"Treet."
His sudden, lazy grin weakened her knees in two seconds flat. He propped his shoulder against the door jamb and crossed his ankles. “I figured you were in here wearing a path in the carpet, trying to warm those cold feet."
He was so dead right that she blushed.
"Ah. So I was right."
She took a deep breath and waved him inside, shutting the door. There was only one thing between them that needed to be aired, and it might as well be now. “I found the original script in the office."
"Oh."
"Yes, ‘oh'.” Hadleigh crossed her arms and waited. She wasn't angry, but she decided it wouldn't hurt to shake his confidence a bit. Make him sweat. She sure had done enough sweating as a result of his handiwork.
With a shrug and a wicked grin, he said, “I couldn't resist. You were being so stubborn about not getting involved with me.” He came to stand close to her. Very close. So close his brilliant baby blues nearly blinded her. Tenderly, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I'm not going to apologize. That would be paramount to saying I regret what happened as a result of my devious, underhanded, cowardly plot to get you into my arms."
Hadleigh's lips twitched. She put a hand up to stop the betraying movement. Treet brushed her fingers away and replaced them with his own.
He drew an erotic, tingly line across her bottom lip, watching it as if mesmerized. “I've never met anyone that makes me feel the way you do.” His voice dropped to that warm-honey level of intoxication. “I've never met anyone that I care about, the way I care about you."
Hadleigh unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth, struggling to stay focused on the issue. And what was the issue, anyway? Had there ever been an issue, aside from her stubbornness?
Running his hand down her spine, Treet pulled her close, shamelessly flaunting his magnificent erection. “I can't imagine life without you, Hadleigh."
Her lips parted, and a sigh slipped through. “That—that sounds like love,” she whispered, reaching for his tempting mouth. He stopped just short of letting their lips meet.
"Your turn,” he murmured thickly, his hungry gaze on her moist lips.
"I feel the same way.” Her hands crept between them; her fingers curled into his shirt over his heart. She could feel the heavy boom boom of his heartbeat. Slowly, she pressed her forehead against his chest—right over the beat. “I just don't want to make a mistake, Treet."
He kissed the top of her head. “I don't think love comes with a guarantee, baby. I can only swear to you that I intended to ask you to marry me before Cheyenne came into the picture."
The tension drained from Hadleigh like air from a balloon. She finally allowed herself to believe him, and it made her giddy. “What if ... what if Cheyenne doesn't give up?” She heard a low growl rumble in his throat.
"Then we'll keep fighting her—together.” He chuckled. “I don't think she'll be back, especially after you threatened her with that witness from the hospital."
Hadleigh felt her face heat. He saw it and laughed.
"So, that was a bluff?"
She nodded, sliding her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly to her. “Yes.” She hesitated. “Treet, do you think it's fair to keep her from Sam?” The words nearly stuck in her throat as she added, “After all, she is Sam's mother."
Treet shook her slightly. “No. You're Sam's mother. Cheyenne is just—just—"
"Every man's dream?” Hadleigh teased, tilting her head to look at him.
Just before his mouth crushed hers, she heard him growl, “Not this man's dream."
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Epilogue
The marriage ceremony—which Hadleigh firmly kept repeating whenever someone referred to it as a ‘wedding', was scheduled for two o'clock.
At one fifty-five, Sam slipped into Hadleigh's room. “Mommy,” she whispered, looking like an angel in a white chiffon dress edged with pink lace. Matching ribbons adorned her auburn hair.
There was a smudge of icing at the corner of her mouth, and a black scuff mark on her shiny white shoes.
"I see you've been sampling the cake,” Hadleigh said, dropping to her knees and scrubbing Sam's mouth with a tissue. She didn't know why, but every time she blinked, her eyes teared up again.
Sam inched closer, wrapping her arms around Hadleigh's neck and nearly pulling her off-balance. “I'm nervous, Mommy."
"Me, too, sweetheart."
"Then can I walk out with you?"
Hadleigh managed a tremulous smile. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” Standing, she took Sam's little hand in hers and headed for the door.
"There's a lot of people out there, Mommy,” Sam said, frowning. “Are they all gettin’ married?"
"No. They're just here to watch us get married."
"Oh."
Sam wasn't kidding about the crowd, Hadleigh realized as they walked slowly down the hall. She could see them spilling into the foyer, some she recognized, a lot she didn't.
In the family room where the ceremony would be performed by the local preacher—Mrs. Spencer's brother-in-law—Karen, Barbi, and Doreen huddled together, dressed in their best. Hadleigh took heart from their encouraging smiles. Their support went a long way in relieving the flutters in her stomach.
Finally, her gaze landed on Treet, who stood before the cold fireplace with his back to her. The preacher faced her, a benign smile on his face. Brutal stood to the right of Treet, looking huge and handsome in a suit and tie. Caroline, dressed identically to Sam, stood before Brutal, holding a bouquet of tiny pink rosebuds.
Treet turned to look at her, his expression both tender and hungry.
At that moment, Hadleigh knew how Sleeping Beauty must have felt when she opened her eyes and saw her beloved Prince again. She had found her prince as well.
The actual ceremony was short and sweet, just as they'd planned in deference to the short attention span of their daughters. When it came time for Hadleigh to say, ‘I do', Sam and Caroline's exuberant, “We do, we do!” coincided with the ringing of the door bell.
Instead of looking surprised, Treet glanced at his watch and shot Hadleigh a loving, satisfied smile. “Clint's right on time."
Clint the producer, Hadleigh thought, a trifle bewildered at the producer's timing. The preacher pronounced them husband and wife and Treet leaned in to kiss her long and hard. When they broke apart, he looked deeply into her eyes and said, “I love you."
Hadleigh's heart lurched in response, and Karen's sudden, muffled scream hardly registered as Hadleigh whispered hoarsely, “I love you, too."
Beside her, a deep, familiar voice drawled, “Now it's my turn to kiss the bride."
Startled, Hadleigh turned just in time to feel cool, firm lips on hers. Definitely not Treet's mouth, because she felt absolutely nothing. When she opened her eyes, she nearly swooned.
Clint Eastwood grinned at her. “Not bad for an old man, huh?"
Hadleigh's lips moved, but no sound emerged. She'd just been kissed by Clint Eastwood—
"Ouch!"
To her continued amazement, the movie icon howled and began to hop on one foot. In a daze, Hadleigh watched her scowling daughter move in for another well-aimed kick to Clint's shin.
"Don't you kiss my mommy! We're married to Treet!” she shouted, red-faced. She doubled her fist and aimed for his groin.
In the nick of time, Hadleigh caught her arm before it could do irreparable damage to the movie star legend. When she glanced helplessly at Treet, she found him nearly doubled over with laughter.
Brutal had actual tears streaming down his face, his big body shaking with suppressed laughter.
Hadleigh was mortified. “Mr. Eastwood,” she began to babble, “I'm so sorry! I don't know what gets into her—"
Clint had finally recovered, but remained wisely out of reach of Sam's flaying legs and arms as she fought to free herself from Hadleigh's grip. “I think I'll live.” His benevolent gaze slid
to Treet's laughing face. “Yours?” he asked.
Treet wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “Mine. They're all mine,” he added, indicating Caroline and Hadleigh.
With a rueful lift of his famous brow, Clint shook his head. “I should have known."
* * * *
"Is it working?” Samantha asked Caroline, leaning forward to see how much of the black brew her new sister had consumed. She took a sip of her own, shuddering at the awful taste. “It always works for mommy."
Caroline braved another sip, her expression nearly identical to Sam's. “I think so. I don't feel sleepy, do you?"
Sam shook her head. She and Caroline were seated on the floor in front of the television in the den, watching Sleeping Beauty. Behind them on the sofa, the newlywed couple sat wrapped in each other's arms, sound asleep. “I guess getting married makes people tired,” Sam said. She reached for the jar of instant coffee sitting between them and poured a fair amount into her cup, stirring it with her finger.
"Yeah. I guess so. Look!” Caroline pointed to the TV screen. “Everyone's crying over Sleeping Beauty. They think she's dead."
The atmosphere became hushed. They watched, fascinated, as Prince Phillip slashed his way through huge thorn trees to get to the castle.
"He won't make it,” Sam said glumly.
"Yes he will!” Caroline leaned forward in expectation.
When Prince Phillip kissed Sleeping Beauty, both girls squealed as Princess Aurora opened her eyes.
"Told ya!"
"So.” Sam stuck out her tongue. The movie came to an end. She put down her cup of strong coffee and grabbed Caroline's hand, hauling her to her feet. “Wanna make pancakes?” she asked, glancing at the sleeping couple. “We could surprise them."
"You know how?"
"'Course I do!"
Caroline shrugged. “Okay.” She took another big gulp of her cold coffee, making a face. “I'm not a bit sleepy, anyway. Maybe after we make pancakes, we can make some cookies. I watched Trudy do it and it looks easy."
Hand in hand, the two girls left the unsuspecting newlyweds.
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About the author...
Sheridon Smythe is the writing team of Sherrie Kelley and Donna Smith. Best friends for over thirty years, they have written five historical romances and several contemporary romances under this pseudonym.
Sherrie lives in central Arkansas and has two children and four grandchildren.
Donna lives in the boot heel of Missouri and has three children. Her son, Marcus, is currently serving our country.
The team enjoys brainstorming together and entertaining their readers with stories they hope will stay with the reader long after they reach ‘the end.'
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