by Debra Webb
He parked in front of the cabin and hurried around to open her door and help her out.
“I’m not fragile,” she promised, but she didn’t shrug off his assistance.
“I’ve never brought anyone else here,” he said, throwing open the door to his private retreat.
“Oh, Parker.” Becca immediately moved through the space, complimenting various things along the way until she reached a wall of glass with a western view of cliffs and ocean.
“You like it?”
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “You knew I would.” She stood at the window, her hands rubbing some heat into her arms. The sunset on the other side of the wide bank of glass caught the fiery highlights in her hair. “The view is gorgeous. I don’t know how you drag yourself away.”
“I’ve been tempted to hole up here and live like a hermit.” Thank God he hadn’t done so or he never would have found her.
The temperature had dropped on the drive, and the forecast called for a cool night. To Parker it made the perfect excuse for cozying up to the fire. He knelt by the fireplace, and once the kindling caught, he joined her at the window, wrapping his arms around her waist. Giving her his warmth until the fire chased the chill from the air.
“I first saw this place in late afternoon,” he said. “The Realtor and I walked the property first and then the sun was just starting to set when we stepped inside. I think he did it on purpose to get the sale.”
“Smart Realtor,” Becca said.
“Definitely.” Parker chuckled, remembering it fondly. “I should’ve known I didn’t stand a chance. He was referred by Rush and Sam. They don’t tolerate slow or second-rate in any area.”
Through the years, the number of people Parker trusted with his life could be tallied on one short list. He’d never expected to share his deepest thoughts or secrets with a woman. Of course he hadn’t believed a woman like Becca—smart, funny and safe enough to trust—existed.
He’d treated her badly, yet every chance she had to turn on him, she’d turned toward him instead. He wasn’t sure he would ever really be worthy of her, but he wanted to spend a lifetime trying.
“Becca.” He turned her away from the view, and when he looked into her big blue eyes, all the things he wanted to tell her jammed up inside his head. He dropped his forehead to hers and just breathed her in. She was alive. They were alive.
It was time to take the next step. Well, it was time to ask her if she was interested in taking the next step with him. No more issuing orders or fighting for control. He wanted her in his life, as his equal partner in all the days to come.
He nearly swore when the sapphire-and-diamond ring in his pocket seemed too heavy. How was it he could blow a hole in an enemy stronghold with confidence and the idea of popping the question had his knees knocking? He knew it wasn’t second thoughts or cold feet. He was entering uncharted territory.
“Becca, thank you for coming up here with me.”
Her generous mouth spread into a wide, happy smile that made her eyes sparkle. “We deserve some time to recoup and recover, just the two of us.”
Her words warmed his heart, steadied him. “We do,” he agreed. “This place means something to me and I wanted to share it with you.”
Her auburn eyebrows arched toward her hairline at his admission. “Thank you.”
“You know, after handling the earlier, um, situation so badly.”
Her blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “We’re both past that now, right?”
“Right. I just—I mean.” He clamped his mouth shut. He would not stammer and bumble his way through a marriage proposal. He leaned in and kissed her. Her lips, soft and yielding beneath his, settled his racing thoughts. When he lifted his mouth from hers, the words tumbled out exactly as they were meant to. “Becca Wallace, would you please be my wife?”
“Oh, Parker.” Her eyes glistened with emotion and then her gaze dropped to the ring he held up for her.
Although the blue sapphire reminded him of her eyes when she laughed, he suddenly worried that he should have chosen a traditional diamond ring. “If you don’t like it, we can—”
She pressed a finger to his mouth to silence him. “It’s a beautiful ring. Perfect.” Still, she didn’t take it.
Was that a no or a yes? Would it be pushy to ask for clarification? If other men had this much trouble, they sure didn’t tell anyone about it. “Is it too soon?” He pulled the ring back. “Can you forget I asked? We’ll just take it a day at a time.” He should’ve known it would take more time to win her over. They’d been through too much.
“Hang on.” She caught his hand, her eyes on the ring for a long moment before she raised that gaze to his. “Parker, I knew you, I fell in love with you in the dark.” She lifted his free hand and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm.
The move sent a tremor through him, stole his breath, just as it had done the first time when they were on the beach, watching a different sunset.
“I love you, Parker. You can count on me to always stand by you forever. Yes! My answer is yes.” She bounced a little on her toes. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”
Her words, the sincerity in her vivid blue eyes smoothed away the last of the rough edges, even before she kissed him tenderly. At the sweet, familiar contact, he felt everything inside him click into place like the proverbial key in the lock.
“I love you, Becca. No matter what has been or what will be, you’ll always be my light.” He guided the ring onto her finger, where it sat, a perfect fit, just like the two of them.
* * * * *
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Mr. Taken
by Danica Winters
Chapter One
No matter how hard Whitney Barstow tried, there was one memory that never seemed to fade or be twisted by time—it was the moment she had nearly died. The smoke had filled her lungs, stealing her oxygen and making her head ache. The acrid smoke was like hands covering her mouth and nose, and however hard she tried to breathe, they only clenched harder. She had torn at the invisi
ble hands, leaving faint scars on her face—a personal reminder of her desperation to survive.
Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the barn. The door was closed, and when the spark had hit the hay, it was like a bomb that had gone off. She could still hear the whoomp as the dry tinder erupted into flames. And the heat. Oh, the heat. Some nights she would wake up in a cold sweat, her body’s reflexes kicking in at the mere thought of being trapped in the inferno once again.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she stared out at the barn that sat at the heart of Dunrovin Ranch, and her thoughts turned to the lives she’d lost. There would be no replacing Runs Like the Wind, her black Thoroughbred. She could still smell the scent of hay on the horse’s breath and feel her smooth gait from high in the saddle. Nothing would ever be the same. There was no going back and stopping evil from entering her life. There was no undoing what had been done.
There was only one thing she could do to keep the memories at bay—she could never ride again.
Even now, almost ten years later, she could barely step foot in a barn. If she was forced, it was only if the door was kept open and the breeze drifted through like a promise of freedom. She couldn’t be trapped again. Not by a person, and never by fire. Never.
“Whit, are you okay, sweetheart?” Mrs. Eloise Fitzgerald called out from the main office.
Whitney angrily wiped away the tear that had escaped. She didn’t have room in her life for weakness—or vulnerability. It was emotional weakness that always got her into trouble. If she just stayed tough and shut the world out—even Mrs. Fitzgerald, the kindly matriarch of the Fitzgerald family—she would never have to worry about getting hurt again.
“I’m fine,” she called back to her boss. “Just wanted a bit of fresh air before the guests started arriving for the weekend.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald walked out onto the porch and wrapped her arms around her body, shielding herself from the bitter December air. “Brr... You are going to catch your death of cold out here if you don’t get your skinny buns inside, little thing.”
Whitney snorted a laugh. It would be ironic, dying by hypothermia after nearly dying by fire. “I don’t mind the cold,” she said with a smile she hoped would calm Eloise’s nerves.
Eloise waved her inside, not letting her get away with such disregard for her well-being. “You know what I always say... You don’t have anything if you don’t have your health.”
Her health was just fine, thank you very much... It was the rest of Whitney that could really have used some work. She hadn’t been on a date in two years, and her best friend was the ranch dog, Milo, that no one else seemed to notice. Some days, when the phones were not ringing and she found herself looking for work to do, it was almost as if she and the dog were really nothing more than apparitions.
She walked over to the fence and ran her finger over one of the red Christmas lights that were looped between the posts. Maybe she was just like the Ghost of Christmas Past, an enigma sent to warn others that if they were like her, and continued living set in their ways, only bad things were bound to happen.
Or maybe she was just spending entirely too much time alone, wrapped up in her head and the things that needed to be done around the place. Ever since the murders, everything had slowed down—guests weren’t filing in and out as they once did, and even their annual Yule Night celebration was barely getting off the ground. It was almost as if the deaths of the women in and around the ranch were only a precursor of what was to come—like some dire warning that nothing could be warm and fuzzy, not even during the holidays.
Maybe she really needed to talk, to lay bare her feelings. Maybe she wasn’t alone in her fears. And as much as she dreaded opening up, if she was going to communicate with anyone, Eloise would have been a good choice. The woman had seen it all and experienced even more. She’d raised handfuls of kids from all kinds of backgrounds, been through famine and hardship, and yet always seemed to have a smile on her face and soup on the stove. She was the epitome of perfection—always put together and selfless when it came to those she cared for. And of late, all her energies had been focused on looking after the ranch and handling the uproar it had been facing. Yet, even with all this, she had been making time to come and see Whitney and ensure that she was settling into her new role on the ranch.
“You need to come on in,” Eloise called again, her teeth chattering slightly as she spoke.
For the woman’s benefit, she made her way over to the door and stepped into her cramped office, and Eloise followed. The place was overflowing with books, and papers littered the desk in no discernible order. She grimaced as she looked over at Eloise, who was staring at the mess as though it was the first time she had taken notice.
“Sweetheart,” Eloise started, “do you think it’s possible that we could get a few of these things filed away?”
“Not a problem, ma’am.” She set about shuffling the papers that sat on the farthest corner of the desk and shoving them in the already burgeoning bottom drawer of the desk. She tried to push it closed, but the drawer burped the extra copies of the ranch’s tri-fold brochures and a notepad filled with scrawled notes.
She laughed as she turned around and tried to hide the mess behind her.
Eloise smiled, ever elegant and kind even in the face of inadequacy. “Do you want me to show you how I would organize all this?”
Whitney loved how the woman didn’t try to force her through guilt, but rather the gentle and practiced hand of patience; yet she wasn’t the kind to accept acts of pity. “I think I can—”
Thankfully, there was the harsh ding of the bell at the front desk and it saved Whitney from having to ask for help. She could handle the responsibilities of the front office. In truth, the mess had diminished in size since last week, but she was sure Eloise wasn’t ready to hear that though her office was a disaster, it was cleaner than it had been in nearly a month.
As she walked out the door toward the parlor where they received guests, she was stopped when she ran into a man. Well, not any man, but Colter. The well-muscled, ridiculously handsome Fitzgerald brother who was nearly as reclusive as she. “Oh, hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to—” She took a step back from him as she realized she was so close to him that she could smell the traces of smoke on his skin even though it was masked by the heady aroma of his cologne.
It struck her that no matter how many showers a person could take or how much perfume he used to cover up the smell of a fire, it wasn’t something that could be fully erased—just like her memory, it had a way of nearly permeating into a person all the way to the soul. Or maybe it was just the fact that she knew what he did for a living, the risks he took and the panic he had to face each and every day, which brought the scent back to the front of her mind. It was almost like one of Pavlov’s dogs except firefighter equaled smoke, and smoke equaled...fear.
She took another step back. Though he was one sexy hunk of man, with his dark black cowboy hat and whiskey-colored eyes, he was the living embodiment of danger.
“You’re fine,” he said, a giant, almost comically large grin on his face. “But you know if you wanted to touch my body, all you had to do was ask.”
“Ugh. You really are full of yourself. Aren’t you, Colter?” She couldn’t help the heat that rose in her cheeks as he teased her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t imagined running her fingers over the lines of the muscles that adorned his chest. Every staff member at the ranch had a fantasy about at least one of the Fitzgerald brothers—who, of late, had been getting scooped up by women prettier and far more accomplished than her.
“I’ve been called full of something, but it ain’t usually myself,” he said, his Montana drawl kicking into an even higher gear than his smile.
“Well, if no one has had the guts to call you on it, then I’m more than happy to step up to the plate. You, Mr. Colter Fitzgerald, aren’t God’
s gift to women. In fact, in case you didn’t know, you are the last man I would ever think about dating. I’d rather date...” She paused as she tried to come up with a man in place of him, but none came to mind. As the seconds ticked by, her heart rate climbed. He couldn’t see her like this. She had to be cool, calm, collected and, above all, witty—and she had nothing.
“You’d rather date whom?” he asked, with that all-too-cute grin and a wiggle of the eyebrow.
“Dang it, you know what I mean... I would rather date anyone than you.”
“As long as it’s no one else in particular, I think I like my odds.” He laughed, the sound as rich and full of depth as his eyes.
She groaned, but the sound didn’t take on the edge of real annoyance like she had wanted it to; in fact, to her ears it almost sounded like the awful noise a woman made when she was trying not to fall for a man. And she was definitely, absolutely, categorically never going to fall for the infamous jokester Colter Fitzgerald. Nope. Not gonna happen. She would never let him win her over as long as she stayed in her right mind. Not that she had a left mind, but...well... She sighed.
No.
The bell tinged to life again from the parlor, reminding her of the guests who were undoubtedly growing more impatient by the second with her absence.
“Excuse me—I have work to do. Unlike some of us,” she said under her breath as she pushed past him, careful not to touch him again.
His laughter followed her into the parlor until she shut the door to drown him out. The last thing she needed to do was spend a moment thinking about that man.
Standing at the front desk was a man and a woman. They looked to be in their midthirties, and based on the woman’s coiffed hair, to-the-sky black stilettos, and brown Louis Vuitton purse, they were definitely among their elite clientele. They had probably come here to spend their trust-fund money on some idealistic and romantic getaway that involved a horse-drawn sleigh and a bearskin rug in front of the crackling fireplace.
