Only If You Dare

by Margo Hoornstra

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Margo Hoornstra’s Works

  Dedication

  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

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Only If You Dare

  by

  Margo Hoornstra

  Dearly Beloved Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Only If You Dare

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Margo Hoornstra

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Last Rose of Summer Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-164-9

  Dearly Beloved Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Margo Hoornstra’s Works

  HONORABLE INTENTIONS

  “Every page is packed with emotion and action, and this is a story you will find hard to put down..”

  ~The Long And Short Of It (4.5 Books)

  ~*~

  FORGOTTEN ALLIANCE

  “I defy the hardest of hearts to come away from this story with anything but respect for [her] style.”

  ~CK2S, Kwips and Kritiques (4.5 Clovers)

  ~*~

  GLAD TIDINGS; NEXT TUESDAY AT TWO;

  TO BE, OR NOT

  “All are 5 Book Worthy. I am now a forever fan!”

  ~Reviews by Molly (5 Books)

  ~*~

  GLAD TIDINGS

  “The romance is touching, melancholy and sweet. Her love scenes are sensual and sexy.”

  ~The Long and Short Reviews (4 Books)

  ~*~

  NEXT TUESDAY AT TWO

  “Great job! A first time reader is now a major fan.”

  ~The Long and Short Reviews (4.5 Books)

  ~*~

  TO BE, OR NOT

  “A very well written story of love lost and found.”

  ~The Romance Studio (4 Hearts)

  ~*~

  NIGHT STARS AND MOURNING DOVES

  “...characters will wrap themselves around your heart...”

  ~Romance Author Jannine Gallant (5 stars)

  Dedication

  To the beautiful and charming Peyton Arthur.

  He arrived, he smiled, he captured my heart.

  ~

  With special thanks to good friend Jolana Malkston

  for vision and clarity when needed.

  Chapter One

  “Dearly Beloved...”

  Cynthia Buckingham shifted to a more comfortable position on the well-worn wooden bench and did her best to ignore the wedding ceremony taking place in the next room. Confined to the mausoleum-like walls of a municipal courthouse, what type of nitwit public servant conducted a common civil proceeding as if officiating at St. Paul’s Cathedral?

  Easy there. Tone it down a touch, a voice inside her head advised. You’re acting like an out of control bitch.

  Chin lifted at the internal rebuke, she executed a subtle eye roll then sniffed lightly before volleying a sharp comeback.

  It’s not my fault I’m in a nasty mood.

  She had darned good reason for being irritated, dammit. After being unfairly deprived of her personal liberty, forced to travel all the way downtown then—and this was the very worst—held against her will in an incredibly ugly, poorly decorated, cold and impersonal building.

  For jury duty.

  “We are gathered here today because two individuals wish to be joined as one through marriage.”

  At least he didn’t say holy wedlock.

  She had gathered here today, primarily because each of her pleas to be released from this waste of time exercise in public service had fallen on deaf ears. According to a desperate web-search, done after she first received the you are hereby summoned letter, those potential jurors routinely excused from serving were primarily stay at home caregivers and or breast feeding mothers.

  For the better part of the past two decades—she had been neither. Regardless, she planned to do everything, any thing, in her power to get out of here.

  On reflex, one hand moved to rest atop the bright red leather satchel on the bench beside her. Securely contained in the center zipper compartment were a number of letters from prominent community leaders declaring Cynthia Buckingham’s value to her fellow citizens outside of jury duty.

  Not that she was one to wantonly shirk public service. She simply preferred to spend time serving the public good how she chose. Through her work—full time plus on call—at the community mental health care clinic on Woodfield for the state of Michigan.

  Suffice it to say she had patients waiting, ones who needed her a hell of a lot more than some stuffy old judge.

  “May your life long journey together be a tribute to your love.”

  Sniffing slightly, she glanced in the direction of the voice echoing from the adjacent doorway. Lofty words indeed.

  Palms flat on the God awful, rock-hard and unyielding surface beneath her, one on each side of her derriere, she discreetly raised her bench weary flesh for a short reprieve from the unpleasant numbness that had begun to creep in.

  Being tightly packed with so many others into a miniscule jury room to sit on stiff plastic chairs arranged classroom style had been only slightly worse. Swearing to be at the mercy of a bladder condition that made her a slave to frequent bathroom breaks, she’d gotten permission to leave the holding area from a serious looking clerk with round spectacles, an argyle patterned sweater and pleated skirt.

  She had no choice but to take such drastic action after their group was informed, en masse, that the current court session they all waited to be a part of would be postponed for at least another hour.

  “The essence of marriage lies in committing oneself, entirely, to another person.”

  Cynthia let out a soft snort. When a wide eyed young woman passing by cast her a startled glance, she brought a hand to her mouth and pretended to cough.

  Unless said other person happens to discover a third person to commit their—ah—time and talents to. Like her ex-husband who found a ready and willing candidate to commit one high priced hotel room to. On several different occasions, she eventually learned.

  Find someone who will make you happy. If I did it, you can too. That had been Phil’s parting shot. Which provided her a solid and uncontestable reason to file for divorce.

  Approaching wingtips resonated on the worn marble floor as a slick haired man strode by, oversized briefcase clutched in one hand and cell phone held tightly to his left ear with the other. No doubt on his way to work. Cynthia could spot an attorney on the prowl a mile away.

  Aside from her dislike of the close quarters
she’d been subjected to, she cringed at the idea of having to sit for hours on end listening to a litany of pro and con legal arguments about what some hapless individual may or may not have done. Being deceitful was part of a lawyer’s job description. She had first-hand knowledge, having been married to one. They all lied.

  Okay, maybe not lied, lied. Most either exaggerated or minimized the truth to suit their own needs and, at times, those of their clients. Some of which were beginning to populate the hallway.

  “Friend, confidant, companion, as well as lover...”

  As the smooth male voice went on, Cynthia had all she could do to not stand up and walk over to discreetly shut the door. Put the nonsense being dished out by some starry-eyed public official—probably one running for re-election—out of earshot.

  With another subtle body shift, she crossed her legs.

  The ink on the divorce papers was still wet when, having no desire to sit idle, she dusted off her doctorate of psychology degree earned eons before, and completed the necessary continuing education classes to reclaim a license to practice.

  And now, with all due respect to her grown daughter, Jen, counseling work had become her newest pride and joy.

  In truth, she did have one regret over the recent demise of her marriage to Philip Buckingham: their only child’s wedding would take place in a few short weeks. Delight as mother of the bride brushed shoulders with dread because the father of the bride would be there—with someone else.

  The mere thought of sharing her front pew with an unknown bimbette made Cynthia want to throw up.

  And wouldn’t that get me out of here quickly?

  Pleased at making herself smile, she unzipped the satchel and pulled out those free this woman from jury duty testimonials. Now might be a good time to glance over their content again, on the off chance she’d have the opportunity to get someone around here to actually read them.

  “Constant love, sincere understanding and unconditional acceptance will provide security and strength in your marriage.”

  On a heavy exhale, she shook her head. Whoever spoke those words, touching as they were, had an obscenely sunny outlook on life. Poor dear. More to the point, a grossly naive one.

  One thing was for sure, Jen’s ceremony would take place in a fine and beautifully decorated church. With every item she and Jen were currently in the process of planning with exacting detail carried out to perfection.

  “Respect for your partner and total devotion to their well-being will keep your union strong. Your love for and commitment to each other brought you here today for this special celebration.”

  Her hands stilled on top of the letters as she lifted her head and paused to listen.

  Maybe in his own way, this guy had a point.

  She brushed away an errant tear with the flick of a finger. Once, she’d considered being in love, as the man in the other room just said...

  A reason for special celebration.

  At one time, she and Phillip Winston Carlisle Buckingham the third had a good marriage, but due to Phil citing business commitments as the cause, they hadn’t lived together for any measurable amount of time in years.

  Hadn’t slept together for far longer.

  Spine stiffened, she raised her gaze toward the ceiling. Who was she kidding? She was as ripe as Phil for a real, warm, red blooded, touchy feely with all the benefits relationship with a willing member of the opposite sex. Her ex simply beat her to it.

  “No legal reason has been shown that these two individuals should not be joined as one.”

  Finally! Her misguided daydream believer was being somewhat practical.

  “For all of its wonderful allure, attraction and mystery, love isn’t perfect and should never be treated as such.”

  Exactly.

  “Everlasting love involves obligation, promise and, in the end, simple hard work. All with no excuses. If both parties aren’t steadfast in that, they shouldn’t bother.”

  Inching toward such flawless agreement with someone she didn’t even know made her smile again.

  “This promise of devotion made by two loving partners is a public affirmation that this contract, this union between them, shall be forever honored.”

  Mr. Starry-eyed optimist was losing her again. No emotional strings attached was the perfect way to go.

  “Take care of each other in sorrow and joy, plenty and want, good health or bad. And now, it is my distinct pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Once burned, twice learned. Period.

  Unable to listen any longer, Cynthia stood and flexed her knees to ease out some minor kinks. For now, relieving the stiffness in her hips was a lost cause. Arching her back as best she could without attracting undue attention, she picked up her belongings and began to make her way across the suddenly crowded hallway.

  As more briefcase toting attorneys scurried by, one who was forced to dodge around her shot her an indignant glare—which she pointedly ignored. Once on the other side, she sat on yet another unyielding bench. Setting the satchel on the seat beside her, she picked up the letters written on her behalf.

  After a quick review of these, she really needed to get back to the jury room where she belonged. Before the clerk in charge noticed how long she'd been absent and the judge she was assigned to made her pay for being AWOL.

  Chapter Two

  After his first firefight, when Jonah Colt crawled out of the foxhole still in one piece, his smile had stretched his cheeks until they hurt. The one he wore now topped that. And felt damned near as good.

  “And may you enjoy a bright and happy future together.”

  Smile grown wider, he shook hands with the woman he’d just joined in blissful wedlock to the serious looking man by her side.

  Reaching to grab the hand of the new husband, his usual sunny demeanor remained intact while inside he couldn’t stop a mindset that bordered on dread. “And you too, sir. A bright and happy future.”

  The young soldier shifted the garrison cap from under his right arm to clasp the hand Jonah offered. “Thank you, your honor. I’ll do my best.”

  Jonah yearned to somehow convey a sense of brotherhood shared only by those who had experienced the horrors of war. Too bad now was not the time. “I know you will, son. I have no doubt of that.”

  “And thank you too, sir, for rearranging what must have been a busy schedule to fit us in today.”

  “Not a problem. I know—well, I was glad to do it.” He kept his tone even. “When do you ship out?”

  “Day after tomorrow, sir. We stop off in Italy first then it’s on to—” A sigh from the woman beside them stole the soldier’s attention. Placing a protective arm around her shoulders, he went on. “—a very short deployment is what we’re being told.”

  “I’m sure it will be. Things have come a long way since I was there.”

  The new wife’s expression transformed from despair to hope. “You were deployed over there?”

  It took effort but Jonah retrieved his original smile for her benefit, then took a breath. “I was.”

  “What was it like?”

  Living in Hell.

  Another breath was essential before he was able to speak. “A total of five tours. And came back unscathed every time.”

  Patting his torso to provide physical reassurance, Jonah was never more thankful for the concealment his clothes provided. Scars from shrapnel, some of which remained embedded beneath the skin surface, crisscrossed his backside from knees to shoulders. The evidence of a grazing from a poorly aimed sniper’s bullet that narrowly missed his skull was a permanent trail, raised, red and ugly, across one shoulder.

  All of which were nothing compared to the invisible wounds that were his and his alone.

  “Excuse me, your honor.” Joyce Ellis, Jonah’s daytime assistant and anytime confidant stepped forward, papers and pen in hand, effectively cutting off his train of thought. “There are a couple of documents the four of us need to sign.”

&n
bsp; With some effort, he shut down creeping memories as she went on.

  “It should take only a moment, and you’ll be on your way.” With an outstretched arm, she separated the newlyweds from the handful of friends and family members who had attended the hastily arranged ceremony, then ushered them over to an old style mahogany desk set against a side wall. “We’ll need your signature as well, Judge Colt.”

  A silent message in the pointed look she cast over her shoulder wasn’t lost on Jonah. Move things along now. You have other pressing matters to attend to.

  “Right here, ma’am.” He took three exaggerated steps to arrive at her side. “Where do I sign?”

  Without cracking a smile, she handed over the pen with deliberate care, then placed a hand on his back as he bent over the desk. “Where you always do. At the bottom.”

  Joyce had been with him during his trial attorney years. And kept his practice going when his week-end warrior unit was sent overseas—making her one of the few people who knew him before the experiences that forever changed his outlook on life.

  Though even she had no real idea of the extent of the damage.

  “Again, sir, thank you very much.” The groom reached for his hand as Jonah straightened.

  “And thank you, corporal, for your service. Best of luck to you both.” Another firm handshake for the groom was followed by a gentler squeeze of the bride’s hand. “He’ll be home before you know it.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.” She offered a slight smile before wrapping her arm through that of her new husband.

  “The trick is to stay busy.” Jonah was running low on encouraging epitaphs and spent the next few moments sharing polite amenities.

  Until once more Joyce came forward to lead their guests to the exit. “Take care now. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.” Jonah whooshed out a breath after the last attendee had filed out, then draped his suit coat by one sleeve over the rack mounted by the door. “Did I screw that up? Ruin the day by mentioning his impending deployment?”

  Shaking her head, Joyce walked over to arrange his jacket onto a heavy wooden hanger she replaced on one spindle. “What do you think?”

  “I think war sucks.”