The hospital doors slid open to admit Rick, Tara and their kids—to prove her prediction correct. They walked down the hall to Robin’s room and discovered Tom had beat them all. He was still in uniform, but was sitting in a chair with both Boo and Lindy in his lap. Chad was perched on the edge of Robin’s bed. Robin looked tired, but radiant.
Meg’s mother and father went to hug the two. Bret helped her grandmother to the only other empty chair next to Robin’s bed. Meg found a spot against the wall and collapsed against it, reminded of her long summer without her family and so glad she was finally home again.
Rick and Tara found their own standing spots, while the kids made their way to Tom.
“Did you ask her?” Tara whispered to Bret.
“Does the whole darn family know he was going to propose?” Meg asked, straightening from the wall.
“You were gone for two months. What else did you expect us to talk about?” Tom asked.
Bret wrapped an arm around her. “Honey, you have no idea. Everybody got in on my surprise.”
Boo slipped from Tom’s lap, walked to their side, and pulled on Bret’s leg until he bent eye level with her. She leaned near Bret’s ear. “Told ya the pumpkin magic would work.”
“Yes, you did. Thank you.” Bret kissed her cheek. Boo flushed and rushed back to Tom’s lap.
Meg looked from Bret to Boo. “I don’t think I understand.”
The entire family laughed.
“Honey, let’s just say I’m proud to belong to this family and leave it at that.” Bret winked at Olivia.
Jean Garcia came in the room, wheeling the baby in a small crib. “I had to be the one to bring him to you. Congratulations everyone!”
She slipped her arms under the tidy little bundle and handed the baby to Chad.
Chad paled, undone. “Wow! He’s so small.” The girls slipped off Tom’s lap, and Chad knelt to let them look. With gentle fingers, each girl touched the little boy.
“He’s so soft,” Lindy whispered.
“Yeah, and he looks funny. All wrinkly,” Boo added.
He squirmed and Chad rose, handing him off to Robin, who pulled him close and kissed his head. “Surprised us all, you little squirt.”
Chad turned to everyone. “We’re glad you’re all here. We want you all to meet Benjamin William Applegate.”
Boo clutched Lindy’s hand. “We picked out the Benjamin because it matches Bonnie and Belinda.”
Tom hugged them close.
“And the William is because I have Dad’s name and wanted him to have it, too.” Chad explained, looking at his father.
Bill clasped his son on the shoulder and bent to look at the baby. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Thanks, son.” He leaned to kiss Robin’s cheek.
Olivia went to the side of the bed to see the baby. “Good name.” She reached for Chad and Robin’s hands.
Everyone took turns going to the bed to look at the baby, now asleep nestled in Robin’s arms. When everyone settled again, Bret shifted away from her and reached into his pocket and handed Meg another card.
“I forgot to give you this.”
She looked at the inscription and read it out loud.
“How do I love thee. Let me count the ways. My love is wider than this pumpkin field and stronger than the pumpkin magic. Thank you for loving me. Bret.”
Meg folded herself into his arms, sniffing. She’d have to start a scrapbook. Who knew the man was such a romantic.
“Are you all right?” Bret whispered in her ear. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Happy tears, Cara. Happy tears.”
She lifted her head and kissed him, forever not a fantasy anymore.
~~EPILOGUE~~
Valentine’s Day Sweetheart Dance
“Officer Cara?”
Bret turned from the punch bowl and saw Glory and Lisa next to him.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Applegate wants you to meet her out back.”
Bret frowned. Meg had left only moments ago to visit the restroom. “Out back?”
Lisa shrugged to indicate she didn’t know and the two girls disappeared.
It was fifteen minutes to midnight, almost time for the Sweetheart Dance. He’d been waiting for this night for months and he didn’t want to miss it. He wound his way through the crowd, down the hallway past the bathrooms, remembering last year and the horrible trick played on her. He opened the back door and saw Meg standing on the concrete sidewalk outside the door. It was a clear night, but colder than the weatherman had anticipated.
“It’s almost time for the Sweetheart Dance, honey. I don’t want to miss it.”
Meg smiled and the expression in her eyes made his heart melt. .
“I know. We won’t. But the stars are beautiful tonight. I wanted you to see. It was a beautiful night like this last year when I kissed you on my front porch.”
He looked up at the stars. “I don’t remember the stars. I remember how hot your mouth was, how much I’d been wanting to kiss you. I couldn’t believe you kissed me first.”
Meg gave a throaty laugh that only fired his blood.
He walked to her and pulled her back against him, ignoring the night sky in favor of her beautiful face. “You’re my everything.”
“Keep talking pretty, officer, and I might let you take me home.”
Bret laughed. “Not until you dance with me, woman. Let’s go inside.”
She took his hand and he led her back into the building. The minute they were inside, they heard the emcee announcing the Sweetheart Dance. They hurried to get to the dance floor and claim their space.
“It’s time for the last dance, our community’s traditional Sweetheart Dance. Find your sweetheart and share the last dance and a kiss from your sweetie.” Harv Kramer’s deep voice rivaled James Earl Jones.
Bret pulled her into his arms, and even though the band was between songs, he held her flush against him and swayed.
“I like your music, mister.”
He bent to kiss her neck. “I love you. You wanna get married?”
Meg laughed, putting a finger to her lip and pondering that for a moment. “Hmm...think we’re already doing that on April fourteenth.”
“Ah. Good.” He turned her in a tight swirl, holding her closer.
Harv was back at the microphone. “We had a special request for our Sweetheart Dance this year and a dedication.”
“Meg Applegate requested ‘I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing’ to be played and dedicated to her fiancé, Bret Cara,” Harv announced. “They are getting married on April fourteenth of this year.”
Bret gasped; his mouth fell open.
She bit her lip and swallowed. “This was the first song we danced to.”
“I remember.” The huskiness in his throat told her volumes about how much this meant to him.
“I thought this song would be appropriate for our first Sweetheart Dance.”
He nodded in agreement and dropped his forehead to hers. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. So much. Always have. Always will,” she whispered. “Our future starts right now and I don’t want to miss a thing.”
He agreed by dipping her to the floor and kissing her in front of God, her family, and all of Echo Falls.
EXCERPT
Tom’s mouth dropped open.
His reaction was unexpected, yet hoped for. Jonathan’s mother had outdone herself and Summer wanted to twirl and preen in the face of Tom’s stunned appreciation. She’d seen him look at other people with his impassive cop face. She’d seen him look at Boo and Lindy with family-tied affection. He’d looked at her with disgust in his eyes, but the way he was staring at her now soared her pulse and her expectations.
She started down the steps, feeling wonderfully alive and hopeful.
At the bottom of the stairs, Tom reached out his hand.
The gesture requested permission to touch while demanding she acknowledge the powerful moment of attraction.
<
br /> She met the demand by lacing her fingers with his. He brought his other hand up to cup her face. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.
Jonathan had disappeared with the paintings. She was grateful for the moment alone, where only they could share the arc of intimate awareness.
She stumbled over a thank you and blushed.
Tom’s smile turned to a grin. “You know how to wreck a guy, lady.”
“I try,” she whispered back.
DEDICATION
To my friend and writing partner, Kelly McCrady. I am continually humbled by your support and encouragement.
Every writer should have a Kelly.
CHAPTER ONE
Summer LeFey looked out over the lush garden visible from her work studio. Mild San Francisco summer weather had made the greenery and the flowers explode. The colors rioted through the garden—yellows, reds, and oranges. Lush green ivy vines stretched across the ground and up the trellises and trees. The wild ambience prompted memories of her grandmother—way back when Summer had lived in Echo Falls, Texas.
A blank canvas beckoned on an easel in front of her. Every hue and shade of the rainbow whispered from her side table. The smell of turpentine and paint thrilled her nostrils. The paintbrush gripped in her hand sent an anticipatory hum through her senses. And yet, here she loitered, playing with the colors on her palette. Mixing and discarding. Mixing and discarding. Mixing and discarding.
The painting she’d attempted yesterday sat turned against the wall, ready for the trash. Uninspiring. Overdone.She’s lost her God-given talent.That’s what the art critics would say.
The yellow calico cat sat at her feet and gave a yowl. “I know Suzy. They suck.” She reached to pet the criticizing cat. Acid churned in the back of her throat. She reached for an antacid, crunching the tablet to chalky dust before swallowing. Probably should have eaten something other than M&M’s and coffee, but stress had reduced her appetite to almost non-existent. She had an art show in three months in New Mexico and not one painting finished.
“If you don’t quit throwing them in the trash, you’ll never get anywhere.”
Summer looked up from her paint doodling. Jonathan Freeman, her best friend and manager, leaned against the doorway. His salt and pepper hair, lean body, and striking face still made her itch to draw him, which she had countless times over the years of their friendship. Ten years ago, as a poor college student, she’d painted on the pier and hawked the finished product to pay the bills. He’d leaned over her shoulder one day to critique, and he’d ended up with a wet painted canvas over his head. He’d been her only family ever since.
“They aren’t any good.” She pushed away the emotion, but it was there in the waver of her voice. He bent and turned one away from the wall to study the work.
Summer’s fingers cramped where she squeezed the paintbrush.
He moved to the next painting. “Hmm. Experimenting with a new style?”
She rubbed her lips together, debating. She blew out a resigned sigh. “Trying to reconnect with the old one would be more helpful.”
His eyebrows rose, and he let the last canvas fall back against the wall. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he went to the corner where she kept coffee and drinks in the small refrigerator. He poured himself his usual diet cola. He sipped the Coke for a long moment, then walked to the cat and bent to pet her. Suzy arched her back and purred. Finally, she put her tail in the air and walked away from her lord and master, jumping on the perch near the window.
His attention finally on her, Summer squirmed on her stool.
Yet he stalled a moment longer, gazing at her. Finally, he asked the questions she’d been dreading. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She hedged. “About?”
He grimaced. Irritation enhanced the lines at the bridge of his nose. “You’re blocked.”
“It’s temporary.”
He stood his ground. “How temporary? How long?”
She bit her lip, not wanting to state anything verbally. She’d avoided that jinx for months. But Jonathan wouldn’t be put off. He took a step toward her. The expression on his face guilted her into talking. Considering how much of his time, his contacts, and his fortune he’d risked for her career, she couldn’t justify not telling him the truth. Heck, she lived in his mansion because she refused to buy a house of her own. Wasn’t that reason enough?
She took a deep breath. “Six months. Maybe a tad longer.”
He choked on a sip of his Coke and swallowed hard. “Six…months? You don’t think you could have said something before now?”
She dropped the paintbrush onto the paint palette and went to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. Taking a long sip, she mulled over the entire problem. “I thought it would go away. I thought it was from spending so much time traveling instead of painting. Obviously, it’s a little more severe than I thought.”
He took a moment to reflect. “Just one more thing to add to the list of problems this morning.”
She took another swallow. “Meaning?”
“Three of your paintings at a gallery in Miami have been verified to be imitations. They are so damn close to yours, they could have been painted by a clone.”
She rose off her stool and gaped at him. “What? What?” She floundered for another response.
“You heard me. That’s all I know at the moment. I have a private investigator on the way to Miami.”
“Were any fakes sold?” She sank back onto her stool. “Please tell me no. This is my reputation!”
He took his time answering which made her gut seize. “Not sure,” he growled.
“Great.” Anger rolled into frustration from her lack of painting. She took a deep breath and deliberately forced herself to relax. “Who would do such a thing? And why?”
Jonathan laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure this out. You need to paint. Get the goods ready for your next show.”
Summer snorted. “Can’t. Trying. But nothing’s working.”
“Could it more likely have to do with the message that’s on your desk? The one you got two days ago marked urgent? Aren’t you wondering?”
Fury blindsided her, and she picked up her paintbrush and tossed it with considerable force onto her worktable. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
His gaze drilled her. “Of course you don’t. You never do. It’s time,cher.”
“That has nothing to do with my painting.”
“Really? From where I’m standing, that’s the crux of the problem. I told you ages ago that holding onto a senseless grudge would come back and bite you.”
A growling protest erupted from the back of her throat, Jonathan’s words burning.
He held up a hand before she could interrupt. “Don’t,” he said. “I watched this thing between you and your grandfather for a long damn time and kept my mouth shut. You’ve explained what happened between the two of you, why you’re so adamant about not seeing him. You talk to the nursing home staff, you send him money, but you don’t go see him and clear the air. Why is that?”
She wrapped her arms around herself and turned back to the window.
The explanation dammed up in the back of her throat.
Always and forever trapped there.
She’d adored her grandmother. She’d worshiped her grandfather. Until her grandmother died and her grandfather had become a stranger, lost in the depths of his grief. Her grandparents were her world, important to her as nothing else was after losing her parents. Without her grandmother, the fights had begun with him over her art—her vocation, her heart. He insisted she stop painting and be sensible.
He’d made her choose.
Turn away from her gift or turn away from him. The silence stretched. “I can’t talk about it,” she whispered. After all these years, it ought to be possible, but every time she thought about giving in, pain closed her throat, hemmed her in, killing her slowly like roasting meat on a spit. He ha
dn’t believed.
“You have to. Tom Applegate has never called here unnecessarily, has he?”
She reluctantly shook her head. Tom Applegate.
She’d talked to him a handful of times over the years and had a caustic quarrel with him six months ago about visiting. The subject had never been mentioned again. Her most vivid memory still plagued her—eighth grade, hours sitting in the bleachers, sketch pad on her knees, drawing him up to bat in high school baseball. She’d shyly given it to him. It had been the first time she’d let anyone see her drawings except her grandparents. His polite smile and easy dismissal still flayed her. She jerked from her chair. “No. I haven’t called him yet.”
“Summer, your grandfather isn’t getting any younger, and he’s been sick. You know this.”
She turned to him. “What are you saying?”
“You should call. Now. Quit putting it off.”
“I…”
“No. You do it. Or I will.” Jonathan’s easygoing demeanor had fallen away, replaced by a determined, irritated male.
Summer straightened. Everything inside her rebelled at the direction. She turned back to the garden again, forcing herself past a childish reaction, forcing herself to think. He rarely ordered her around, and while he was vocal with his opinion, he always respected hers. Truth be told, she’d been carrying around the angst and the misery over the situation for ten years and was so very tired of blocking the thoughts, of justifying walking away. “Okay. I’ll call.”
“Thank you. Because it’s all connected, you know?” He gave her a half-smile filled with concern.
“All connected?”
“Your artistic block and your grandfather and your life as a whole.” He crossed the room and turned her toward him. “It’s time, Summer. Time to go home and put this behind you. Maybe then you can paint.”
She shook her head. “It’s the pace I’ve been living, the lifestyle, not painting for too long.”
Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set Page 42
