by Mary Campisi
“You weren’t truthful?” She stumbled over his words, tried to make sense of them. Had he given up on her? Decided she was too much work and he’d rather stick with the father role and ditch the husband title? There were plenty of women who wouldn’t make demands on him, including the ones who’d left their lingerie at his place. Roxie closed her eyes, blinked hard. “Please tell me. No matter what it is, please. Tell me.”
He pushed back his chair and stood, made his way to her and stopped when he was within touching distance. “My father left when I was two and my mother spent the rest of her life trying to replace him. I was six the first time I saw a man leave her bedroom. I didn’t understand what that meant, thought he might be my father. I was so desperate for one that I asked him. Giddy, hopeful, naive. He laughed and said, of course he wasn’t. The man never returned and my mother blamed me, said I talked too much and was just a silly child… A nuisance.”
He shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets and continued as though telling a story that didn’t belong to his life. “Her words hurt, but this was my mother and I was only a child. I believed if I were quiet, stayed out of the way, and tried to make things right, then she’d love me. I did the laundry, cooked the meals, and never said another word as the men came and went. All I wanted was for my mother to tell me she loved me, was glad I was in her life. Of course, she never did because people without a moral code don’t possess that capability. That’s when I learned to shut down the emotions, stop feeling sad or sorry for believing any kind of love could exist. If a mother couldn’t have the capacity to love her child, how could love even exist? And then I met you.”
Pain and sadness for the little boy who deserved to be loved, yet had been cast aside, spread through her. This was why Rhyder had never been able to show his feelings. She eased out of the chair, stood touching distance away. “I am so very sorry.”
He shrugged. “We can’t choose our parents but we can choose how they affect our lives.” A pause and then, “I have another confession.”
Another one? “What is it, and is this the last one?” Please, do not let this be about a woman.
“It’s the last. Your father came to visit me several weeks ago. He tried to enlist my help getting his daughter back, said he’d make it worth my while.”
“My father visited you?” She hadn’t spoken to him in years though Aunt Cecilia filled her in on his activities, most of which included academia and comparing achievements with his old cronies. “How did he even know about you?” Had Aunt Cecilia mentioned something to him? No, she’d never do that.
“How else do people like that navigate the world? He hired an investigator.”
Roxie frowned. “Someone was watching me?” The frown deepened. “Watching us?”
A nod and a sigh. “Apparently so.”
“That’s low.” Her overactive brain created visuals: a man in a raincoat, a broad-brimmed hat shielding his face, a camera with a high-powered lens, a figure waiting in the shadows, following them to Rhyder’s home, peeking in the windows, zeroing in on the kitchen...
“Roxie? What’s wrong?”
“Aside from the creeper watching everything we did? Gross.” She bit her bottom lip. “Remember that time we were in the kitchen?”
“Which time? We were in the kitchen many times.”
How could he not remember that specific time? They’d just finished watching Casablanca and she wanted a snack: peanut butter and saltines with the salty side on the bottom because what other way was there to eat them? She’d fixed five crackers when Rhyder came up behind her, kissed the back of her neck, and made her forget all about peanut butter, saltines, and how they should be eaten...
“Roxie? Which time?”
The glitter in his eyes and the dip in his voice said he remembered exactly which time. “That time.”
His lips twitched. “Ah, that time. The one where I lifted you onto the—”
“Yes. That time. Were the blinds closed?” What happened between her and Rhyder, no matter where it happened, was not for public view.
Another dip of his voice, warm and gooey like caramel sauce. “Yes, the blinds were closed.”
She let out a sigh. “Good.”
“I thought it was so much better than good. I’d call that time unforgettable.”
How could the man still make her blush after everything they’d done? Roxie inched her gaze to his, nodded. “Agreed. So, my father? What did you tell him?”
“I told him Roberta was gone and she wasn’t coming back.” His expression turned fierce. “And then I told him to leave. Actually, I wasn’t that nice about it.”
“You stood up for me.” Her heart swelled with love. “Thank you.”
His dark eyes grew bright, brighter still. “When I first met you, I viewed you as my nemesis, and then you became the woman who changed my life.” He reached for her hands, clasped them to his chest. “You, Roxie Revito, are my one true love. My only love. My forever love. And if you could ever find it in your heart to feel that way about me, you would make me the happiest man in the universe. I know it could take time and I’m not asking—”
“I love you! I love you so much and I don’t want to lose you. Please, please forgive me for being scared and stubborn and… Most of all, please forgive me for being a fool.” She eased her hands away, knelt on one knee and gazed up at him. “Rhyder Remington, will you marry me? Will you be my partner in life and in love? Will you be mine forever? Please?”
Those lips she loved to taste spread into a full smile as he held out his hands and helped her stand. Then he cupped her face and placed the softest kiss on her mouth. “Yes, I will marry you Roxie Revito and yes, I will be your partner in life and in love.” Another kiss. “Forever.”
On a balmy summer night, Roxie and Rhyder pledged their hearts and their lives to one another in Aunt Cecilia’s gardens surrounded by the scent of roses, the soft notes of a harp’s “Pachelbel Canon,” and a moonlit sky dotted with stars. Their favorite people stood witness: Ian, C.C., Sophia, Aunt Cecilia, and Jenna.
The groom wore a black suit with a dove-gray pinstriped tie and matching pocket handkerchief. The bride wore a pale pink chiffon gown and a wreath entwined with rosettes and baby’s breath. She carried a single hot-pink gerbera daisy wrapped in a matching ribbon. After years of searching, Roxie and Rhyder finally knew what it meant to truly belong.
Six months later, Reese Robert Remington entered the world with a head of dark hair and a string of wails that filled his parents’ hearts with joy, hope, and the purest love they’d ever known. And every night they gave thanks for the perfect deal that turned into the perfect love.
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Introduction to Excerpt
It's all about that second chance...
Paradise Found is Book Four of That Second Chance Series. (These are stand-alone books tied together by a common theme—belief in the beauty of that second chance.)
* * *
How does one see truly—with the heart or with the eyes?
Matt Brandon has it all—wealth, power, looks, and talent. Women want him; men want to be like him. When a freak ski accident strips him of one of life’s most basic needs—his sight—he struggles to accept the possibility that his blindness may be permanent.
Enter psychologist Sara Hamilton, a woman who has known her own share of grief and loss and may just be the one person who can help Matt redefine his new world. Sara is every woman’s woman—she’s not a toothpick or a Cosmo girl, has never been prom queen, or dated the blond-haired god with the big white teeth. She’s honest and decent and real…and lives on the perimeter, applauding her patients’ successes, nursing them through their failures, but never acknowledging or accepting what she lacks in her own life. She’s loved and lost once and
has been so emotionally scarred, she’s not willing to risk those feelings again.
Of course, she’s never met a man like Matt Brandon. As Matt and Sara explore the delicate balance between “blind” trust and hope, they will discover that sometimes you have to lose everything to find what you are truly looking for…
* * *
That Second Chance Series:
Book One: Pulling Home – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Promise)
Book Two: The Way They Were – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Secret)
Book Three: Simple Riches – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: Winter)
Book Four: Paradise Found – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Wish)
Book Five: Not Your Everyday Housewife – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Gift)
Book Six: The Butterfly Garden – (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Return)
Paradise Found
Chapter 1
“Sara, every man is not your ex-husband.”
“Thank God.” A woman could only take so many lying philanderers in her life and once was definitely more than enough. Of course, Jeff would remind her that psychologists shouldn’t dissect their personal lives like case studies. Easy for him to say. He had a wife who loved him and a baby on the way. What did she have besides a hurt so deep she couldn’t take a full breath?
“You’d only be in California until I can get things squared away here. Then I’ll be right out. A few weeks at the most.” His voice softened. “Nina's having another ultrasound today. The bleeding's stopped.”
Sara pushed past the queasiness in her belly. “I know how much you both want this baby.”
“The doctor thinks everything will be okay, but I can't leave until we know for sure. But Matt needs help now. His brother said he’s getting worse every day and lately he won’t let anybody near him.”
“Not even one of those little starlets of his?” If the tabloids were accurate, company, especially the female variety, was plentiful.
Jeff frowned. “You shouldn't believe everything you read.”
He was right, of course. The remark was not something a psychologist should say even if she thought it. “I'm sorry, that was unkind. I don't even know the man.” But she’d read a lot about him. Matthew Brandon. Writer. Millionaire. Blind man.
“He's a decent guy once you get past the trappings.”
And there were plenty of trappings. Seven months ago, he'd held the key to fame, fortune, and opportunity. One sharp maneuver down a steep ski slope had ended all that. The key was gone and he couldn’t even find the door. Literally.
“He's been through four psychologists. West Coast brands, though”—he flashed her a grin— “so they don't count.”
“And you think one East Coast variety, who happens to be female, is going to make him behave?”
He shrugged. “You might be just what he needs. If all else fails, you can run interference until I get out there and knock some sense into him.”
“We're talking about a man's life, not a football game,” she said. “And the man in question is more than a little noncompliant.”
Jeff laughed. “That's Matt all right. He's been that way since college. I sacked him three times during a drill one time. Told him not to try the damned quarterback sneak again or I'd bury him deeper than tomorrow. He didn’t listen. Zipped right past me for the touchdown.”
“Well, he's not zipping past much of anything these days.”
“But the point is, he doesn't give up. Matt's the kind of guy who thinks if he tries hard enough and persists long enough, he can make anything happen. That's why he's so successful. He never takes no for an answer. Until now. He believes he'll never see again.”
“What are the odds he will?”
“Not good. Getting worse each month. He has to start accepting the fact that he may be blind for the rest of his life.”
“He doesn't sound like the kind of man who would accept anything he can't control.” She'd read about the multimillion-dollar book deal he and his agent had negotiated for Dead Moon Rising. Four million? Or was it five? There was even talk of another movie. And a lot more money. Matthew Brandon had been a regular in People magazine since his first book, Hard Truths, hit the big screen four years ago. Hollywood had opened her arms and sucked him into her Armani-clad bosom of beauty, wealth, and power. There'd been a string— no, strings—of starlets and supermodels since then. The beautiful people. The ones to watch. He'd become as intriguing as Jack Steele, the character in his books. Men wanted to be like him. Women just wanted him. Most women, that was.
“Matt's never been very good at settling for anything,” Jeff said. “That's why somebody like you might be able to help him. You've got a quiet strength, determined but not forceful.”
“I doubt he’ll listen to a woman. He needs a firm hand like yours.” She looked away, ran her fingers down the creases of her linen pants, and concentrated on the way they popped back into place when she lifted her fingers. Some people were like that. You could flatten them and they'd bounce right back. She’d bet Matthew Brandon was a survivor and, blind or not, he’d pull through.
“If you think about it, Matt's going through the same thing you did a few years back,” Jeff said in the voice he used to calm his patients. “His identity's been stripped, his frame of reference distorted with the accident. You went through that when Brian left.” He hesitated, his voice dipping lower. “And you lost the baby. In a few months' time your whole world flipped and crashed.”
I lost my heart. “We have nothing in common.” From what she’d read, he didn’t have a heart.
Jeff pushed back his chair and moved to the other side of the desk. “I'd say you have a lot in common, and you might be just the one to show him how to survive.”
“I don’t think I could maintain my objectivity.” There, she’d admitted she couldn’t be objective about a man who reminded her too much of her ex-husband.
Jeff read her thoughts. “Matt's nothing like Brian. Once you get to know him, you'll see for yourself.”
She wanted to tell him she had no desire to get to know the man, but what purpose would it serve? Jeff needed her help, and as his partner and friend, she couldn't let him down.
“Two weeks? Right?” Certainly she could handle fourteen days.
He nodded and a smile inched across his face. “Give or take a day or two.”
“Okay then. I'd like to get everything wrapped up here and leave as soon as possible.” No sense prolonging the inevitable.
“Great.” He leaned over and clasped her hands in his. “I owe you.”
She shrugged, trying to pretend it was no big deal. “What about my clients?”
“Jessie can handle them if she needs to. Just get the paperwork in order and let them know you'll be gone for a few weeks.”
“She's so young,” Sara said, thinking of the perky redhead who followed her everywhere with notebook and pencil in hand.
“Twenty-five is not that young,” Jeff said. “Of course, she's not ancient, like you. What are you anyway?” he asked, rubbing his chin. “Thirty-six? Thirty-seven?”
Sara frowned at him. “Thirty-four. The same age as your wife, as if you didn't know.”
Jeff threw his hands in the air. “So I was off a few years. What does it matter? Thirty, thirty-five, forty? You'll still be beautiful at fifty.”
“You must be desperate to get me to California if you've resorted to out-and-out lying.”
“What do you mean?”
He actually looked confused. Okay, she’d clarify it for him. “Beauty has never been one of my greatest attributes. I've always opted for brains.” Though once in a while she had wondered what it would be like…
“Oh, so now you can choose your beauty like a pair of old shoes?” The look on his face told her he thought she was joking. She wasn't. For much of her preadolescent and teenage life, she’d known the sting of being just plain ordinary. Nothing spectacular, except perhaps her
eyes—amber-green, almond shaped with a slight tilt. A seductress’s eyes, someone once said. What a joke. She'd never been able to seduce anything, including her husband.
Brian was the only person who had ever made her feel beautiful with his honeyed words and slow smiles. Until he grew tired of her. Until she balked at cosigning a hefty business loan for him. She'd wanted him to wait until after the baby…
Can't you just once in your pitiful life say, “Screw it? I don't care if it doesn't make sense right now, I'm going to do it anyway?” His perfect lips had pulled into a thin line. Hell no, you can't. You're so damned responsible, it's suffocating. Well then, screw you, Sara. He'd grabbed his jacket and slammed out of the house, leaving her sitting by the fireplace with her swollen belly and her shredded self-esteem.
No man would ever do that to her again, even if she had to reside in the world of the ordinary for the rest of her life. She was used to looking the other way when an interested male tried to catch her eye or a fellow colleague attempted to escalate their friendship to the next level. Ordinary was safe. Ordinary was what she wanted.
Jeff interrupted her thoughts with a long sigh. “One of these days, you and I need to have a long talk.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Oh. One of these days, we're going to talk about the incredible job you do with your clients. How you dig them out of a garbage pile of despair, build their self-esteem, and send them into healthy new relationships and worthwhile jobs.”
“I care about those women. And I believe in them.” She had to, for God knew, they didn't believe in themselves, not when the pain and shock of being cast aside reverberated through their souls.
“You make it personal.”
He was right. She made it personal because she'd experienced firsthand every gut-wrenching emotion they would ever encounter and she'd survived. “So why the need for a talk?”
