Spring Into Love

by Chantel Rhondeau

  “The chemistry is oh so there!” – Say Medina

  Excerpt

  “I want your love. Need it deep in my bones. You’re a part of me, and before this night is through you’re going to know it as sure as you know your own self. I want your heart, your hands and your feet, your babies and your soul. I want you, all of you. I don’t want to be friends. It’s lovers or nothing. That’s the bottom line. You. Me. Lovers. Forever.”

  To read more, please pick up your copy of Claiming Carlos today.

  Glossary

  Family and Relationship Terms

  Anak – child, term of endearment, from Malaysian

  Ate – eldest sister, from Chinese, can refer to a friend, usually by tagging their name, or any elder sister

  Barkada – friendship group, clique

  Kuya – eldest brother, from Chinese, can refer to a friend, usually by tagging their name, or any elder brother

  Mano-po – greeting performed as a sign of respect for elders. The elder’s hand is pressed, knuckles first, to the forehead of the younger and a blessing is given.

  Nanay – mother, from Nahuatl

  Tatay – father, from Nahuatl

  Tita – Auntie, includes friends of parents, from Spanish

  Tito – Uncle, includes friends of parents, from Spanish

  Food Terms

  Bagoong – a Philippine condiment made of partially or completely fermented fish or shrimp and salt

  Bangus – milkfish, national fish of the Philippines

  Binagoongan – a pork dish flavored with bagoong (shrimp paste)

  Buko – young, green coconut. The meat is still soft and translucent and the juice is clear and sweet. Buko pandan is a dessert.

  Calamansi – a citrus fruit, Philippine lime

  Flan - a custard dessert with a layer of soft caramel on top

  Halo-halo - dessert that is a mixture of shaved ice and evaporated milk to which are added various gelatins, boiled sweet beans, fruits, and sometimes topped with ube ice cream

  Kangkong – water spinach

  Kare-kare – a meat stew, sometimes based on oxtails and tripe, with a peanut base

  Katsu – transliteration of the Japanese word for cutlet

  Lechón – pork dish derived from suckling pig, spit roasted over charcoal. Lechón kawali is a crispy, pan-fried version. Lechón baboy is the whole pig.

  Longanisa – garlic and vinegar rich pork sausage

  Longsilog – breakfast consisting of longanisa, garlic rice, and eggs

  Lumpia – crispy fried roll consisting of meat and vegetable filling. Each family has their own special version. Derived from Chinese spring rolls.

  Matcha - finely milled or powdered green tea.

  Miso - paste made from fermented soybeans and barley or rice malt, used in Japanese cooking.

  Pancit – saucy noodles introduced to the Philippines by Chinese. Pancit bihon is made with transparent thin rice noodles.

  Sake - alcoholic beverage of Japanese origin that is made from fermented rice

  Sisig – a snack, usually marinated in a sour liquid, for example, pork sisig is made from parts of pig’s head and liver, usually seasoned with calamansi and chili peppers

  Tapa – dried cured meat rubbed with spices, usually beef or mutton

  Tapsilog – breakfast consisting of tapa, garlic rice, and eggs

  Tempeh – an Indonesian soy product consisting of fermented soybeans pressed into cake form

  Tokwa’t baboy – appetizer consisting of pork ears, pork belly and deep-fried tofu dipped in a sour-spicy marinade

  Turon - sweet, deep-fried spring roll made from saba bananas and may be eaten as a snack or dessert.

  Ube – purple yam

  Clothing

  Barong – a lightweight embroidered shirt, usually worn untucked

  Baro’t Saya - unofficial national dress of the Philippines

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to my critique partners and beta readers: Jessica Cassidy (wifetoalineman), Geraldine Solon, Linda Tolentino Johnson, Stacy Eaton, annamaría bazzi, Chantel Rhondeau, Melisa Hamling, Racquel Reck, Sharon Coady, Michele Shriver. A big thank you to my proofreader, Amanda Phillips.

  Thanks also to Mina V. Esguerra who offered the Steamy Reads online class that led to Taming Romeo. Mina is a champion for writing instruction and a wonderful motivator, challenging her class to write a romance in a month. She is a real cheerleader and encourages everyone, no matter who they are, to write their stories.

  As always, my gratitude goes to readers. You are the answer to the question, “If a book is written and no one is around to read it, does it exist?”

  Thank You and Happy Reading!

  About the Author

  Rachelle Ayala is a bestselling Asian American author of dramatic romantic suspense and humorous, sexy contemporary romances. Her heroines are feisty and her heroes hot. She writes emotionally challenging stories but believes in the power of love and hope.

  She is the founder of the Romance In A Month writing club and a volunteer for the World Literary Café. She lives in California with her husband and children.

  Website: http://rachelleayala.me

  Blog: http://www.rachelleayala.com

  Subscribe to mailing list for upcoming books and giveaways. http://bit.ly/RachAyala

  Get updates and chat with Rachelle at her Reader’s Club: https://www.facebook.com/groups/ClubRachelleAyala

  Also By Rachelle Ayala

  Michal’s Window

  Roaring Hot!

  A Father for Christmas

  Christmas Flirt

  Christmas Stray

  Chance for Love

  Broken Build

  Hidden Under Her Heart

  Knowing Vera

  Sánchez Sisters

  Taming Romeo

  Claiming Carlos

  Jewells in Love

  Whole Latte Love

  #Played Sports Romances

  Played by Love

  Playing the Rookie

  Playing Without Rules

  Consolation Prize

  Abbie St. Claire

  Copyright © 2014 by:

  Abbie St. Claire

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Cover Design and Formatting: DeLaine Roberts, DR Graphic Expressions www.drgrapicexpressions.com

  Ace's Key by Abbie St. Claire. Copyright © 2014

  This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.

  Dedication

  This story is dedicated to Julie Mysiewicz. She picked the names Flynn and Chloe and they could not have been more perfect for this story.

  Julie, thank you for supporting me as an author and for reading Indie. You ROCK!

  Chapter 1

  Chloe

  I walked back into the exam room in my veterinary clinic and handed my patient to her owner. “Mrs. Chancelor, there is nothing wrong with little Penelope.”

  “But she keeps throwing up,” the blue-haired woman said.

  “When cats groom themselves, their hair gets into the digestive system. It’s nature’s way of dealing with it.”

  “It’s gross, Dr. Howard,” Mrs. Chancelor uttered, obviously frustrated and taking her grumpiness out on me. “She’s a piece of work.”

  Penelope let out a long and soulful meow. I picked her up to soothe her. She seemed completely at peace in my arms but showed no sign of attachment to Mrs. Chancelor.

  “I’m not taking her home. You seem like a really nice girl, Dr. Howard. Maybe you could take her home with you. But if not, you need to give her to someone else,” Mrs. Chancelor sputtered out almost like an order.

  “Pets aren’t disposable, Mrs. Chancelor. Don’t you want to think about this?” I asked as she snatched up her purse and opened the door.

  “No,” she answered in a hateful bark.

 
It wasn’t every day I encountered pet owners who were no longer in love with the idea of a pet or didn’t do their homework before purchasing or adopting a pet, but when I did, it was disheartening. And so the search began to find new adoptive homes, which was why I’d created the Adoptive Furkidz website.

  I let Penelope roam around my office and observed her, taking notes to best describe her finest features for the ad on the website.

  With silky fur the color of honey, this Persian Lovely is adorable and needs a family to grab her up. Her playful spirit guarantees hours of enjoyment and laughter.

  With a few snazzy photos, I was sure she would have a new home quickly. Most of our adoptions occurred within a short period of time. The idea of having pets put down haunted me. I’d made it my mission to find each one of them a home.

  The larger portion of my day as a veterinarian was spent with people who adore their animals and referred to them with endearing names such as fur babies and four-legged babies, but never a Piece of Work.

  I was sure there would be an alternative place for Mrs. Chancelor and people like her who mistreated, neglected, or brought harm to animals. I was deep into mentally thrashing her when Zetta opened my door.

  “Stuttgart Farms is on the line. One of their prized stallions got into the feed barn. Can you go out and take a look?”

  I looked at the clock above the door—twenty after six—and let out a groan. Another night making barn calls.

  “Bet it was Cherokee. I’ll get my kit and head that way if you’ll let them know?”

  Zetta didn’t wait for my answer; she knew I was married to the job and wouldn’t say “no” to any crisis. In fact, she was my right hand girl and knew me by heart. We’d spent years working or training together at school.

  She was finishing up her last year of veterinarian school at Texas A&M, my alma mater, where we’d first met. She planned on joining my practice full time once she graduated. By then, she hoped her husband, Clay, would be leaving the Army and returning home for good. Three tours of Afghanistan were enough for her. But until then, she and I had been joined at the hip since she was practically single, and I was eternally solo.

  ***

  Cherokee Night was a beautiful black stallion and one of Stuttgart Farm’s prized possessions. With stud fees running around $100,000, you’d think their manager would have a lock on their grain storage that Cherokee couldn’t open.

  “Hey Doc, thanks for coming out. This rascal is driving me nuts,” Glenn said, lifting his hat and scratching his head.

  “Studs are suitable for two things and that’s one of them,” I quipped.

  Glenn simply rolled his eyes at me. The man seriously had issues with women knowing anything.

  Unable to determine how much grain Cherokee consumed meant I got to spend the night walking him and keeping a close eye on his behavior. Horses were known for getting into the feed if not monitored, and overeating can easily cause colic or death.

  While Cherokee and I were walking the arena on the south side of the barn, I noticed two gentlemen take a seat on the fence. They seemed to watch us and carry on a conversation at the same time, pointing in our direction and obviously discussing Cherokee. One of the men was dressed in business clothes and sported expensive sunglasses. He didn’t look like a cowboy, horseman, or anyone who belonged to the farms, but he sure was attractive and caught my eye.

  “Hey, Glenn, who’s the suit?”

  “Some investor that the Stuttgart’s are tanglin’ with. His family is big in commercial construction.”

  “Strange combination.”

  “You don’t say,” he said snidely.

  Glenn tossed me the keys to the property and told me where the fresh linens were in the loft above the barn, as if I’d never been there before. He knew I would sleep there that night so I could check on the horse. The owners kept me on a retainer, amply covering my fees, and rarely needed my services, but when I had to come out, it was no problem staying in a designer barn loft that was originally built for their daughter who had since married and moved out. Heck, it was better than my apartment.

  I put Cherokee on the walker and took a seat on the bench attached to the barn. The two men watched me intently for some time before making their way over to my side of the arena.

  “You must be Doc Howard?” the cowboy asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. You seem to have me at a disadvantage. And you are?” I asked, a bit dismayed. I didn’t like it when someone knew more about me than I did them, and yet, they kept their cards close to their vest.

  “Colt Stevens, Calvin Stuttgart’s son-in-law.” He removed his hat and shook my hand. “This is Flynn Davis.”

  So the suit had a name.

  About that time, Cherokee decided to drop to the ground and roll around. The night got exciting in a hurry, but that’s what happens when you have large, ornery animals.

  ***

  “How did the night go?” Zetta greeted me with a cup of coffee.

  “Long. It was Cherokee again, and he’s colicky. I’ll be going back at noon. I’ll spare you the details, but I did find out they are putting in a rough track and bringing in some investors. Glenn said it’s possible the farm would have a full time position within a year.”

  “You trying to get rid of me?” she teased.

  “Nice try, but who said we were discussing a position for you?” I badgered.

  “You’d never leave the clinic. You love crappy people like Mrs. Chancelor too much.”

  “Bullshit, but where’s that sweet Penelope?”

  “She’s in your office chair where she looks like she’s been all night.”

  It was going to take more coffee to keep me awake all day. I sat at my desk and tried to weed through the stack of emails while Penelope traipsed across my desk like she owned it.

  The Evite caught my eye. I opened the email attachment and groaned. Just what I wanted to do…attend a bachelorette party.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t love my friend April and want her to be happy. We’d been friends since high school, but she was the last of my single friends, and it was a reminder I wasn’t getting any younger. There was never anything interesting about their constant desire to attach me to someone, and I should’ve written a book with all of my excuses for their matchmaking attempts: 1001 Ways To Dodge A Blind Date.

  I never thought I was going to be the old maid of our group, but I supposed it wasn’t in the cards for me to find the right guy.

  Chapter 2

  “You got the Evite, right?” April asked almost out of breath.

  “I’m going. Don’t worry. Are you calling me while you’re at the gym?”

  “No, I’m carrying boxes up the back stairs at Moody’s.”

  “It’s not even noon. Why are you at Moody’s?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “You know I don’t take an appreciation to your shock value.”

  April quickly hung up the phone.

  Grrrr. I hated surprises. And what was worse was she’d mentioned Moody’s Bar—a place I’d avoided at all costs during the last three years.

  Moody’s had become our hangout when we came home for breaks during college. It was the place where I’d met Scott, and it was also the place where he’d broken my heart—in public.

  Scott Devlin was attending law school at SMU. He was the typical third generation heir to the family law practice. I was home on spring break and let him buy me a beer. One thing led to another, and we launched a long-distance relationship that lasted a span of three years. It was easy for him to have girls on the side since I was away attending A&M in College Station. Who would know, right? Especially when his boy club kept his secret—Bullet point number one of The Man Code: Girls on the side are perfectly fine, you keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours.

  His secrets appeared safe. That was until my mom became ill, and I rushed home during the week. One night after a long day waiting in ICU, I stopped by Moody’s for a drink and was making an att
empt to unwind. I watched from a distance as my boyfriend danced, played pool, and otherwise entertained some bimbo I didn’t know. Unable to control my anger, I approached him with a full glass of beer in my hand. Before the night was over, my face was wet with tears and his dripped with beer.

  I tried going to Moody’s with my friends after that night, but the bartenders and the local patrons all knew the story and continued to talk about it or would mention Scott’s name to me just to spawn a reaction, so I stopped going.

  ***

  On my drive out to Stuttgart’s to check on Cherokee, an Evite update came across my phone and I stared at the message.

  Limo will pick you up. Check the scheduled attached.

  Dinner at Henera’s

  Post Party at Moody’s Bar 10:30 until?

  Dress Code: Black mini-skirts, white tank tops, and accessories will be delivered tomorrow. Try on immediately.

  I shook my head in dread. I pondered what emergency I could use that would get me out of going or at the very least, interrupt my night so I could say hello and goodbye in the same sentence. I made a mental note to get creative in short order to ditch a freakin’ disaster.

  I checked Cherokee’s vitals. He was getting closer to his old self and a great distraction to my private life.

  “How’s he looking?” Glenn asked from behind me and almost caused me to jump from my seat on the fence.

  “He’s almost back to his mischievous self. I left a brochure on your clipboard for a new style of door guard you might want to install.”