Now as you are about to get married, I get to watch your love story find it’s happily ever after. And I couldn’t be happier for you and Stephen.
You are my North Star, and there’s no other woman I’d want to share my dreams, hopes, and faith beside. And really, have any of your other friends written a book for you? I think not.
Acknowledgments
By the time a reader picks up or downloads a book, it has already passed through many hands and many keen eyes. I am immensely grateful to those hands and eyes that held my book and helped me shape it into a stronger love story.
Tara Gelsomino, I had a lot of questions and you not only answered each one, you continually showed me why Crimson Romance is the team to be on. Thank you. It is an honor to be a Crimson Romance author.
Julie Sturgeon, I’ve worked with a lot of editors and I even married one, but I’ve never worked with an editor who knew I was capable of digging deeper and nudged me in that direction. As a result, A Man for All Seasons is my favorite story—ever. Thank you. And as far as designing covers—you are the queen of everything!
Annie Cosby, every time your initials popped up on my computer screen, I cringed, thinking, what word did I misuse? What comma did I forget? And how does she keep track of all those rules of writing? Thank you for combing through my manuscript to make it, literally, copy ready! You are a writer’s dream.
Dana Volney, my beta reader, a fellow Crimson Romance author, and the overall best critique partner a gal could have. This was such a fun book to write that I figured I was doing it wrong. I sent you a few early chapters and you told me the truth, which is why our relationship works. You said it was funny, light-hearted, and to keep writing. I wanted to marry you. Thank you for being there when it’s sunny outside and we’re inside writing. Love you lots.
Jami Wagner, this entire story started from a writing prompt you emailed. The challenge? To write an opening scene in 1,000 words. I may have stretched it a bit, but that’s my editor’s fault. Thank you for opening the door for this story to be told.
DeLaine Walker Britt, when I finished writing this story, you invited me into your summer school classroom to talk to your adorable students about the art of writing. Thank you. You made my summer complete. And now, hopefully, this story will make your winter sizzle!
By the time a book is published, there are only a few people left that will talk to the self-absorbed writer. Those few people make life outside writing a book a true love story.
To my husband, my muse and my man for all seasons, Ron Gullberg. I hit the writing jackpot when I met you. I finally know what it’s like to write stories that have “happily ever after” endings because I am living it—every single day. With six kids between us, you still sweep me off my feet. From softly singing in my ear while we grocery shop to being in the parenting trenches beside me, you are a gift from God. I thank Him every day for blessing our lives with you. Gullberg, grow old with me—the best is yet to be.
To my children and my step-kids! Austin, Kyle, Ciara, Cooper, Max, and Dylan—wow. You keep me humble by reminding me that my jokes aren’t funny and that I’m the only one laughing. And you all tug at my heart simply by being in my life. I love each of you and I am so proud of all of you.
To my siblings—Suzanne Billiter Cragin, Stephen Thaddeus Billiter, and Patrick Flanagan Billiter—when I can’t remember the names of the L.A. freeways I drove for years, you are a group text away. When my sales figures could use a spike, Patrick buys my books to give out as Halloween treats. When I’m struggling to find a funny phrase, Stephen is the king of comedy. When I’m questioning everything, my sister’s shoulder is the softest place to land. We are it. And I know Mom and Dad couldn’t be more proud of us. Despite the distances between us, we have remained as close as childhood. I love you.
And to my readers—thank you for following my journey and my work. From reporter to columnist to novelist, my readers have been a continual source of support. Thank you.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 1
“I think I forgot to crack the eggs.” My cell phone was propped against my ear as I looked into the galvanized kitchen sink. No sign of eggshells. Not good.
“What?” My best friend Kris’s voice matched my concern.
“I … may have messed up.” I glanced at the oven. “I don’t remember if I actually cracked the eggs and put them in the cake batter.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, and eggs are kind of important, right?” I gently opened the oven door.
“Oh, Janey, in baking cakes, eggs are really important.”
I nodded. Two rectangular pans filled with pumpkin spice mix were positioned on the top rack. “There’s only one way to know for sure.” I slowly closed the oven door and pivoted on the heel of my boot. I took a deep breath.
“Janey, what are you doing?”
“Oh, you know … ” I pushed up the sleeve of my sweater and reached my hand into the sink. “Just diving into the disposal.” The fine texture of eggshells pricked my fingertips. I exhaled. Eureka. I pulled out the handful and gently shook it into the kitchen sink. Broken shells scattered. “Yes!”
“Eggshells?” Her tone was tentative.
“Eggshells,” I said with a satisfied grin.
“See, you didn’t mess up.” I could practically hear Kris smile on the phone.
“Not this time.” I turned on the water and placed my hands beneath the cool stream. “But me and baking … ” I hit the pump on the antibacterial soap with my elbow. “I really don’t know why I keep trying my hand at it. Clearly, I should stick to store-bought.”
“Janey, you’ve got way too much going on.”
“I know, but it’s John and Jessica’s turn to bring snacks to school, and they’re supposed to be homemade.”
“I wasn’t just talking about the cakes.”
I knew from the drop in her voice my friend was tiptoeing around something.
“The twins would have loved whatever you baked for their first-grade friends.” Her logic cut through my frenzied pace and made me smile. “I just think you’ve got too much going on to even consider taking on another assignment for the paper.”
“Because I forgot the eggs?”
Kris’s laughter was deep and throaty. “No silly—not because you forgot the eggs but because you’re a single mom raising two amazing kids and your ex is less than helpful.”
“Mark.” I rolled my eyes. “He’s busy with his newfound wife and their life.”
“In your old home.”
I shrugged. “Eh, it’s nice, but the mortgage payment isn’t. Let them have that headache. I can handle this.”
“But another assignment?”
Again, I nodded, and the phone almost slid from my ear. I reached for it with wet hands and positioned it back in place. “Kris, if Joe calls and offers me the assignment, I’m taking it.” I grabbed a paper towel and dried my hands and the back of my phone.
“Why wouldn’t your editor give you this assignment?”
I grabbed my cup of coffee off the counter and plopped down on one of the padded barstools by the kitchen island. “If this were Los Angeles, I wouldn’t even have to worry about the holidays and taking
time off. And I certainly wouldn’t be clamoring for an extra assignment. I was full-time and on staff. I was always over my quota for stories. But, this isn’t L.A.” I propped my legs on the adjacent barstool, glanced out the window behind me, and watched snow fall on the Tetons. I wrapped my hands around the warm coffee cup and felt my fingers come back to life. “It’s Wyoming. And Jackson Hole, no less. There are already two competing newspapers here, and I’m writing for the statewide paper nearly 400 miles away. It’s like I’m starting all over again, and, worse, I have to find news to report.” I took a sip and chocolate mocha perked my senses.
“But that doesn’t make any sense. You’ve been a reporter for like ... ”
“Easy there, blondie,” I cut her off with a chuckle. “I have been a journalist for a while and it’s certainly not that I can’t cover stories and write the hell out of them. I gave up a great beat in L.A. to follow Mark and his job, but … ” I blew out a mouthful of air and replaced it with the spicy scent of cakes baking. “I made the right choice at the time it presented itself. But now? Well, now I’m no longer in a top market for news. And it’s kind of ironic. L.A. reporting is like the Wild West, but in the actual wild, wild west of Wyoming, it’s far more mellow and laid-back.”
Kris chuckled.
“It’s true. In L.A., the news cycle changes every hour and there’s a showdown to see who breaks the story first. L.A. reporters are either quick or they’re dead. But in Wyoming?” I shook my head. “The news cycle changes once a day, and that’s only to keep the presses from gathering dust. Hell, Wyoming reporters break wind more often than break national news.”
Kris’s laughter echoed in my ear. “Oh, Miss Janey, that’s awful.”
I grinned. “But it’s true. That’s why when an editor hints at a new story assignment, you jump.”
“Understood. I just hate thinking of you working on Thanksgiving.”
“This is Mark’s year to have the twins. Actually, it’s our first year to ever do this. When we got divorced in January, I didn’t think how the holidays would actually be. They seemed so far off. Now, they’re almost here and … ”
“Working will be a good distraction.”
“Yup. So if Joe has a story assignment, the best thing I could do is work and not be alone on my first holiday without my kids.”
“Or … ”
The shift in her tone made me grin like the Cheshire Cat because I knew she was up to something mischievous. “Or what, Kris?”
“You could go to where the stories are.”
I shook my head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if Jackson doesn’t have anything hopping, I’m sure Casper does.”
I half-laughed. “Yeah, and how do I make that happen? They’ve already got reporters stationed in Casper.”
“Yes, but like you said, it’s the holiday. Won’t the full-time staff reporters be off?”
“Maybe. Most likely.”
“So it’s the perfect opportunity for you to show your mettle and move up in the ranks.”
I wrapped my fingers around my cup. “And how exactly do I go about this?”
“That’s easy,” Kris said. “Invite yourself over to Joe’s for dinner.”
If I weren’t sitting down, I would have slipped off my seat. “Yeah, I don’t see that ever happening.”
“Okay, seriously, don’t make me bring up the obvious attraction you and Joe have for each other.”
I felt my cheeks burn. “We have a mutual respect for each other’s work.” I sounded as rehearsed as when I’d practiced, in case the question ever arose with anyone other than my BFF. “Joe is my editor. We have a professional, working relationship. The fact that any time his emails arrive in my inbox I light up like a Christmas tree, well, that’s my issue.”
“Uh-huh. You’ve checked out his profile page on the Wyoming Frontier website and showed it to me.”
“The newspaper has everyone’s picture, from the lowly part-timers like me, to the full-time staff writers. But they’re in black and white and about the size of a dime. You saw it. It’s hard to really know what he looks like. I don’t even know the color of his eyes. And our social media policy freaked everyone out about having a personal Facebook page, so it’s not like I can check him out there.”
“But you would if you could.”
“Of course. I want to see what he does when he’s not being a statewide editor. I mean, I know what he does because he’s told me he hangs out with his son, Sam, but, yeah, I’d like to see that other side of him. But at the end of the day, he’s in the newsroom and I’m not.”
“But, Janey, you don’t have to be in the newsroom to know him. You worked with him before your divorce and after. It’s clear that he respects your work. And from the long emails he sends back to you, I think he likes you. And I think you like him, too.”
“I like that he’s nice and we seem to get each other. He’s divorced and … ” I shrugged. “I dunno—he just understands what it’s like. Or maybe he’s being kind.”
“Why would you say that?” Her concern came from seeing me through the worst year of my life. From the divorce and finding a new home to Mark’s remarriage and reentering the dating scene, it had been hellish.
“I have a lousy track record with dating. And dating my boss? Oh my hell. That doesn’t seem right on multiple levels. Shall I count the ways?”
“Okay, okay. But I don’t think it’s out of the question for you to let Joe know that you’ll be home alone for Thanksgiving and that you’re available to cover a story assignment in Jackson or Casper. I’m sure the paper would cover the cost of a hotel room if they placed you on assignment away from home.”
Her logic made sense. The only way my work was going to truly get noticed was by having a front-page story—something I hadn’t been able to achieve with the local news I was covering in Jackson. I watched the panes on my kitchen window begin to frost. Snowflake-like patterns covered the glass and created a lacy design. Even though it limited my visibility, it suddenly seemed crystal clear.
“Janey? You okay?”
“Actually, I’ve never been better.” I started to giggle. “Now, I’ve just got to figure out how I’m going to invite myself to Joe’s for Thanksgiving.”
Chapter 2
The screen to my laptop was flipped open and a blank email to Joe Argenti was front and center. You can do this. This is nothing. My fingers played on my computer’s keyboard.
“I’ve interviewed governors, farm workers, union leaders … he’s just my editor,” I spoke to no one. Since our dog, Roscoe, had recently passed away, now, when my twins went to sleep, it was just me and my thoughts.
I glanced at the pair of somewhat amazing-looking pumpkin spice cakes wrapped in cellophane. They were ready for tomorrow’s class. I should’ve baked a third. Cake would give me courage.
Instead, I positioned my hands on the keyboard and struck the first key.
Hey Joe—
Just wanted to let you know that I’m available
I stopped typing. “Yeah, that’s not … ” I shook my head. Available? No. I scrolled my thumb on the touchpad, but instead of clicking on the “delete” key, my thumb accidentally moved the cursor to the “send” button when I pressed down.
“No!” My stomach dropped and my heart rate jumped.
“Crap.” I quickly moved my index finger, redirecting the cursor to the “sent” of my email and clicked open the tab. Sure enough, my partial email to Joe was present. “Mother of all things holy.”
I picked up my cell phone and texted Kris.
Just sent Joe the wrong message—literally. Can you come over? Need wine, chocolate, and way to fix this stat!
This time when I hit “send” I didn’t feel sick afterward. I tapped my boot on the hardwood floor and waited for her reply.
My cell chimed almost immediately.
OMG. What did you do? Stephen & I r teaching girls how 2 play rummy. If email not happening, call him.
“Okay, I can fix this. I’ll just … ” I pressed my thumb into the side of my head, but it didn’t stop the throbbing. Think, Janey. Think.
I pulled my laptop forward and opened a new email message. I typed Joe’s name and his email address instantly surfaced. “I’ve got this. I’ll just send another email. He gets hundreds of emails a day. I’m sure he’ll just skim to the latest one I sent and open it. That’s what I do with his.” It’s amazing what the mind will rationalize under duress. I pushed aside the insanity of my plan and began typing.
Hey Joe—
Just wanted to touch base to see if there are any assignments that need coverage for the long holiday weekend. I’m willing to travel—in fact, I’d welcome the opportunity to visit Wyoming’s central city and file copy in the newsroom rather than by email!
Please keep me in mind when you’re assigning stories.
Thanks!
Janey
I hit “send” before I could spellcheck, proof, or reconsider. I had to have this email arrive and jump to the top of his inbox. As I reread my message, it actually sounded … well, professional. Maybe that first message will end up in spam. And what’s the worst thing that could happen? Joe reads the email. It’s incomplete. He won’t think anything of it.
I shut down my computer and turned off the kitchen light. Between almost forgetting the eggs for my children’s snack cakes and prematurely hitting “send,” I had created enough disasters for one day. It was time for bed.
Chapter 3
“So you’re available, huh?”
Tidings of Love Page 23
