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Overview
The Apple Orchard by Cathy Lamb
When an injury lands Allie Pelletier in the emergency room, she comes face-to-face with the only man she's ever truly loved--Dr. Jace Rios. But can Jace also mend their wounded past and show Allie they're destined to be together?
A Kiss Before Midnight by Mary Carter
Rebecca Ryan has never forgotten the magical night she spent in New Orleans with musician Grant Dodge. Now twenty years later, Rebecca is reunited with Grant. Their attraction is as electric as ever--and they have more to catch up on than either imagined. . .
Romeo&Juliet. . .And Jane by Elizabeth Bass
When veterinarian Jane Canfield's first love, Roy McGillum, returns to town, memories of their high school performance as Romeo and Juliet--and their real-life romance--come rushing back. And when Roy shows up at Jane's window, she'll have to decide if it's time for an encore. . .
The Devil And Mr. Chocolate by Janet Dailey
Art gallery owner Kitty Hamilton is newly engaged to a delicious Belgian chocolatier. But her artist ex-husband, Sebastian, is determined to sabotage her plans with an even more tempting indulgence--the irresistible chemistry they still share.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781420130928 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Kensington |
| Publication date: | 03/01/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 416 |
| Sales rank: | 464,664 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Cathy Lamb is the bestselling author of twelve novels, including The Man She Married, No Place I’d Rather Be, What I Remember Most, The Last Time I Was Me, Henry’s Sisters and Julia’s Chocolates. She lives with her family in Oregon and can be found online at cathylamb.org.
Mary Carter is a freelance writer and novelist. Her books include London From My Windows, Meet Me in Barcelona, Three Months in Florence, The Things I Do for You, The Pub Across the Pond, My Sister's Voice, Sunnyside Blues, She'll Take It, and Accidentally Engaged. Readers are welcome to visit her at marycarterbooks.com, find her on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter @marycarterbooks.
ELIZABETH BASS lives with her husband in Montreal, where she writes and astounds the locals with her makeshift French. An elderly cat or dog (or two...or four) can typically be found in her apartment, and during the busiest day, Elizabeth usually finds time to sneak in an old movie. She loves to hear from readers and can be found on Facebook, Twitter (@ElizabethBass), or at elizabeth-bass.com.
Read an Excerpt
You're Still The One
By JANET DAILEY Cathy Lamb Mary Carter Elizabeth Bass
ZEBRA BOOKS
Copyright © 2013 Kensington Publishing CorporationAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-2419-4
Chapter One
"The doctor will be with you in about ten minutes.""Thank you." I smiled through gritted teeth, blood gushing down my leg.
The nurse, over six feet tall with curly gray hair, pressed a cloth to my wound, peering at it through his black-rimmed glasses. "You've got Dr. Rios. He recently moved here from New York. Excellent doctor. We were lucky to get him. You're traumatized? He'll untraumatize you—that's what we say here in Portland's greatest emergency room."
The nurse, whose name was Kevin, did not notice the blood instantly draining from my face, as he was busy tending to the blood draining from my thigh.
I swayed on the bed, gripped the handles, and took a deep breath. "It's not ..." I struggled to breathe, the pain from my gaping gash suddenly gone, lost in my sheer panic. "It's not Jace Rios?"
"Yep, you got it. The one and the same. Not surprised you've heard of him. He has an amazing reputation. He's been featured in newspapers and medical journals. He's written articles and done extensive research on best medical practices for all sorts of life-threatening events. You bust it up, he'll fix you up. You're busted up, Miss Pelletier, and he's gonna fix you up."
I swayed again.
Kevin stood, winked at me, then noticed my rapidly declining state. "You're not looking too good. Here, how about you lie down for me, close your eyes, think about being on an island with a pretty drink ..."
I flopped straight back on the bed, the room spinning, as he took my pulse.
"Your pulse is higher than it was ... blood pressure is, too," he mused, a bit confused. "Okay, Miss Pelletier, I want you to take some deep, calming breaths. You'll be sewn up like a quilt in no time, by the master quilter himself ..."
A man's face, Jace's face, floated in front of my eyes. Straight, thick black hair, longer in the back—not long, exactly, but enough to run my fingers through. Dark eyes, high cheekbones. He had a face that was tough, a don't-mess-with-me kind of face, lined from hours of being outside and from a chaotic childhood.
He had a face you wouldn't want to meet up with in a dark, back alley, but once you knew him, knew his kindness, his openness, you knew his innate goodness. If he was in a dark, back alley, it was because he was administering medical care.
"I can't believe this."
"Believe it! You're going to have to be more careful around horses in future," Kevin said, chuckling. "Ya gotta get out of their way when those hooves come up and kickin' ..."
It had been a horrible summer. Everything, all at once. I was fired from my job after telling my boss exactly what I thought of her, my rougher upbringing coming out in my language. After she threw her Manolo Blahniks at me, I picked them up, waved good-bye, sold them online, and donated the money to a kids' hospital in her name.
Then I received that phone call which, surprisingly, knocked me over. I decided to sell my condo because I didn't like it anymore anyhow. I moved. And, once again, I was dealing with the bitter loss and raging anger that I had stomped down hard over the years. Now this.
Jace.
I had to get out of the hospital. This was not going to work. I struggled up, feeling nauseous.
"No, now don't try to get up, Miss Pelletier. You're pale as a flying ghost. Here, let me take some of that hay out of your hair. What's this? You have a couple of branches in there, too. Ah well, all that brown hair ya got, things are bound to get lost in there. I'll get a cloth for the dirt on your face; you'll be feeling better in a one, two, three ..."
I have to get away from Jace.
"You know," Kevin said, almost to himself, "I'm going to see if I can get Dr. Rios in here pronto. Your eyes seem a bit vague and unfocused. You're not cooperating real well, either."
"I'm fine, quite fine. In fact, I think I'll bandage this up myself." I pulled on the collar of my light green hospital gown, open at the back. Gall. If I stood up, my white butt would be hanging out the back. And my underwear. Oh, groan. I'd worn my old beige grandma pair. I think there was a rip on the side ...
The nurse chuckled. "No, ma'am. You are not going to be able to bandage this up on your own."
"I'll duct tape and staple it then." I envisioned myself sneaking around hospital corners and furtively limping down the hallways. I would drive to another hospital. I could not see Jace now. I could not see Jace at all.
"Duct tape and staples, ha! Hang on now, I'll let the good Dr. Rios know we're ready. Don't you wiggle on out! Promise me you'll stay right here? No hopping up on the saddle, if you know what I mean, and galloping back into the country." His eyes twinkled. "I can't leave till you give me your word."
"Sure will. I'll stay." I sure as hell would not. The nurse left and as soon as he was gone, I sat up and swung my legs over the bed, the paper crackling beneath my butt and my grandma underwear.
"Holy hell," I muttered. My head felt fuzzy. My thigh sent up lightning flames of pain. I felt ill with panic and the desire to escape. I lay back down. "Slower, Allie. Take it slow and easy."
I thought of Jace again, smiling, friendly, his hand in mine, pulling me closer to him, both of us in bathing suits in the lake, his leg between mine ... then the tears that followed the disaster. That wretched disaster. He didn't even know about it. I hadn't told him. The first disaster had led to the second disaster, so nothing needed to be told.
I heard that other voice in my head, the harsh words, the accusation. My fault, my fault, all my fault.
I yanked myself up again, gripping the silver bed rails with both hands, and tried to breathe right. Across the room was a mirror. I gaped at it, my mouth dropping open. "That cannot be me. It cannot."
My brown hair, about the color of dark chocolate, was a mess. It had fallen halfway out of the ponytail I'd pulled it into for the usual morning chores on the farm, which I was terrible at. I had hay sticking out in several places. No makeup, of course, and dirt on both cheeks. I had bags under my golden-ish eyes because I was regularly up until two in the morning, often striding through the apple trees my dad left me, hoping to walk myself into exhaustion.
I was too thin. Not because I wanted to be, but because food doesn't taste good when you're spiraling into one of life's pits.
I groaned at my gross face, hopped to the floor on one foot, wobbled, then shakily pulled off the light green hospital gown. I pulled on my jeans, ignoring the blood still zipping down my leg. The duct tape and stapler thing wasn't going to work. I shoved my feet back into my knee-high black farm boots.
I scrambled into my red push-up bra and oversized plaid shirt. The top button was missing. Too much cleavage showed, but I had not dressed to go to the hospital and see him; I had dressed to feed horses, chickens, dogs, and cats, none of whom cared about cleavage. I would have worn one of my exercise bras, but both were in the wash. Hence, red lace push-up and a farm shirt.
I took my first step, which was unbalanced. Then I took my second one. More wobble, more pain, screeching pain. I winced, clenching my teeth. Go, Allie, Go! Start sneaking around those corridors!
At the third wobbly movement the curtain opened and there he was.
Yes, Jace Rios.
All six-foot-four inches of muscle. Shoulders like a truck. He still had that head of thick black hair, courtesy of a Mexican grandfather. He wore the white coat well. I felt tears burning my eyes. Yes, he looked good in that white coat. He had become who he was destined to become, who he dreamed of becoming.
Jace Rios. Extraordinary doctor.
His head was down, studying my chart, and I saw him freeze for a second.
I knew he'd seen my name.
His head snapped up. He still had that intense, dark gaze—a man who really looked at you, who was truly interested in what you said and didn't say. A man who was interested in who you are, way down deep—not the shallow stuff we show the world, but who we are when all the layers are pulled back and only raw honesty is left. I tried to get air in, couldn't, and squeaked out, with all that I had left, "Hi, Jace. Good to see you again."
Then I passed out.
Chapter Two
"Breathe in, Allie," Jace said, holding an oxygen mask over my face.That voice. That low, gravelly voice I had heard in my head every day for years. The pain came rolling on in, crashing against my insides. It was not pain from my leg.
It was pain from a long time ago; it should have been long gone. Tears filled my eyes, so for long seconds I left them closed, blocking out that face I knew so well, until I could gather my strength enough to open them.
When I did, I saw Jace and nurses, including Kevin, hovering around me.
"And hello again to our horse-loving friend who tried to escape the hospital," Kevin said, clucking his tongue in admonishment. "I told you not to gallop off!"
Jace's eyes were on mine and I could not look away.
I bet he thought the hay in my hair was attractive. Probably liked the circles under my eyes, too. I might well smell like a horse or a dog or both—a hordog. Why could I not have seen Jace again while wearing something silky and sweet, not bleeding and dirt covered?
"How are you feeling, Allie?"
I nodded, then took off the oxygen mask. His hand closed over mine over the mask, his fingers warm.
"I'm just dandy."
I saw his eyes crinkle in the corners.
Sarcasm is my specialty. I used it to get through my childhood.
"Dandy, huh?" he said. "That's why you passed out?"
"Yes. It was a swoon. Not a pass-out."
The nurses laughed. I saw Jace's mouth, that mouth I'd kissed a thousand times, turn upward the slightest bit. The smile, however, did not match the seriousness I saw in his expression. He knew why I had tried to leave.
"She swooned gracefully," Kevin said. "There was definitely some elegance there."
Jace seemed older, more experienced, the lines on his face more finely drawn. But—ah, shoot—sexier than ever. "Thank you, Kevin."
"You'd call that a swoon?" Jace asked. "Didn't look like much fun. You went white and then crumpled. I caught you before you crashed to the floor. Now you get to have your leg sewn up. More fun. A horse kicked you?"
I needed to mask what I was feeling, darn quick. Humor might work. I'd be humiliated if he knew what I was thinking, how crushed I felt looking at him. "She's in menopause."
"I'm sorry?" Jace said.
"I think she's in menopause."
"The horse is in menopause?"
I nodded. The nurses laughed.
"Spunky Joy appears to be having some emotional mood swings. She doesn't like male horses." I wondered if he was married. He didn't have a wedding ring on, but that didn't mean anything. Emergency room doctors who perform surgeries wouldn't wear rings.
"No male horses?" Jace asked.
"No. She's off men. She wants them to stay away." I wondered if he had kids.
Something flickered in his eyes and I knew he was relating that statement to us. I wanted to tie my tongue into a knot.
"Her horse boyfriend, Leroy, entered the barn, and Spunky Joy backed right into me, then kicked. I figure she is either madly in love with Leroy or they've had a bit of a spat." I bet Jace loved his wife and kids dearly. He had always wanted a family; he had been clear on that. He would be an outstanding dad. I wanted to pull that silly hospital blanket over my head and sob my brains out.
Jace's face finally started to relax, and he chuckled. It had been tight, focused, the second he saw me. "I'll fix up your menopause wound and you'll be good to go. You're going to have to take off your pants."
I sucked in my breath.
Something flashed in his eyes and this sizzle—yep, it was a sizzle—shook between us.
"I'll leave, don't worry. But don't try to escape again, or we'll have to track you down. You need to be sewn up." He left and the nurses helped me get my pants off, then Jace was back in.
While he stitched me up I could not look away from him. The nurses stayed for a bit, then left to tend to other patients.
"Whose horse was it, Allie?"
"My dad's."
I saw his jaw tighten, his gaze sharp on mine.
"My dad died. He lived in the country."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you, but it's okay."
"When we were in Yellowstone, you told me you didn't get along with him, but you never told me anything else. I remember we talked about your not wanting to discuss your past."
"It was a messy past." I had told him few details about my dad. He had gently asked more, and I had given him, deliberately, the impression that my dad and I were temporarily not getting along. I didn't go anywhere near the depth of our estrangement.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Heart attack." I waved my hand. "I still don't want to talk about him."
"Okay." His eyes gentled, his hand warm on my leg. He went back to stitching me up. "You live in Portland, right?"
He knew I lived in Portland! Had he checked on me, as I had him? I had followed Jace's career online. I had felt like a stalker, but I did it anyhow. "I did. I moved recently to the country. My dad left me his house and an apple orchard."
"I remember you loved apples. You made apple pies."
"Yes, I did."
"Now and then, over the years, I've had apple pies, but they're never as good as yours."
"Really?" I was so pleased, I could feel myself blushing. "I still love apples, and now, I suppose, I have all the apples I need in that orchard."
"Sounds beautiful."
"It is. Sort of." That orchard was bringing back all sorts of harsh memories I didn't want to deal with.
"I'll take one of your apple pies."
I instantly envisioned me bringing him an apple pie, naked.
Stop it, Allie.
"I ... uh ... you want one of my apple pies?"
"Sure. Anytime. How about tomorrow?"
He smiled. So many times I had smiled back. Kissed those lips, held his face in my hands, pulled him down to me ...
"I ... uh ... tomorrow? For a pie?"
"Sure. It'll be Wednesday. Wednesday is always a good time for apple pie. As are Tuesday and Friday ... Monday isn't bad. I'll even take one on Sunday."
"You forgot Saturday."
"I'll have one then, too."
My leg was being sewn right up, his hands competent and efficient, comforting. It was like watching a seamstress.
The seamstress was turning me on and rebreaking my heart.
He stopped sewing and looked at me—serious, contemplative, flirty—daring me. For a second his eyes dropped to my shirt. I knew it was gaping. I looked down. That red push-up bra was doing what I paid it to do to my boobs.
It was all still there between us. That instant, intense, electric connection. How ridiculous that sounds; how true it was.
In those dark eyes I saw everything that I was feeling. I felt that ... magnetism ... what a dumb word. Electricity. Sparks. More silly words to describe my feelings toward Jace, but there it was.
He remembered.
He remembered everything.
He hadn't forgotten a thing.
Neither had I.
Not forgetting had been excruciatingly painful.
Chapter Three
Apple trees have been around forever.They have an interesting history. Eve and her apple eating—naughty lady. Johnny Appleseed. Sir Isaac Newton and the apple. Apple pies.
On my dad's property in Schollton there are Jonagold, Gala, Honeycrisp, and Granny Smith apple trees. When I arrived five weeks ago, suitcases in hand, it hurt to see them. Yes, it hurt to see the apple trees.
How could he? I thought, stomping through the orchard west of his hundred-year-old, two-story, white, run-down home the first day I explored the property. There were two bullet holes in the house. One in the floor, one in the wall. I wasn't surprised. He probably put them there in a blast of self-righteous anger.
I zipped up one row and down the next, steaming mad. Why would he buy a dilapidated house and land with an apple orchard and leave it to me? Was he mocking me to the very end? He knew I loved apples. He had seen me eat them by the dozen. He knew why I ate them by the dozen.
"Spike me in the heart and twist it, Dad," I whispered into the orchard. Then I decided not to whisper. I would not let him smother my voice any longer. I picked up one apple after another and pelted them through the rows, swearing every single time an apple hit a tree. "You jerk ... you were never a dad ... you were horrible to Mom ... you never even hugged me ... and now you have an apple orchard? Really? An apple orchard?"
I threw those dead apples until I was sweating, my hair falling all over my face, my chest heaving. I started kicking the apples on the ground, sending them flying. When I was totally exhausted I collapsed against a tree, an apple tree from my stupid dad, and sobbed.
I sobbed for him, for us, for what he'd done to our family. I sobbed because I was so angry. So frustrated and resentful. And guilty. I felt guilt. He didn't deserve for me to feel guilty, but I did.
I composed the letter later that night.
I sent it to the top of the ladder.
Hopefully a wrong would be righted.
She shouldn't be allowed to give people nervous breakdowns.
At dusk, my bandages tight on my thigh, I limped out to my dad's creaking deck and stared at the orchard as the sun sank down over the blue-gray hills in the distance. Margaret and Bob, my dad's brown and white furry mutts, played together in the grass. Marvin, a gold cat, and Spot the Cat, a black cat who had no spots, perched on the rail of the deck, side by side. I saw Spunky Joy the horse in the field, she neighed at me, and I rolled my eyes.
"Hey you, menopause horse!" She swished her tail. "You gave me a bunch of stitches. Do you know that? Cool it with the hormonal swings and we'll get along better."
She neighed again.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from You're Still The One by JANET DAILEY Cathy Lamb Mary Carter Elizabeth Bass Copyright © 2013 by Kensington Publishing Corporation. Excerpted by permission of ZEBRA BOOKS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
"The Apple Orchard" by Cathy Lamb....................1"A Kiss Before Midnight" by Mary Carter....................131
"Romeo & Juliet ... and Jane" by Elizabeth Bass....................261
"The Devil and Mr. Chocolate" by Janet Dailey....................373