by Sharon Sala
* * *
MARRIED BY THE MILLENNIUM
Ten Ways To Say “I Do” by 2000
by Sally Trent
Is your heart’s fervent desire that you ring in the New Year with a ring on your finger? Here are ten ways to find the hero of your dreams in time to say I Do before the year 2000 countdown begins!
1 Go Where the Guys Are— aka Home on the Range. Get a job, start socializing in a place that’s full of eligible guys…like a ranch!
2 Find a Single Daddy Club—aka Saturday in the Park. Single dads populate the park playground on weekends, so how better to meet one than find an excuse to be there, too!
3 Get Personal—aka Truth in Advertising. Personal ads are a bit like opening Door Number 3: you just never know who you’ll find—but he might be Mr. Right!
4 Join a Gym—aka Fit to be Found. Nothing hormones spinning like w local gym.
* * *
SHARON SALA
Sharon Sala realized that she was meant to be an author when she found herself loving to read, hating her job and constantly daydreaming. “I joined the Romance Writers of America and never looked back.” Sharon has published eight books for Silhouette and, more recently, Sweet Baby (02/98) and Reunion (02/99) for MIRA Books. Born and raised in Prague, Oklahoma, Sharon still lives in the state she has always called home, with her two grown daughters nearby. She describes her writing style as “instinctive. I rarely have to sit down and think of a plot or character for a new book. They are always floating around inside my head, waiting to come to life.”
MARIE FERRARELLA
Marie Ferrarella swears she was born writing, “which must have made the delivery especially hard for my mother.” Born in West Germany of Polish parents, she came to America when she was four years of age and settled with her family in New York. Marie wrote her first romance novel when she was eleven years old. After receiving her English degree, Marie and her family moved to Southern California, where she still resides today. Marie, who has written over 100 novels, including more than ninety with Silhouette Books®, has one goal: to entertain, to make people laugh and feel good. “That’s what makes me happy,” she confesses. “That, and a really good romantic evening with my husband.”
BEVERLY BARTON
Beverly Barton has been in love with romance since her grandfather gave her an illustrated edition of Beauty and the Beast. An avid reader since childhood, Beverly wrote her first book at the age of nine. After over thirty years of marriage to the “love of her life,” Beverly is a true romantic and considers writing romances a real labor of love. The award-winning author of over twenty-five books, Beverly is a member of Romance Writers of America and helped found the Heart of Dixie chapter in Alabama.
SHARON SALA
MARIE FERRARELLA
BEVERLY BARTON
3,2,1…Married!
CONTENTS
Letter to Reader
MIRACLE BRIDE
Sharon Sala
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Letter to Reader
THE SINGLE DADDY CLUB
Marie Ferrarella
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
GETTING PERSONAL
Beverly Barton
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Dear Reader,
I think you’ll agree with me that every woman who plans to marry dreams of finding Mr. Right. But finding him and marrying him are two different things. Sometimes your right is his wrong. And sometimes our vision of right is blurred by good looks and pretty words, rather than clarified by the depth of character and sincerity we should be looking for.
I think you’ll find that the women in these stories had their own special sets of issues to work through, yet I’m certain that you’ll rejoice with them as they finally find their happy ever afters.
The only advice I would give you in searching for love is to trust your instincts and to remember that, most often, true love finds you, rather than the reverse. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is—you can’t make love happen. But when it’s time, it will happen to you.
Enjoy the romance, and my best wishes to you all. I love to hear from my readers. You can write to me at P.O. Box 127, Henryetta, OK 74437.
Miracle Bride
Sharon Sala
I dedicate this story to my three granddaughters,
Chelsea, Logan and Leslie Sala,
with the prayer that, when they grow up,
they each find their way to true happiness.
Chapter 1
“Aunt Hallie doesn’t have any boobs.”
“She does, too. All girls have boobs.”
Five-year-old Dustin stuck his tongue out at his cousin, Chelsea.
“Then why don’t they bounce?” he asked.
Six-year-old Chelsea wasn’t sure why she felt the need to defend her aunt, but just to be on the safe side, she gave Dustin a punch in the stomach.
“You’re such a baby,” she said, as he set up a howl. “Aunt Hallie has boobs. They’re just a little bit flat, and everyone knows the flat boobs don’t bounce.”
Hallie O’Grady stood in the middle of the hallway with a tray full of sandwiches, trying to decide if she should laugh or cry. Her mother had always told her that no good ever comes of eavesdropping. At the age of thirty-one, she now understood why.
She looked down at her chest. Compared to her sisters, she was flat, although she’d been telling herself for years that a borderline B-cup bra was perfectly normal. So, she wasn’t all that endowed. And so she was the only one of her sisters who wasn’t married. So what?
The same little niece came darting past her, now sporting a stunning piece of bosom, compliments of two balloons she’d thrust beneath her sweatshirt. Hallie grinned in spite of herself. So she wasn’t built like a stripper. At least she still had her dignity. But, she reminded herself, dignity was a cold bed partner.
The whole incident made her think of a piece she’d read in an old issue of Prominence Magazine the other day. According to the article, even if she was in the market for a suitable mate, she was going about it the wrong way. She couldn’t remember the exact title of the article, but it had to do with ways to meet the man of your dreams and be married on New Year’s Eve 1999. According to the article, she needed to put herself in the proverbial line of fire. She should go where men congregated, like ball games and golf courses…and bars. But for Hallie, there was something too clinical about setting out to intentionally snag a mate. She wanted love at first sight. She wanted to be bowled over—knocked off her feet—or however one chose to categorize the moment. She wanted the whole nine yards.
And while she was still considering her situation, two more of her nieces came barreling through the hallway, one with a Barbie doll, the other with a Ken doll. One niece was screaming, the other was giggling while making kissing motions with Ken toward the Barbie her sister was holding. Hallie grinned wryly as she sidestepped their raucous play. Even the kids were getting in on the act. So what was it about falling in love that was so difficult for her? Was it her attitude, or just her lack of opportunities?
“Hallie, where are the sandwiches?”
Her mother’s voice jerked her back to the reality
of the moment, and that was feeding this rowdy crowd before it got any rowdier. At that moment, she realized she’d forgotten to put the olives on top of the sandwiches. For two cents, she’d just let it go, but her mother would comment.
“Just about done,” she yelled, and made a neat pivot back to the kitchen.
In Moira O’Grady’s world, it was the little touches that counted. Moments later, Hallie was stabbing olives with toothpicks and poking them into the tops of the sandwiches while contemplating the society of the times. What was it about people who felt the obligation to push single men and women to meet and marry? As far as she was concerned, there were far too many people looking over her shoulder as it was.
She poked the last toothpick into a sandwich and then went to the sink to wash. As she did, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window over the sink.
As the eldest of Sean and Moira O’Grady’s four daughters, it only stood to reason that she should have had first pick of the good family traits. Instead, she was the odd one out. Her mother called her a changeling. Her sisters, Evie, Dana and Petra, were tall, curvaceous, green-eyed, redheads. Between them, they’d given their mother and father three fine sons-in-law, and to date, eight grandchildren to love, including the two precocious ones who had been discussing Hallie’s lack of physical attributes, and the one yet to be born that Petra was carrying.
Compared to her sisters, Hallie looked like an elf. She was small-boned, with straight black hair and brown, almond-shaped eyes. At only four inches over five feet tall, she had nephews who would outgrow her within the next couple of years. And while she’d missed being marked an O’Grady by her father’s red hair and green eyes, she had inherited his stubborn streak.
Independent to the point of obstinate, Hallie was cognizant of her weak points, but also aware of her strengths. For the better part of six years, she had been supporting herself as a successful author of children’s books. Her father fumed and muttered on a daily basis that his beloved eldest would die an old maid and constantly thrust what he considered eligible suitors into her path.
And, while Hallie longed for a husband and family as her sisters had, she wasn’t willing to trade off her independence for second best. She disposed of the suitors as deftly as she ignored her father’s interference. If there was a man for her, then, God willing, they would someday find each other. Until then, she was calling the shots regarding her life, flat boobs and all.
With a wry grimace, she picked up the tray and carried it into the dining room where her family was beginning to gather.
“There you are!” Sean O’Grady boomed. “Where the hell have you been hiding yourself, girl?”
Hallie elbowed her way through the crowd with the food and gave her father a glare as she set the tray on the table.
“I haven’t been hiding and you know it,” she said, then eyed the crowd with cool intent. “And I’d better not be seeing any strange faces here today, or your name will be mud, Father dear. This is my birthday party, not another round of your blasted dating game.”
Everyone burst into laughter as Sean’s face turned a dark, hearty red.
“I don’t meddle,” he blustered.
“Right,” she said. “And my name is not Hallie O’Grady.”
“Come on you two, no fighting today,” Moira said, pushing her husband toward the plates at the end of the buffet as she gave her eldest daughter a wink. “It’s Hallie’s birthday and I won’t have anyone messing it up.” Then she gave the tray a quick glance and patted Hallie on the arm.
“Your sandwiches look marvelous,” she whispered. “And I just love those little olives, don’t you?”
Hallie grinned.
Moira turned, waving at the crowd of family spilling through the rooms of the O’Grady house.
“Dinner is ready,” she called. “Everyone grab a child. We’ll fill their plates first.”
And they did as their mother had directed. Within a few minutes, the eight grandchildren were scattered about the room with their plates on the floor between their legs, eating to their hearts’ content. Petra, who was the next oldest to Hallie, leaned over and gave her a hug as she stood in line at the buffet.
“Happy Birthday, Hallifax.”
Hallie snitched an olive from the tray of sandwiches and popped it into her mouth.
“Lose the nickname, Petra, or I will tell your children you used to wet the bed,” she muttered, chewing around her threat.
Petra laughed, but held up her hands in a gesture of defeat.
“I concede,” she said, and then chuckled. “Besides, you never did play fair.”
Hallie snorted beneath her breath. “Don’t give me fair. I’m the one who got shortchanged. If you don’t believe me, ask your son. He just told Chelsea I didn’t have any boobs.”
Petra flushed. “Oh, Hallie, I’m so sorry. I’ll speak to him about—”
Hallie laughed. “Don’t bother. Chelsea punched him in the stomach.”
Evie gasped as she overheard the last of their conversation and pivoted toward the children, eyeing her eldest with a gleam in her eye.
“Don’t,” Hallie said. “They’ve already sorted out their problem. Besides, truth is truth.”
Evie glanced at her husband, who was tending to their brood, then took Hallie by the arm and pulled her aside. As always, the other sisters followed.
Sean was the first to notice his daughters’ absences and looked up to see them in a huddle on the far side of the room.
“What’s going on over there?” he asked.
Evie’s husband, Sam, scooped himself a generous helping of lasagna and then handed Sean the spoon.
“Here, Sean. You should know by now that when those four get together, the best thing to do is leave them alone. Trust me, have some of Evie’s lasagna and mind your own business.”
Sean frowned, but did as his son-in-law suggested.
“What’s up?” Dana asked, as Petra pulled her close.
“Hallie’s on one of those self-deprecating kicks again,” Evie said.
Dana rolled her eyes. “Hallie, if you complain one more time about your tiny butt or your B-cup bra, I’m going to throw up. Ever since baby number three, I can’t fit into a single pair of my slacks and the cup size of my bras has gone to a D. I feel like a six-foot, redheaded version of Dolly Parton—without the glamour.”
Hallie shrugged. “Look. I’m not complaining. I’m just facing facts. I’m thirty-one years old today and I have never even been in love. You three are curvy redheads with husbands who adore you. You breed children faster than Daddy sprouts gray hair.”
Petra rolled her eyes. “Breeding? Oh, thanks. Now I feel like a rabbit.”
“But an adorable rabbit,” Hallie added.
“Just because you don’t look like us doesn’t mean you’re not pretty,” Dana said. “You’re just different and from where I’m standing, different is better.”
“Yeah,” Evie said, and punched Dana lightly on the arm. “At least when you fall in love, you’ll know that the guy wasn’t using you to settle for second best.”
Dana laughed. Evie’s sixth-grade boyfriend had been besotted with Dana, but upon learning that Dana wasn’t interested, he had settled for Evie instead.
“That’s old news,” Petra said. “This is a new day for Hallie.” Then she hugged her. “And, because we love you madly, we went together to get you a very special birthday present.”
“You’re going to do this now?” Evie asked. “I thought we were going to make the presentation after we ate.”
Petra looked at Hallie, then frowned. “Now’s better.”
“Goody,” Dana cried. “I’ve been dying to tell her for days.”
“Do you have it?” Petra asked.
“Right here,” Dana said, pulling a long, white envelope from her jacket pocket.
“What’s this?” Hallie said.
“You’ll see. Just open it,” they chimed.
Hallie tried to smile, but she
kept remembering a similar event a few years back and the “exciting” surprise her sisters had sprung. It had taken her the better part of five months to get over the “day of beauty” they had given her. She’d come out of the spa looking like a short version of Cher, complete with spiked hair and a fake mole near the right-hand corner of her upper lip.
“I’m not changing the color of my hair,” she warned.
They laughed. “Just hush and open it,” they urged.
She did, eyeing the plane ticket and the brochure with mild surprise.
“A trip?”
“Not just any trip,” Evie said. “It’s a two-week, all-expenses-paid stay at the Miracle Guest Ranch in Cold Water, Texas.”
Hallie’s eyes widened. “Texas? That’s halfway across the country from California.”
Evie sighed, and pointed toward the brochure. “You don’t know anyone interesting here. Besides, look what’s waiting for you when you get there.”
Hallie’s gaze followed the direction of her sister’s finger. A dark flush suddenly stained her cheeks as she looked up at her sisters in disbelief.
“You aren’t pointing at scenery. You’re pointing at those cowboys. You three are getting as bad as Dad.”
“Now, Hallie, it will be fun,” Evie muttered.
Hallie glared. “How do you know? I can’t ride. I don’t like to camp and I have a deadline on a book.”
Petra folded her arms across her chest and glared right back. “They will teach you, you have a cabin all your own, and you own a laptop.”
Hallie sighed. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but I just can’t see myself in jeans and boots.”
Evie’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’ll look quite nice. If I had a tight little rear and long legs like you do, I might wear slacks more often myself.” Then she lowered her voice. “Besides, you have to see yourself in jeans and boots because that’s what Mom and Dad got you.”
Petra rolled her eyes. “My Lord, Evie. Why don’t you just spill the rest of the surprises now and we can all go home?”
