Too Close to Home

by Alison Stone

  Kathryn’s face grew warm with the intimacy of his suggestion. Playfully, she pushed on his broad chest. “Um, don’t you think you’re rushing things?”

  Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Rushing? I believe we’ve wasted ten years.”

  About the Author

  Growing up, Alison Stone never imagined becoming a writer. She enjoyed math and science and ultimately earned a degree in engineering. Go Yellow Jackets!

  After the birth of her second child, Alison left Corporate America for full-time motherhood. She credits an advertisement for writing children’s books for sparking her interest in writing. She never did complete a children’s book, but she did have success writing articles for local publications.

  Finally, Alison got up the nerve to try her hand at full-length fiction. After completing a handful of manuscripts, she sold her first book to Samhain Publishing in 2011, followed a few weeks later by a second sale.

  Now, Alison has the best of both worlds. From her home office in Western New York, she writes fast-paced romantic suspense while her four children are in school. It never fails to amaze her how soon the afternoon bus arrives.

  Alison loves to connect with her readers. Visit her at her website, www.AlisonStone.com, or meet up with Alison on Twitter, www.twitter.com/Alison_Stone, or Facebook, www.facebook.com/AlisonStoneAuthor, or write to her at Alison@AlisonStone.com.

  Look for these titles by Alison Stone

  Now Available:

  Random Acts

  Second chances can have a terrible sense of timing.

  Random Acts

  © 2012 Alison Stone

  As a child, watching her mother always pick the wrong man left Danielle Carson wary of opening her heart to anyone—except Patrick Kingsley. But circumstances came between them and left Danielle with a broken heart. Now she buries the pain of what might have been by channeling all her energy into her career. When a family crisis brings her back to her hometown, she is forced to face the past—and the disturbing fact that her sister’s car accident was staged to mask a brutal beating.

  A police officer and widower, Patrick guards his heart as fiercely as he guards his beloved daughter. Seeing Danielle again unexpectedly reignites their old flame, but no way will he introduce a woman into his daughter’s life. Certainly not one whose values on faith and family are so different from his own.

  Despite their best intentions, they are drawn together—until Danielle learns Patrick had a hand in putting her sister in harm’s way. Her fragile trust is crushed, but Patrick is the only man who can help her stop the villain before everything they both love is destroyed. Faith, family…and their second chance at forever.

  Warning: This title contains a shadowy criminal, dark family secrets, meddling family, and a heroine who’s determined to show her old crush that she’s moved on. Or has she?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Random Acts:

  “Oh, Jenny,” she whispered, a question in her lament. “What happened?” Danielle wished her sister’s bright, blue eyes would snap open and she’d reply with some witty comeback like, “I played chicken with a tree, and the tree won.”

  A creak sounded behind Danielle so she swiped a hand across her wet cheek. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, even though she knew the nurse would understand. Drawing in a breath, she turned on her heel and her heart stopped. Instead of finding a nurse in scrubs, she found Officer Patrick Kingsley standing in the doorway, dressed in a white uniform shirt and black pants, hat in hand, a solemn expression on his face.

  “Glad you made it.” He tossed his hat on the seat near the end of the bed and took a step toward her. Her body stiffened at his proximity.

  “She’s my sister.” Her traitorous heart fluttered. She hadn’t seen Patrick in fifteen years. Hadn’t heard his voice until a few hours ago when he had called with news of the accident. In her hazy state of mind, it had taken her a few moments to understand why the person who had crushed her teenage heart all those years ago was calling in the middle of the night. What she had thought was a warped dream had quickly become a real-life nightmare.

  “Any change?” Patrick seemed to be studying her face. She was sure her neck and cheeks were beet red by now. Was he, like her, amazed how time had a way of transforming a person’s features? He appeared the same, yet different somehow. As if not only time but life’s journey had subtly changed nuances of his features. The room suddenly felt smaller. A warmth flowed through her body. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the pulse leaping in her neck.

  “No. No change in Jenny’s condition.” Danielle’s words came out strained. Being in his presence reminded her of the insecure teen she had once been. The one who had been abandoned by her mother, yet still had clung to the magical idea of happily-ever-after. Patrick had made her believe. Until he’d left her too.

  The sting of that summer had the potential to slice her heart, even now. Unable to raise her eyes to meet his, Danielle shifted her attention back to Jenny. She was deeply angry with herself for even thinking about Patrick while her sister lay broken and battered.

  “She’s a mess. Why didn’t you tell me on the phone? You made it seem like she was okay.” Danielle despised the tremble in her voice.

  When the silence stretched for too long, she persisted, “Why weren’t you upfront with me? You should have told me—” she lowered her voice out of respect for Jenny, “—the truth about her condition.” She stroked her thumb across her sister’s hand, careful to avoid the bandage covering the tubes inserted into her veins. Her stomach did a little flip. There was a reason she had studied law instead of medicine, despite her grandmother’s wishes.

  “You had to fly from Atlanta alone,” Patrick said— a statement, not a question.

  Alone? She bristled. Why had Patrick Kingsley assumed she had to travel alone? Her grandmother had probably filled him in. Had told him how she spent all her time working and didn’t have time for anything or anyone else. She berated herself for feeling even the slightest bit embarrassed. Hadn’t she created the life she wanted? Being alone wasn’t a sin. Relieved she didn’t have to meet his gaze, she covered her sister’s hand with her own. Why did she care what he thought?

  “Would you have changed your plans if you knew the seriousness of her condition?” His voice grew closer. Still refusing to turn around, she sensed him standing a foot or two off her right shoulder. He was much broader than she remembered. Of course he was. The person she knew had been a boy. Standing here was a man. A man who had gotten married, been deployed to Iraq and experienced the tragedy of losing his wife. A tragedy beyond anything she had ever known.

  “Tell me what you know about my sister’s accident,” Danielle said. She braced for the answer, needing to ground herself in the moment. In the details. Like how her sister’s jagged nails stood in contrast to her own manicured pink tips. Gently, she turned over her sister’s hand. Calluses toughened Jenny’s fingertips, no doubt from hours working in the flower shop.

  Endless questions swirled in her brain. How had her sister ended up in a one-vehicle accident down some lonely road? Had she been on her way to visit someone? Had she been drinking? She mentally shook her head. No way. She refused to believe that. Not after everything their alcoholic mother had put them through as kids.

  The sharp edge of fear poked at her. How would you know? You haven’t been home in over a year. Closer to two. She pushed the thought aside and searched for more logical reasons. Texting maybe? An animal darting into the road? Millions of valid reasons didn’t include alcohol.

  But she needed to know. Uncertainty and unanswered questions made her skin crawl. Maybe if she controlled a little bit of what was going on, the knot in her stomach would ease.

  Patrick hesitated. She sensed he was holding back, measuring his words. She refused to be spoon-fed. “Tell me, Patrick. I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever it is you have to say. Was she drinking?” She folded the edge of the sheet and smoothed it between her fingers, her pulse roaring i
n her ears.

  “I don’t have much to tell.” Tendrils of unease wound their way up her spine as he spoke. “We’re waiting on the toxicology reports, but at this time we don’t believe she was drinking.” He touched her shoulder, his solid hand warm and comforting.

  All part of his job, she quickly reminded herself.

  “A passerby noticed her car off the road on Route 78 about one in the morning,” he added.

  “Where was she going?” She glanced over her shoulder and his fingers brushed her cheek.

  “We’re still investigating.”

  Danielle shook her head and backed away from his touch. She needed to think. She dug her fingers under her hair at the back of her neck. A tension headache spread up the base of her brain. “Please, tell me whatever it is you know.” The Patrick she had known always had such an open, honest face, but now his expression seemed shuttered. Her stomach clenched. Was he hiding something from her? Or had age taught him how to hide his feelings?

  Running a hand across his chin, Patrick’s gaze shifted to Jenny. Reluctance was evident in his eyes. “We found Jenny’s vehicle off the road. Wedged between two trees. She was unconscious.” Fully meeting her gaze, his eyes darkened. His broad chest expanded with a deep breath before he let it out slowly. “No skid marks. No witnesses. No other victims.”

  A realization crept into her consciousness. Jenny’s frail condition pained Patrick. Why hadn’t she noticed right away? Mayport was a small town. Everyone knew each other, and Patrick lived next door to Jenny and her grandmother. He knew Jenny. Probably better than she did.

  “I’m sorry.” She pressed her palm to her forehead and blinked back the tears. She turned around, unwilling to break down in front of him. She reached over and ran a strand of Jenny’s soft auburn hair—the same shade as her own—through her fingers. “I’m trying to make sense of it.”

  He cupped her shoulder, sending a warm tingle across her flesh. She resisted the urge to lean into him for comfort.

  “Sometimes these things don’t make sense. We have to trust in God’s plan,” he said in a soothing voice.

  Danielle lowered her head and gritted her teeth. Trust didn’t come easily to her.

  “Would you like to say a prayer?”

  Danielle’s mouth worked, but the words wouldn’t come. A flush of goose bumps blanketed her skin. She tilted her head. The heat from Patrick’s hand radiated up to her cheek. She had long ago given up on prayer and on God. Yet, something subtle chipped away at the armor surrounding her heart. Who was she to deny her sister the benefit of a prayer? Even if in her heart of hearts she didn’t believe it would work.

  “Okay,” she whispered through a too-tight throat. Her acquiescence stemmed more from superstition—or maybe feelings of helplessness—than fear of God.

  “Heavenly Father—” Patrick bowed his head, one hand still on Danielle’s shoulder, the other rested on Jenny’s forearm, “—please place Your hands upon Jenny. Guide the doctors and nurses responsible for her care. Heal her body. Watch over her and protect her. We lay this in Your hands. Amen.”

  Patrick kept his head bowed in prayerful silence. She tried to do the same, but the beeping monitor invaded her peaceful thoughts. His comforting touch now seemed too intimate. Too close. Too much weight on her thin shoulder.

  Danielle ducked away from him and snatched her overnight bag from the floor near the foot of the bed. Working her lower lip, she hoisted the strap of the bag over her shoulder. “I need to see Gram. Make sure she’s okay. The nurse said the physician wouldn’t be available to meet until later this afternoon. I may as well go now.” The words spilled out as Danielle tried to make sense of the earth shifting under her feet.

  In order to restore order, she needed to do something concrete. Create a list. Check things off. Because standing over her sister’s broken body saying prayers to a God who had long ago forsaken her, brought her back to a dark place she didn’t care to revisit.

  “I’ll take you home to Gram,” Patrick said, concern softening his rugged features.

  An unexpected smile tugged at the corner of Danielle’s mouth. She had forgotten the familiar way in which he referred to her grandmother. Although Gram had never come out and said it, Danielle suspected she’d always had a special place in her heart for Patrick—the kind teen who had taken her grandchildren under his wing even though his own mother had given him grief for it.

  “Come on.” Patrick reached for her overnight bag. She let the strap drop from her shoulder. Handing the bag over to him, their fingers brushed. A warm tingle surged up her arm, threatening to undo all the years she had worked to forget about the boy next door. To forget the fantasy of a silly teenager.

  Patrick had run off and married someone else, hadn’t he? That fact had always sobered her up quickly.

  He held out his palm, inviting her to walk ahead of him. She lifted her index finger and returned to her sister’s side. She pressed a gentle kiss to Jenny’s warm forehead. “Rest well, baby sis.” Tears pricked the back of her eyes.

  “She’s going to be okay.” Patrick’s voice sounded husky behind her.

  Danielle’s eyes slid shut and she nodded, unable to speak around a lump of emotion. Faith gave people hope. She wished a person could learn faith from a textbook. She had always been a good student. But some things just were. Or, in her case, weren’t.

  She leaned in close so only her sister could hear. “Please be okay. You can’t leave me and Gram.”

  When she turned around, she found Patrick studying her with kind eyes. Heat swept up her neck and warmed her cheeks. Had he heard her childish plea? Inwardly, she shook her head. No one heard her whisper.

  Not even Patrick’s God.

  The last thing she needs is a hero…

  Off the Clock

  © 2011 Donna Alward

  First Responders, Book 1

  Paramedic Gabe Brennan’s job is saving lives. When he witnesses an accident and rushes in to help, the victim brings back memories of the night that marked him forever. The night he almost couldn’t save his best friend, Brandon. Brandon’s sister is in the car. She’s pregnant. And his longing for her is just as sharp as ever.

  Carly’s never been so glad to see a friendly face. Gabe’s gallant rescue—and the gentle kiss he bestows upon her at the hospital—resurrect feelings she buried long ago. Having just closed the book on a crumbling marriage, she’s not too keen on opening herself up to hurt again. Not even for the one man who’s always seemed to be there when she needed him most.

  Gabe knows he shouldn’t be falling for Carly, especially since she insists she’s off the market. But the chemistry still simmering between them after all these years is no accident. Now all he has to do is convince her she belongs in the empty space he’s always held open for her. The one next to his heart…

  Warnings: Contents—and paramedic hero—may be too hot to handle!

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Off the Clock:

  Now he had a chance and he didn’t want to ruin it. She was too important for that, too special. He was smart enough to know that she was overwhelmed right now with adjusting to parenthood. Not just being a parent, but a single parent. Now it was Carly who needed time, and he’d give it to her. He stuck the spoon in his mouth, trying to divert his thoughts.

  But it was no use. It was why he’d stayed away the last few times he’d mowed her grass. He knew what he wanted. And it was too important to push. Not now.

  “What are you thinking, Mr. Serious?” Carly opened her eyes. “It looks as though you’re pondering the world’s problems.”

  Not the world’s, just his. He needed to take it slowly. He’d known Carly for so long that the idea of wooing her seemed funny. It also gave him a kind of strange, jumped-up feeling. Some might call it anticipation. He wanted her so much he ached. But it wasn’t a matter of slaking his thirst for her and letting go. It wasn’t anticipation. Gabe called it being scared to death of screwing up.

  “Not much
.”

  She laughed a little. “It has to be something. You need to lighten up.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You could start with why you’ve been avoiding me.”

  He put down his gelato cup. “I haven’t.”

  Nathan’s eyes had opened and Carly rocked the carrier seat lightly with her foot. “Sure you have. You haven’t even stopped in to say hello lately.”

  “I was busy,” he said, knowing it sounded like a paltry excuse. Maybe he had been avoiding her, but only because he wanted to be with her, not the opposite. But how could he possibly explain that without putting any pressure on her?

  “It doesn’t matter. I know I’m not the best company these days. I always end up with something on my shirt and my house generally looks like a tornado blew through it. Who knew one tiny baby could cause so much havoc?”

  Even with mystery stains and messy hair she was the most beautiful woman he knew. And again he bit his tongue, knowing his compliment would be unwelcome. “You think I stayed away because of some spit-up and dust bunnies?” He crossed his ankle over his knee and put an arm along the back of the bench. “Believe me, that’s not the reason.”

  “Then what is?”

  Why had he responded at all? Now she was neatly boxing him in to a genuine answer and he wasn’t sure what to say. He looked out over the fields below them and watched an eagle catch a draft of wind, gliding on the current. Maybe the truth was best.

  “To give you space.”

  “Space?”

  “You said it yourself, Carly. You have enough to deal with without me hanging around. I know how much the divorce must have hurt you. I know this isn’t how you expected your life to be. You’re adjusting to a lot. I wanted to give you room to do that. A little yard work—that’s just my way of giving a little helping hand to a friend. No strings.”