by Lori Wilde
She didn’t say anything for the longest time, and he was starting to panic when she took a deep breath and said, “I sent you a Facebook friend request.”
“You did? When?”
“A couple of years ago. You ignored my request.”
“Carrie, honey, I don’t run my Facebook page. I have an assistant that does my social media.”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you didn’t want to be friends.”
It killed him that she thought that about him. Cut him right in two.
Downstairs, the front door opened, then slammed shut, followed by the sound of four voices.
“Crap!” Carrie exclaimed. “The twins and their girlfriends are back. You’ve got to get out of here.”
“As if your brothers aren’t intent on getting their girlfriends in the sack?” he said, partly relieved that they came home before he had to explain how he’d turned his life over to assistants, agents, and managers. There was time enough for that later.
She hopped out of bed. “I’m the responsible one in the family.”
“Since when?” He laughed, delighting in watching her bend over naked and scoop up his clothes from the floor, her gorgeous tits bouncing as she moved.
“Since you went away.”
There it was. The accusation he’d been waiting for since he’d come back to Twilight. Their separation had been mutual. Or at least that’s what he’d told himself. It was the only way he could live with having left her. After all, she was the one who told him to go, the first one to voice doubts about their impulsive marriage.
But only after she learned you got the scholarship.
She stuffed his clothes into his hands. “Get dressed.”
“Seriously? You’re throwing me out?” He tugged on his boxer briefs.
She was getting dressed, too, pulling on her jeans, not bothering with underwear, zipping them up. She reached for a T-shirt, tugged it over her head.
He jammed his arms into shirt, raked his hand through his hair. “Where’s my shoes?”
The comforter had gotten tossed to the floor in their sexy adventures. She lifted it up, located his shoes. “A. Testoni. Wow, don’t these shoes cost like a thousand dollars or more?”
“I’m surprised you know that,” he said, buttoning up his shirt.
“What? Country hicks can’t read fashion magazines?”
“I’m sorry, Carrie. I didn’t mean it like it sounded. It’s that you’re so real, so grounded. Why would you care about stuff like that?”
She didn’t acknowledge his apology. He had sounded like a spoiled rich twerp. Why had he said that?
“Why do you care?” she asked.
He looked her in the eyes. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Who needs a twelve-hundred-dollar pair of shoes?”
“Apparently you do.” She padded to the window, opened it, and pushed out the screen. “Go out this way.”
“Feels like old times,” he joked, trying to smooth things over.
“Mark,” she said. “Nothing is the same. No sense living in the past. You are who you are. It’s okay.”
He paused on the windowsill. One leg inside, one leg outside. That was when Mark realized there could be no spanning two worlds. He was either in or he was out.
Mark owned shoes that cost over a thousand dollars, and he thought she was such a dumb country hick she wouldn’t recognize designer footwear when she saw it.
Somehow, recognizing that he owned shoes that cost more than the monthly rent on the Yarn Barn brought Carrie’s silly little fantasy into perspective.
After they’d made love she’d started letting herself think foolish thoughts she had no business thinking, that the sweetheart legend just might be true, that they could have their happily-ever-after ending. She’d known all along it was a fairytale. Why hadn’t she stuck to her guns? Why had she let her heart start to hope?
He orbited a completely different solar system from her quiet existence here in Twilight. He had assistants that ran his Facebook page. Probably tweeted for him too. She might be a Christmas Scrooge, but ultimately, Carrie was happy here. She loved living in a small town. Loved being near her family. Loved running a yarn store. Loved entertaining the gossipy knitters. This was where she belonged. She had no need for shoes that cost a thousand dollars. Or a life in the Hollywood hills. Not that Mark had asked her to share his life.
The shoes are just an excuse. You’re scared. The same way you were scared when Mark got the scholarship to Columbia and rocketed far away from you. He got what he wanted. So did you. You just want different things. It’s as simple as that.
These same thoughts had been running through her head on a continuous loop since she’d thrown Mark out of her bedroom on Thanksgiving Day. She’d half hoped that he would call, but he hadn’t. Good, she told herself. Great. Perfect. That’s the way she wanted it.
The whole rest of the miserable weekend, she’d groused and complained as her father and Barbara and her twin brothers and their girlfriends put up a tree and decorated the house. Carrie had refused to participate. Bah-humbug. Believing in fantasies got you nothing but heartache.
It was Sunday evening, and she was rushing to The Horny Toad Tavern for a meeting of the First Love Cookie Cub. Most of the members of the Christmas cookie club, who also belonged to the Sweethearts Knitting Club, were meeting in the back room of the bar to plan the annual cookie-swap party. Even though Carrie was not a member of the cookie club—she was too grinchy for that—Patsy had phoned and asked her to drop by.
She drove past The Merry Cherub, and her heart gave an odd little hop, but she made herself stare straight ahead and not search the B&B for any sign of Mark.
When she arrived at the Horny Toad, Christine Noble, the owner of the Twilight Bakery, was passing out cookie samples to the group when Carrie walked in.
“Taste this,” Christine said and put a cookie in her hand.
“What is it?”
“Just taste.”
Carrie popped the cookie into her mouth. Creamy, sweet goodness flooded her mouth. She tasted walnuts, cranberries, and white chocolate. “Mmm.”
“Is that not the best cookie ever?”
“Pretty awesome.” She nodded. Everything Christine baked was awesome.
“Have a seat.” Patsy sat at one end of the table and waved to the empty chair at the other end.
Feeling a bit unsettled, Carrie scooted around the others and plopped down. “I can’t stay long.”
“This is important, or we wouldn’t have bothered you,” said Emma Cheek. She was a diminutive, red-haired actress, married to the local veterinarian. Her sleeping four-month-old daughter, Lauren, lay cradled in her arms. Emma had given up life in Hollywood to move back to Twilight and marry Sam, although she still acted in Texas-based projects.
Carrie’s sense of unease increased. “What’s this about?”
“Raylene,” Marva supplied.
That’s when Carrie realized that Raylene was not in the meeting.
“Has something happened to her?” Carrie reached for another one of those delicious cranberry cookies. She might not like Christmas, but the cookies were divine. And snacking kept her mind off Mark. Sort of.
“We’re afraid something is about to happen to her,” Emma said. “Considering that the director of Fact or Fantasy is going around town offering money to anyone who can refute the sweetheart legend.”
“Any takers?” Carrie asked.
She still wondered why Mark hadn’t told Iris Tobin about their love affair. He had the ability to bust the myth wide open with just one sentence to his boss. But he hadn’t spoken of it. Why not? Seems like it would make for great TV. That’s what he cared about, right? Money, ratings, success, expensive shoes. And yet, he’d obviously said nothing. Was it because he’d promised her he’d stay mum on the topic? Or
was there another reason?
Hope lifted Carrie’s heart.
Stop it. No hoping. If you don’t get your hopes up you won’t get hurt.
Except she already had gotten her hopes up. Had already gotten hurt, but to keep Mark from knowing, she’d hurt him first. Just as she had eight years ago.
“Someone spilled the news about Raylene and Earl,” Belinda said quietly. “Iris came here looking for her, but luckily she and Dotty Mae went up to the Indian casino in Oklahoma to play bingo over the Thanksgiving weekend. They’re due home late tonight.”
“So why call me?” Carrie asked.
“We were hoping you could talk to Mark,” Patsy said. “Get him to call her off Raylene. She’s suffered so much over her breakup with Earl. Over her dark secret coming out. You wouldn’t think it by her sassy mouth, but Raylene really does have a soft heart.”
Raylene’s husband had left her after he’d discovered that Raylene had kept quiet about a secret daughter for thirty-five years. Her husband had felt totally betrayed by her lack of trust in him. They’d had a huge fight, and Earl had left Twilight the Christmas before and no one had seen or heard from him since.
“I don’t have any pull with Mark.”
The women around the table exchanged knowing glances. What? Had everyone in town found out about their Thanksgiving tryst?
“If this gets on TV I don’t know what’s going to happen to Raylene.” Marva sighed.
“Not to mention what it will mean for Twilight’s tourism business.” Terri shook her head. “Our myth busted on national television.”
“It’ll kill Ray if she’s responsible for that.” Patsy clucked her tongue.
Carrie inhaled audibly. If she intervened, it would mean seeing Mark again, but how could she not try to stop this? Not only for Raylene’s sake but also for Twilight. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Patsy looked relieved. She got up to place a grateful hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much we appreciate you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was almost ten o’clock when Carrie walked into the lobby of the Merry Cherub. Jenny and Dean would be locking the doors soon. Jenny was behind the reception desk when Carrie entered.
“Merry Christmas,” Jenny greeted her.
Carrie forced a smile and returned her greeting. “I’m here to see Iris Tobin.”
“I’m not sure she’s in her room,” Jenny said. “Let me just—”
At that moment, Iris Tobin came out of the parlor. “What can I do for you, Ms . . .” She trailed off. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Carrie MacGregor.”
“Ah yes, the one who knocked over the wrenches in the motorcycle shop.”
“That would be me. Small-town klutz.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. Jenny considerately disappeared into the back room behind the reception desk.
“What was it you wanted to see me about?” Iris asked.
Carrie hauled in a deep breath. This was it. Her bid to save Raylene by throwing herself under the bus. She drew herself up tall. “I heard that you’ve been out digging up dirt on people in order to refute the sweetheart legend.”
Iris spread her hands. “I didn’t want to stoop this low, but everyone in town was so adamant that the silly myth is true. And Mark was completely useless.” She shook her head. “He kept telling me the legend is true.”
He had? Carrie knotted her fingers together.
“But there is no such thing as true love. Out of all the high school sweethearts in town, statistically someone had to be divorced or broken up.”
“You couldn’t find any Twilight high school sweethearts who weren’t happily married except Raylene Pringle, could you?”
“This is the most closed-mouth small town.” Iris crossed her arms over her chest. “Truly remarkable. Most small towns are hot beds of gossip.”
“Oh, we gossip plenty, but the reality is, many people in this town have found happiness with their high school sweethearts. Raylene and Earl included. They’ll get back together. They were meant to be.”
Iris sniffed. “You’re seriously delusional. Raylene Pringle and her husband are not living happily ever after. The myth is busted.”
Carrie touched her lip to the tip of her tongue. “What would it take for you to leave Raylene alone?”
“There’s not much you could say to get me to drop that line of inquiry.” Iris was cold as a winter graveyard.
“What if I told you I could give you plenty of information to disprove the sweetheart legend? A story featuring a young couple instead of a forty-year-old love affair that’s weathered a lot of ups and downs.”
Iris cocked her head, looked intrigued. “I’m listening.”
She was walking on hot coals here, but it was necessary. Not just to save Raylene, but to make sure Mark went back to where he belonged. He was Hollywood material. Things hadn’t changed between them. He lived a life that she could never be part of. It was no different from eight years ago, when she’d seen that scholarship letter from Columbia tucked under the Santa Claus saltshaker on his parents’ kitchen table. She couldn’t allow him to throw away everything he’d accomplished. Besides, Raylene had been through enough. Carrie was tough. She would survive this, and so would Twilight.
“Mark and I were high school sweethearts,” she confessed to Iris. “We ran away to Vegas and got married on Christmas Day, the month he graduated from high school.”
Iris’s eyes glowed. “Seriously? You’re divorced?”
“The marriage was annulled after forty-eight hours.”
“You did not live happily-ever-after.” Iris rubbed her palms gleefully.
“That’s your busted myth, and the host of your show is caught right in the middle.”
“I love it!”
“You’ll leave Raylene alone?”
“Meet me in my suite tomorrow afternoon for an on-camera interview, and it’s a deal.”
The following morning, Mark knocked on the door of Iris’s suite. She’d called him the night before just as he was getting ready for bed and told him she had a surprise interview with someone who was prepared to blow the lid off the sweetheart legend and give them the ratings scoop they were hoping for, but she refused to tell him who it was.
After Carrie had kicked him out of her bedroom window, Mark had been hurt at first, then he’d experienced a moment of total clarity. Because he’d finally put two and two together. She was afraid that if she let herself love him, he’d hurt her again. His tough little Carrie was far more vulnerable than he’d realized.
He’d given it a lot of thought, and then on Saturday he’d made his move. He’d called his real estate agent and told him to list his house for sale. Then he called Burt Mernit and told him this episode of Fact or Fantasy would be his last and he wanted out of his contract no matter what it cost. Last, he called his manager and asked him to find a literary agent. He was writing a novel about his experiences in Hollywood. When he finally was able to tell Carrie he was moving back to Texas, he wanted it a done deal. She would no longer be able to argue that his life was in L.A.
On Sunday, he’d borrowed a motorcycle from Jesse and driven to Fort Worth to shop for the perfect engagement ring. He’d spent the remainder of the day worrying about how and when to pop the question.
Apprehension tickled the back of his neck when Iris answered the door with a triumphant grin on her face. A bi-fold screen had been set up, creating a backdrop setting for the filming, and he could only see a shadow of the mystery person sitting on the other side of the screen.
“Come on in,” Iris said, stepping aside.
LaDonna rushed him over to a makeup chair in front of a vanity, and tied a bib around his neck so she wouldn’t get makeup on his clothes. He twisted around, trying to see who was behind the screen, but
LaDonna took hold of his head. “Face forward, squirmy worm.”
“Who is it?” he murmured as Iris directed the camera crew in their setup.
“You’ll see soon enough. Be still.” Ladonna tucked on his ear.
“Why is everyone acting so enigmatic?”
“You know Iris. How she likes to make a deal out of everything.”
Mark certainly wasn’t going to miss Iris. She was a terror to work for. He just wanted to get his interview over, so he could go tell Carrie he loved her and was moving to Twilight. Then he’d go down on one knee and tell her what he should have told her eight years ago. That she was the love of his life and he was never going to let her go.
“Iris,” he called, “where’s my questions?”
“They’re on the teleprompter,” she said, coming over to stand next to him, a sly smile on her face.
Something was up. Mark didn’t trust Iris when she was happy. “I don’t get to see the questions first?”
“It would give away the identity of our guest.”
“I’m going to find out who it is as soon as I step in front of that screen. What’s the big secret?”
“You’ll see.” Iris chuckled.
The hairs on the back of Mark’s neck lifted. Who on earth could it be? Obviously, it was some muckraker set to make trouble for Twilight.
“You done?” he asked LaDonna. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the bib from around his neck. Enough of this nonsense. He stalked around the screen.
And stopped in his tracks.
Carrie.
Sitting in the interview chair. Looking pale and nervous.
For one split second his blood ran completely cold. She was giving an interview? She was here to bust the sweetheart myth using their relationship of love gone wrong?
Staggered, he could do nothing but stare at her.
“Surprise,” Iris whispered in his ear.
“Carrie,” Mark said, ignoring Iris. “What are you doing here?”
