteen.
I fell in love with a man I met at a waterfall. Something very sad happened.
We broke up. I have never stopped missing him.
I bought used clothing until I was twenty-two.
After college I worked for a high-end retail corporation. My fancy outfits helped me to hide my past from myself. I ended up vice president.
I saved money. When you grow up poor, you fight hard to leave poverty far behind.
I was fired when I told my boss off. She threw her Manolo Blahniks at me.
My dad died an hour after I was fired. We hadn’t spoken in years because he was both scary and abusive. He left me an apple orchard.
It’s hurtful that he chose to leave me apples.
I am using an urn, filled with his ashes, as a doorstop.
My name is Allie Pelletier and that’s the summation of my life.
Chapter One
“The doctor will be with you in about ten minutes.”
“Thank you.” I smiled through gritted teeth, blood gushing down my leg.
The nurse, over six feet tall with curly gray hair, pressed a cloth to my wound, peering at it through his black-rimmed glasses. “You’ve got Dr. Rios. He recently moved here from New York. Excellent doctor. We were lucky to get him. You’re traumatized? He’ll untraumatize you—that’s what we say here in Portland’s greatest emergency room.”
The nurse, whose name was Kevin, did not notice the blood instantly draining from my face, as he was busy tending to the blood draining from my thigh.
I swayed on the bed, gripped the handles, and took a deep breath. “It’s not . . .” I struggled to breathe, the pain from my gaping gash suddenly gone, lost in my sheer panic. “It’s not Jace Rios?”
“Yep, you got it. The one and the same. Not surprised you’ve heard of him. He has an amazing reputation. He’s been featured in newspapers and medical journals. He’s written articles and done extensive research on best medical practices for all sorts of life-threatening events. You bust it up, he’ll fix you up. You’re busted up, Miss Pelletier, and he’s gonna fix you up.”
I swayed again.
Kevin stood, winked at me, then noticed my rapidly declining state. “You’re not looking too good. Here, how about you lie down for me, close your eyes, think about being on an island with a pretty drink . . .”
I flopped straight back on the bed, the room spinning, as he took my pulse.
“Your pulse is higher than it was . . . blood pressure is, too,” he
mused, a bit confused. “Okay, Miss Pelletier, I want you to take some deep, calming breaths. You’ll be sewn up like a quilt in no time, by the master quilter himself . . .”
A man’s face, Jace’s face, floated in front of my eyes. Straight, thick black hair, longer in the back—not long, exactly, but enough to run my fingers through. Dark eyes, high cheekbones. He had a face that was tough, a don’t-mess-with-me kind of face, lined from hours of being outside and from a chaotic childhood.
He had a face you wouldn’t want to meet up with in a dark, back alley, but once you knew him, knew his kindness, his openness, you knew his innate goodness. If he was in a dark, back alley, it was because he was administering medical care.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it! You’re going to have to be more careful around horses in future,” Kevin said, chuckling. “Ya gotta get out of their way when those hooves come up and kickin’ . . .”
It had been a horrible summer. Everything, all at once. I was fired from my job after telling my boss exactly what I thought of her, my rougher upbringing coming out in my language. After she threw her Manolo Blahniks at me, I picked them up, waved good-bye, sold them online, and donated the money to a kids’ hospital in her name.
Then I received that phone call which, surprisingly, knocked me over. I decided to sell my condo because I didn’t like it anymore anyhow. I moved. And, once again, I was dealing with the bitter loss and raging anger that I had stomped down hard over the years. Now this.
Jace.
I had to get out of the hospital. This was not going to work. I struggled up, feeling nauseous.
“No, now don’t try to get up, Miss Pelletier. You’re pale as a flying ghost. Here, let me take some of that hay out of your hair. What’s this? You have a couple of branches in there, too. Ah well, all that brown hair ya got, things are bound to get lost in there. I’ll get a cloth for the dirt on your face; you’ll be feeling better in a one, two, three . . .”
I have to get away from Jace.
“You know,” Kevin said, almost to himself, “I’m going to see if I can get Dr. Rios in here pronto. Your eyes seem a bit vague and unfocused. You’re not cooperating real well, either.”
“I’m fine, quite fine. In fact, I think I’ll bandage this up myself.” I pulled on the collar of my light green hospital gown, open at the back. Gall. If I stood up, my white butt would be hanging out the back. And my underwear. Oh, groan. I’d worn my old beige grandma pair. I think there was a rip on the side . . .
The nurse chuckled. “No, ma’am. You are not going to be able to bandage this up on your own.”
“I’ll duct tape and staple it then.” I envisioned myself sneaking around hospital corners and furtively limping down the hallways. I would drive to another hospital. I could not see Jace now. I could not see Jace at all.
“Duct tape and staples, ha! Hang on now, I’ll let the good Dr. Rios know we’re ready. Don’t you wiggle on out! Promise me you’ll stay right here? No hopping up on the saddle, if you know what I mean, and galloping back into the country.” His eyes twinkled. “I can’t leave till you give me your word.”
“Sure will. I’ll stay.” I sure as hell would not. The nurse left and as soon as he was gone, I sat up and swung my legs over the bed, the paper crackling beneath my butt and my grandma underwear.
“Holy hell,” I muttered. My head felt fuzzy. My thigh sent up lightning flames of pain. I felt ill with panic and the desire to escape. I lay back down. “Slower, Allie. Take it slow and easy.”
I thought of Jace again, smiling, friendly, his hand in mine, pulling me closer to him, both of us in bathing suits in the lake, his leg between mine . . . then the tears that followed the disaster. That wretched disaster. He didn’t even know about it. I hadn’t told him. The first disaster had led to the second disaster, so nothing needed to be told.
I heard that other voice in my head, the harsh words, the accusation. My fault, my fault, all my fault.
I yanked myself up again, gripping the silver bed rails with both hands, and tried to breathe right. Across the room was a mirror. I gaped at it, my mouth dropping open. “That cannot be me. It cannot.”
My brown hair, about the color of dark chocolate, was a mess. It had fallen halfway out of the ponytail I’d pulled it into for the usual morning chores on the farm, which I was terrible at. I had hay sticking out in several places. No makeup, of course, and dirt on both cheeks. I had bags under my golden-ish eyes because I was regularly up until two in the morning, often striding through the apple trees my dad left me, hoping to walk myself into exhaustion.
I was too thin. Not because I wanted to be, but because food doesn’t taste good when you’re spiraling into one of life’s pits.
I groaned at my gross face, hopped to the floor on one foot, wobbled, then shakily pulled off the light green hospital gown. I pulled on my jeans, ignoring the blood still zipping down my leg. The duct tape and stapler thing wasn’t going to work. I shoved my feet back into my knee-high black farm boots.
I scrambled into my red push-up bra and oversized plaid shirt. The top button was missing. Too much cleavage showed, but I had not dressed to go to the hospital and see him; I had dressed to feed horses, chickens, dogs, and cats, none of whom cared about cleavage. I would have worn one of my exercise bras, but both were in the wash. Hence, red lace push-up and a farm shirt.
I took my first step, which was unbalanced. Then I took my second one. More wobble, more pain, screeching pain. I winced, clenching my teeth. Go, Allie, Go! Start sneaking around those corridors!
At the third wobbly movement the curtain opened and there he was.
Yes, Jace Rios.
All six-foot-four inches of muscle. Shoulders like a truck. He still had that head of thick black hair, courtesy of a Mexican grandfather. He wore the white coat well. I felt tears burning my eyes. Yes, he looked good in that white coat. He had become who he was destined to become, who he dreamed of becoming.
Jace Rios. Extraordinary doctor.
His head was down, studying my chart, and I saw him freeze for a second.
I knew he’d seen my name.
His head snapped up. He still had that intense, dark gaze—a man who really looked at you, who was truly interested in what you said and didn’t say. A man who was interested in who you are, way down deep—not the shallow stuff we show the world, but who we are when all the layers are pulled back and only raw honesty is left. I tried to get air in, couldn’t, and squeaked out, with all that I had left, “Hi, Jace. Good to see you again.”
Then I passed out.
Chapter Two
“Breathe in, Allie,” Jace said, holding an oxygen mask over my face.
That voice. That low, gravelly voice I had heard in my head every day for years. The pain came rolling on in, crashing against my insides. It was not pain from my leg.
It was pain from a long time ago; it should have been long gone. Tears filled my eyes, so for long seconds I left them closed, blocking out that face I knew so well, until I could gather my strength enough to open them.
When I did, I saw Jace and nurses, including Kevin, hovering around me.
“And hello again to our horse-loving friend who tried to escape the hospital,” Kevin said, clucking his tongue in admonishment. “I told you not to gallop off!”
Jace’s eyes were on mine and I could not look away.
I bet he thought the hay in my hair was attractive. Probably liked the circles under my eyes, too. I might well smell like a horse or a dog or both—a hordog. Why could I not have seen Jace again while wearing something silky and sweet, not bleeding and dirt covered?
“How are you feeling, Allie?”
I nodded, then took off the oxygen mask. His hand closed over mine over the mask, his fingers warm.
“I’m just dandy.”
I saw his eyes crinkle in the corners.
Sarcasm is my specialty. I used it to get through my childhood.
“Dandy, huh?”
he said. “That’s why you passed out?”
“Yes. It was a swoon. Not a pass-out.”
The nurses laughed. I saw Jace’s mouth, that mouth I’d kissed a thousand times, turn upward the slightest bit. The smile, however, did not match the seriousness I saw in his expression. He knew why I had tried to leave.
“She swooned gracefully,” Kevin said. “There was definitely some elegance there.”
Jace seemed older, more experienced, the lines on his face more finely drawn. But—ah, shoot—sexier than ever. “Thank you, Kevin.”
“You’d call that a swoon?” Jace asked. “Didn’t look like much fun. You went white and then crumpled. I caught you before you crashed to the floor. Now you get to have your leg sewn up. More fun. A horse kicked you?”
I needed to mask what I was feeling, darn quick. Humor might work. I’d be humiliated if he knew what I was thinking, how crushed I felt looking at him. “She’s in menopause.”
“I’m sorry?” Jace said.
“I think she’s in menopause.”
“The horse is in menopause?”
I nodded. The nurses laughed.
“Spunky Joy appears to be having some emotional mood swings. She doesn’t like male horses.” I wondered if he was married. He didn’t have a wedding ring on, but that didn’t mean anything. Emergency room doctors who perform surgeries wouldn’t wear rings.
“No male horses?” Jace asked.
“No. She’s off men. She wants them to stay away.” I wondered if he had kids.
Something flickered in his eyes and I knew he was relating that statement to us. I wanted to tie my tongue into a knot.
“Her horse boyfriend, Leroy, entered the barn, and Spunky Joy backed right into me, then kicked. I figure she is either madly in love with Leroy or they’ve had a bit of a spat.” I bet Jace loved his wife and kids dearly. He had always wanted a family; he had been clear on that. He would be an outstanding dad. I wanted to pull that silly hospital blanket over my head and sob my brains out.
