WITHIN THESE CHAPEL WALLS

Loretto Chapel, with its beautiful Gothic exterior rising to the sky, and mystery staircase inside. What draws people to it? Does it work ‘miracles’ for some? Bring love for others? Find out as the Oklahoma Romance Writers begin their next series, “Within These Chapel Walls,” starting with Love and War.

 

A Glint O 'The Green

A GLINT O’THE GREEN

by

Debi Rogers/Kenna Jayne Macrae

 

        “Bertie, will ya push the hair behind my ear?” the waitress asked, hands filled with dishes she’d just cleared from his table.

        “Lean closer, Fionna.” The rotund butcher whose shop was around the corner from the pub used a chubby finger to push back the wayward red curl.

        Finnagan’s Rainbow overflowed with lunch customers and Fee Glen Eire shimmied, slid, held her breath, turned sideways, whatever it took to get between the mismatched chairs and rowdy patrons. She bounded to the kitchen with her precarious load, her heart light. It had been three months since she’d come home to Sedona to roost. And, if she were honest, to get away from an untenable situation. But that was over.

        She’d spent three glorious, hedonistic years living all over Europe with her boyfriend. Dublin. Edinburgh. Stratford. Canterbury. Giverny. The Loire Valley. Tuscany. She couldn’t even remember all the places they’d stayed. As a free-lance photographer, his pictures graced a myriad of magazines. Requests for his celebrated expertise exploded into full-blown, eighteen-hour workdays. Trains, hostels, backpacks and hiking boots became their ever-constant companions.   

        As the luck of the Irish would have it, she’d found a gold piece shaped like a shamrock in the pocket of her jacket just as her foot touched the soil of the Emerald Isle. Left on her own for a time in Dublin, she’d stumbled into a timeworn, waddle and daub pub, the Rose and Shamrock, that made her feel like she’d been transported back in time. Inside she’d found her roots, kith and kin, Celtic and Viking. That first night, Fee asked for a Guinness and the barkeep offered her a pint she shared with new friends, the rowdy patrons surrounding the carved bar, hewn with the history of centuries of travelers and locals.

        Staying in a bed and breakfast, owned by the McGregors, Fionna wrapped herself in the homey atmosphere of the tiny village outside Dublin. In the evenings she ate lamb, shepherd’s pie, colcannon, honey mead––that had been stronger, thicker and more bitter than she could stand––and her favorite, Irish cream.

        One night she overindulged in the cream, swinging joyously to the fiddlers magic, nigh on into oblivion. The hopping cacophony raised the roof until dawn. To quell her dizzy head, she pushed through the crowd to reach the cool summer air. Strong hands held her arms as she swayed, slightly wobbly just outside the door. ’Twas the raw-boned, six-pack honed, Irish biker son of the woman who owned Whispering Willows, the bed and breakfast.

        “Aahhh, lassie, ya smell of lavendar.” He placed a light finger under her chin to bring her gaze to his. The world spun and if he hadn’t slid a strong arm behind her back she might have collapsed in the bracken. He pulled her tight to keep her upright, bringing them so close, his cologne, mingled with her soul, pulled her straight to heaven. His scent lodged in the deepest recesses of her brain, springing forth at the damnedest times, reminding her of the mystery of this man, of this moment in time.

        He lowered his head and touched her lips with his, like a fog softly covering the world. So gently, so thoroughly, so unobtrusively, he captured her innermost self. She deepened the kiss, luxuriating in the electrifying jolt his domination caused, melting her bones, binding her to him in a way that she knew he was the one.

        He stopped far too soon. “Why...why are you stopping?” She slid her thin arms around his brawny neck and ran fingers through his thick, blond hair, pulling it from the queue. “Don’t stop. I––we––the night…” Fionna knew she sounded like a babbling fool, but she couldn’t stop herself. And the worst part was, he did stop. He walked her to her room, opened the door and left her with a light, chaste kiss.

        And then she found herself across the sea in Scotland, following the photographer. But her Irishman rarely strayed far from her thoughts. And guilt began to torture her.

        Eventually she tired of the vagabond life and left her boyfriend, because she feared he’d never stay put and Fionna wanted a home and children. A home that stayed still. Her traveling days were over. But not her sweet memories.

        Sedona was home. Safe. Though her parents despaired of her getting real work, she liked the feel of the bar. Patrons knew her. Besides, Chef allowed her to create dishes to add to the menu and they had become popular. Her dream was to run her own kitchen. Maybe even her own restaurant.

        She pulled the chalk board into the back room to scribble the menu for the evening. Irish lamb stew had never been a favorite of hers. Too bland. And she refused to make corned beef and cabbage. The dinner special would be her potato soup and roast lamb, slowly braised.

        Shuffling in slippers to the bar, she found Aidan scowling behind it.

        Honestly, the man was a veritable Pandora’s box of moods. Refusing to indulge him, Fee leaned on the bar and grinned lewdly over the taps, just to irritate him.

        “Shall I get myself a bottle of Baileys or do you want to hand me one?”

        “Why?”

        “Why what?” she asked teasingly.

        “I’m not givin’ ya a bottle, ya wee drunkard.”

        Letting loose with a chortle, she shook her head, sending pins and clips slipping down and out of her heavy mane. “Well, I’m going to make Barmbrack, but first some Bailey’s cupcakes just for the evening,” she finished spritely.

        Grabbing her hair she wound it into a knot using a pencil to hold it in place.

        At his raised brows, Fee trotted behind the bar and snatched the necks of two new bottles of Baileys, disappearing into the kitchen as quickly as she’d come.

        “Ya be answerin’ fer those, not me,” he bellowed.

        In the back, shepherd’s pie baked, filling the breathable air with tantalizing aroma. Vivid memories of her grandmother covered in flour and dough tumbled over themselves until she expected to see her. Chef’s specialty was the pie. Using a secret ingredient or two, he refused to let anyone else prepare the dish.

        The bar had a few lingerers, but otherwise the ring of the old fire bell at the door signaling a customer jarred Fee from her baking. She was the only waitress who stayed through from lunch until close. Hands sticky with dough and flour, she waited. Aidan’s voice came.

        “Fionna! Customer.”

        “Patrice, keep an eye on my soup, will ya?” Fee shot over her shoulder.

        Venturing into the front, she saw a man talking to Aidan. Long, heavy blond hair pulled neatly into a thong jarred her mind to a time she longed to forget. It couldn’t be. His arms were sheathed in a long-sleeved teal shirt covered by a sleeveless brown leather vest, but the tight jeans covering the sculpted butt sent a jolt of recognition zinging through her. OMG, it could be. A symphony of memories poured over Fionna. European memories.

        How could it possibly be...him? How had he found her? Again.

        As she neared, a nerve-tingling cologne swirled, ebbed and then paralyzed her. Only one person in her small world smelled of this seductively, male scent, Kilian’s, Straight To Heaven. And it was. She grabbed for a chair.

        He turned and she sucked in a tiny gasp, forgetting to breath then. Wide eyes the shade of magnolia leaves in the deep, wet summer eclipsed his face. And dammit, but he made her knees buckle. No. She wouldn’t let him do this to her. Not again.

        His smile went from mild surprise to deep delight. “Finally. You’re a hard woman to find.”

        “Dublin is a long way from Sedona.” Her breathy voice faltered and cracked. The last man on earth she wanted to see stood in her bar. Her voice turned cold. “Where’s your entourage?” 

        He had the decency to dip his head, then give her a lopsided grin. Blatant understanding in his eyes, he shook his head. “Left them behind.”

        She snorted. “I bet.”

        Women. Women of all ages flocked to him wherever he went. Each time he appeared to plague her, to tug at her heart, a woman clung to his muscular biceps. Though his mossy eyes would talk to her, twinkling and inviting, the women spoke volumes. Another roving man, just a different interest. But why the hell did he follow her around Europe? And how? It was like he had a sixth sense or a honing device.

        His smile never wavered. Thirsty eyes drank her in like she were a real lake in a desert filled with mirages. Rapidly becoming more than disturbed by his sudden appearance, she wanted him to disappear.

        “Flour becomes ya,” he ventured nearer her, a finger extended toward her nose.

        She stepped back and brushed at his hand, not wanting him within a million miles of touching her. Just the sight of him set her heart to beating wildly. This was why she left Europe.

        “How did you find me?” Her tone cut sharper than she’d meant, but he didn’t flinch. In fact, his shamrock green eyes lapped her up from head to toe.

        “To tell the truth, I don’t know.” He spread his legs and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Something keeps tugging at me. Ever since you left Ireland, I’ve had this––this urge to travel. And here I am. All those times we met all over Europe, it was the same. Like a whisper drawing me.”  A glint of green flashed as he drew an object from his vest pocket.

        His Irish brogue unsettled her. This was the problem. He’d woven a spell around her in Europe. All the places they’d met should never have happened. Every time she saw him, a tiny sigh escaped her heart, leaving an ache to replace it. Then she questioned, why any relationship? Conflicted, she left.

        A snicker from Aidan drew their attention. He hunched his shoulders in a gesture as if to say, “what?” when they both stared.

        Fee breezed past Donal with a shrug. “You have to leave. There’s no reason for you to be here.” His aura captured another whisper of her heart as she passed him.

        “Is this reason enough?” He slapped a gold shamrock on the counter. Aidan  pounced on it, but Donal was faster. He covered it, turned his head toward Fee and crooked one cocky brow. Daring her to run from the room.

        The blood drained from her face. “W––wh––where did you find it?”

        “Deep in one of my jacket pockets. ’Tis guessing I am now, ’tis been there since the first time we met. Ever after I’ve had this unexplainable pull that runs us into each other. What else could it be?”

        “Pfft. It’s called love ‘em and leave ‘em. No pull or magic to it. Just you. Give me back my coin and then leave me alone. Go back to Ireland.”

        “Hold now, lass!” Aidan blurted. Frowns all around. “He’s a paying customer, Fee. Ya can’t trow him out. Besides maybe he’s here for green beer.”

        “He’s not.”

        Fionna flipped directions faster than a fish slipped out of reach. Fine, let him keep the coin. She’d learned to be without it. Luck she didn’t need, not with him standing in front of her, making her blood race like a thoroughbred. She needed a curse to send the man away.

        Her hands shook so, she had to clutch them together while she strode through the swinging doors to the kitchen. “Let it lie, Donal. I’m not interested,” she lied.

*

        The hell she wasn’t interested.

        Donal McGregor kicked off his shoes after he slammed shut the hotel door. How had he ended up in the very bar in Sedona, face to face with Fionna, the most stubborn woman he’d ever had the pleasure to meet? Truth was definitely stranger than fiction. He felt bewitched. His heartbeat raced whenever he got near the lass. Inexplicable.  

        Lying with ankles crossed on the king-sized bed, coin clasped tightly in his fist, the golden shamrock burned like molten lava. A reminder of the lass’ fiery hair and blazing temper. A wispy breeze floated over his lips to awaken the memory of her buttery-soft lips touching his in a kiss that branded her name on his heart. Damn the woman. 

        The smallest of sounds escaped her and his eyes flew open. She was here. The temperature of the room heightened until an ethereal, sultry mist hugged him. He leaned up on both elbows and jerked his head, scanning every corner, looking for her.

        Closing his eyes, he sensed her all over again. He lay the shamrock on the bed covers with his hand protectively over top of it.

*

        Though she stayed busy with dinner and a wildly crazy crash of people, her mind strayed to Donal and the shamrock. Suddenly the pub noise died to nothing. At the door stood the towering blond biker.

        Fionna worried her bottom lip and sucked in a ragged breath. No words would form.

        He crooked his finger at her and she shook her head. She swallowed hard and backed away. Backed into a solid, warm body.

        Aidan whispered in her ear. “Go to him, lass. You know you want to.”

        The crowd opened a path for Donal that led to Fee. She felt a nudge that pushed her into his powerful arms. He placed the shamrock into the cup of one of her palms and closed her hand around it. While they held it, a glint o’ green sparked from his gaze into her bistre eyes and he said, “I love ya, Fionna Glen Eire. I’ve loved ya since the first time we drank the mead.”

        The shamrock slipped from her fingers and rolled across the floor as she slid her palms around his waist. The glow from her perception enveloped his dear face and she accepted what she’d felt all through her travels.

        “We were meant to be, Donal. I love ya. And I’ll no run from the guilt of it nay more.”

        “’Twas a kiss, lassie. Only a kiss. Naught else.” Then he lowered his head, branding her as his forevermore with only a kiss.

        Aidan chuckled gleefully and sprinkled magic dust over the couple. “An’ the luck o’ the Irish be with ya. May ya live happily ever after.”

       

Happily Ever After

Chocolate, Flowers and…

Happily Ever After

     Val and Tina Hart nestled in front of the fire in their suite and clinked wine glasses.

   “Here’s to another successful Valentine’s Day, darlin’.” Val’s deep voice rumbled with a suppressed chuckle.

    “We did good this year, didn’t we?” Tina’s eyes twinkled like an elf’s.

    Val slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and snuggled her into his side. “We had a few close calls but all in all, true love won out.”

    “I was definitely worried about the Kramers, honey. She was so distraught over the loss of their little girl, but Spence loves Aileen. They needed the magic of Valentine Mountain to find their love again. You did well on that one.”
     “They’re acting just like newlyweds now. They’re both wearing their golden bands.” He kissed her temple. “And thank goodness Lance and Angie finally figured things out.”

     Tina laughed, the sound, light and airy, warmed his heart.

     “I was about to give up on those two,” she added. “I decided he’d never get it and she would never break that silly girlfriend rule. Those two have been in love forever but just couldn’t admit it. Lance did me proud when he dug through all the candy hearts to find the one that said BE MINE.”
      “Good thing Jesse was here with that dog of his, huh? I’d hate to think what might have happened to Megan without them.”

     “I almost didn’t recognize her when she checked in, even though I read all her books. She gets her own happily ever after now. And that boy finally gets to know how special he is to all of us.”

     “Darlin’, Jesse hasn’t been a boy for a long time. He’s a full-grown man and a hero.” Val squeezed Tina’s hand. “He just needed to be reminded of that he’s not an outsider.” He poured champagne into their glasses.

      Tina giggled, her eyes twinkling with a memory. “What about Taffy and Ben? I can just picture that poor girl coming out the cardboard cake at the bachelor party. Thank goodness Ben is such a gentleman. And thank goodness that party didn’t leave any shocking remnants lying about.” She shuddered in mock dismay.

      “A gentleman with good tastes—in women and champagne. I think the two of them will be very happy together. Do you suppose Taffy’s friend, Kayla, will volunteer for Ben’s bachelor party?”

      Her giggles erupted into a throaty chuckle. “I do hope they’ll celebrate it here!”

Val clinked his glass against Tina’s again. “This has been a year for starting over, don’t you think?”

     Nodding and then taking a sip, Tina swallowed before answering. “When those twins set up the reservations for their parents, I thought my heart would break. Andy and Glory almost lost each other.” She sniffled a little. He reached for a tissue and handed it to her. “I can’t imagine what they went through but I’m so happy love won out and they’re back together.”

      He sighed and then noticed the plate of goodies Tina had set out. “Are those from Holly’s bakery?” At his wife’s smile, he snagged two of the cake balls and popped them into his mouth one after the other. “How long before we’re catering the reception for the sheriff and Holly?”

      The corners of Tina’s mouth curled up. “If I know Brett Landers, not long. He’s a man of action, after all and Holly definitely found a recipe for love.”

     “What do you think about Philomena and Nate getting together?” Val asked, a bit distracted as he eyed the plate.

    “Don’t ruin your dinner, dear,” Tina admonished. “And she prefers Mena. I’m thrilled Nate finally realized she’s not Sean’s little sister any longer—that she’s a grown-up in her own right.”

      Val chuckled. “I don’t think wild stallions could pull them apart now.”

      “It was good to see Toddye back here, and as much as I worried about her being alone, Brian certainly made sure she’d forget about any heartbreak her divorce caused.”

      “That man is handy for all sorts of things.” Val waggled his eyebrows. “I wonder if he’s ever uncovered the sign on his cabin.”

      “You mean the one with the intertwined hearts that says Cupid’s Cabin on it?” Tina leaned closer to kiss her husband. “I loved living there when we were newlyweds. I’m certain the magic is still there.”

    “It was nice to have so much family here this year.” Val's expression turned thoughtful. “I almost sent that Collin packing when he showed up.”

      Tina harrumphed softly. “You and Angelique both needed to trust that young man. Rumors only bring remorse so don’t jump to conclusions when you hear one. Luckily, he was determined to make Angelique see things his way.”

      “And what a way to end the Nearlywed Game! Him down on one knee proposing? He made our Angel a very happy girl.” He slipped his arm around his bride of sixty years. “It bodes well, I think, that Brian and Toddye won the game.”

       Burrowing against his side, Tina sighed happily. “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” She raised her face for a kiss, and he was happy to oblige.

     “Every day with you is Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. And every day here at the SweetHart Lodge means true love finds its Happily Ever After.”

♥♥♥♥

Thank you, everyone, for stopping by to read our Valentine stories. We hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned for more editions of the Wild Okie Writers coming to a blog near you. Updates will be posted to let you know about our next project.

Happy Valentine's Day

from

The Wild Okie Writers!

May you always have Chocolate, Flowers, and a Happily Ever After!

Trust

Trust

by

Kathy L Wheeler

“Darling, you made it!”

          Angelique Daugherty hugged her Aunt Tina tightly, a pang of emotion inundating her. She hadn't seen her since last year’s Valentine extravaganza at the SweetHart Lodge. She’d missed her, especially in light of Angelique’s recently changed status—single.

          “I wasn't certain you would be on hand to help out after speaking with Saffron.” Aunt Tina stood back and leveled Angelique a piercing gaze.

          Angelique snorted if only to deflect her aunt’s sharp assessment. “You know you can’t rely on anything my mother tells you, Auntie. She’s stuck in the sixties.” Hence, the ridiculous name she’d been christened. Her father’s was even worse—Ephram. Yet, the two were still as much in love as the day they’d met and changed their names at the infamous Woodstock. Angelique supposed it was lucky for her that they’d married once they’d realized they had their own little “ankle biter” on the way some twenty years later.

          “She just worries for you,” Aunt Tina assured her.

          “I know, I know. But Saffron needs to realize that you cannot force a love that isn't t-there.” Her voice broke only the slightest, but she plowed on. “Just because she and Ephram found the love of their lives, doesn't mean that everyone will.” The sting of tears behind her eyes irritated her. She blinked them away with stubborn ruthlessness and handed her aunt a brilliant smile. “So tell me, what is my mission this year, Aunt Tina?”

          Aunt Tina’s eyes narrowed on her. “Angelique—” she started.
          Thankfully, Angelique was relieved of the forthcoming relentless probe by the entrance of her Uncle Val.

He swept her up in an engulfing embrace. “About time you got here. I spread the magic dust on the Kramers in 717 all by myself. A sorry sight they were too.” He shook his head. “That young couple was on the brink of divorce after losing their only child. All is well now though.”

A shot of guilt pricked Angelique. She’d grown up in a loving home. Even with her mother’s eccentricities, Angelique had never lacked for affection even if it had felt handed out in a somewhat vague manner. It was just. . .well. . .she was so eccentric—like naming her only child after a character in one of her favorite soap operas from the late sixties. It couldn't be anything normal like “Brooke” or “Erica” from All My Children, or “Laura” from General Hospital. No. She’d gone straight for the truly unique from Dark Shadows. A serial that covered everything paranormal long before paranormal was avant-garde, from vampires to witches to werewolves, naming her after one of Barnabas Collins love interests.

How she’d adored Saffron and Ephram’s stories growing up. Until she’d turned thirteen. That was when the girls at school began to tease her. When they snickered behind her back or called her mother a witch. Taunted her with imitations of howling moons and reciting incantations of black spells. But all the fun ended abruptly when she’d opened her locker one day to find a black cauldron filled with dead spiders and crickets.

Saffron’s waist length hair, peppered with gray and hanging down her back, half the time, unkempt, never helped the image, either. Pink tinted sunglasses and flowing robes of neon colors were the staples of her mother’s unfashionable wardrobe. Angelique smoothed a hand down the sleek contour of her Lilly Pulitzer straight cut jeans in Seamist Blue. Now she was as careful in choosing her friends as she was in selecting her clothes. 
Never again had she invited anyone home. Summers and spring breaks were spent with Aunt Tina and Uncle Val, and her cousin, Lance, at the SweetHart. They were all so...normal. Angelique grimaced inwardly. Okay, so she had trust issues.

But everything changed once Angelique had met Collin, at least she'd thought so. She’d fallen fast and hard, with his stern demeanor that wouldn't scare a pussycat. Strong arms that kept her fears at bay. And it seemed he'd fallen just as hard as she had. Theirs was a continued source of amusement and sexy interludes on the play of their names. Every time she’d huffed out Collin’s name as Barnabas, he’d taken revenge by sneaking up behind pretending to sink fangs into the side of her neck only to leave her with an outrageously huge hickey. Any lingering anger she harbored, fled like fog in the heat of the sun. Her closet was stacked with turtleneck sweaters. Difficult to explain during warmer weather.

But now her heart was broken. All due to her live-in boyfriend’s—correct that!—ex-live-in boyfriend’s—blatant betrayal. Was it only three days ago Angelique had opened the door to their overdeveloped neighbor? A blond bimbo from two doors down, with large boobs and pouty lips, holding Collin’s favorite shirt—a Burberry London Pembury Diamond sport shirt. She loved that shirt. Collin called it maroon, but Angelique knew her shades. It was boysenberry, and a pattern so subtlety woven throughout, it appeared solid. And now it reeked with her perfume.

Blinking back another onslaught of threatening tears, she shoved away her cursed thoughts and thanked God for the safety of her aunt and uncle’s presence, thrilled to be back home. She hugged her uncle a little too tightly. “Oh, Uncle Val, I’m sure that couple will never forget their stay at the SweetHart.” She stood back, pushing wayward blond curls from her face. “Now about my duties?”

****

          Frustration filled Collin Langford. Fingers stiff from the cold, he shoved the key in the lock of his and Angelique’s small one bedroom flat. He wanted nothing more than to warm his chilled body with hers. Winter in Chicago was not his favorite time to travel. Weather, timing and Murphy’s Law had all worked hand-in-hand against him. He was tired. His only desire: to make it home from New York by Valentine’s Day and refuse Angelique any respite from a blast of unrestrained seduction—his. He'd missed her.

Overall, the trip had been a successful one, he supposed, but he should have realized the only luck to be had was bad. It started with his packing. His favorite shirt had vanished. Oh, he knew he’d just misplaced it. It certainly wasn't Angelique's fault. She was a disaster when it came to laundry. Grinning, he shook his head. It would show up eventually. Right now, all he wanted his hot, sweet, adorable girlfriend.

She was not usually one for surprises but for once he wanted to do things his way. Collin thrust the door back, dropped his carryall on the floor, and tossed his coat on the sofa. “Angel?”

          Silence. He worked his way through the small, dark space, flipping light switches. It was cold despite its cozy décor. A sense of dread raised the hair at his nape just as he stepped into the small kitchen. The shirt he’d been unable to find lay in crumpled heap on the tiny dining table; an envelope with his name scrawled across the front lay on top.

*****

          Scowling, two hours later found Collin on a plane bound for Denver, his thoughts teetered between fury and amusement.

          Some homecoming. At least she’d left a note. A note! 

Not a love note. Disgust filled him, shifting quickly to frustration.

          A “get your stuff and get out” note!

He pushed a hand through his hair. No way in hell was he giving up Angelique. He loved her and she loved him. Collin tugged the wrinkled paper from his pocket and studied the erratic handwriting. At best, Angelique’s penmanship was difficult to decipher, but when she was upset it was a miracle he could make out his own name. What had happened? He wondered for the millionth time.

The 727 jumbo jarred as the wheels tapped the runway. He crumpled the note and shoved it back in his pocket. A sense of wry pricked him as realization dawned. The surprise turned out to be his.

          That’s all right. He knew exactly where to find his Angel. After all, it was Valentine’s weekend. With a feral smile, he stood and patted his jacket pocket, made his way off the plane, secure in the knowledge he would and could remedy the situation.

No problem at all.

****

          “I believe, Philomena, this is the nuttiest idea my aunt has had in a very long time,” Angelique muttered. She and Mena were walking through the lodge from the office to the ballroom.

          “Ugh, can you not call me by that reprehensible name?” she demanded.

“Sorry.”

“You know her better than I,” her friend returned blandly.

          “A 'Newlywed Game.' Seriously? Not everyone is wed.”

          “We just have to rename it, but you have to admit the idea has charm. Just look around.” Mena said this so wistfully, Angelique shifted sharply to her, but Mena inconveniently turned her head.

          Angelique glanced around then, and what she saw set her teeth on edge. Everywhere she looked a couple walked hand in hand, like Spence and Aileen Kramer, that couple from 717 Uncle Val claimed he’d reunited with the magic dust. Another huddled in some darkened corner, kissing each other with no thought to passersby. Surely, she'd just passed that same  couple who were said to have met at the bachelor’s party held in the ballroom the night before.
          The whole lodge might as well have been in Paris or. . .worse, the sixties with all their free love and flower power. Angelique had even spotted Jess Travers stealing a kiss from Megan Carter­—while Sarge just stood there and watched!

She stalked briskly to the ballroom hoping it had survived the rowdy, overgrown imbeciles with all their drinking and strippers.
“Well, I don’t know what she thought I could add to the game. You’re the events coordinator,” Angelique said, crossing through the double doors. Relief hit her seeing no remnants of confetti or overturned glasses or other unmentionables like discarded condoms. She shuddered.

          “Mena may be the events coordinator, but the event needs a representative of the SweetHart. Besides, you have an excellent speaking voice.” Aunt Tina’s confidence in her was mind-boggling.  So was the way she was able to silently sneak up behind a person, startling her.

          “Thanks,” Angelique grunted. “Were you able to snag your four unsuspecting couples yet, Aunt Tina?”

          Her nose wrinkled. “I have three. I certainly didn't anticipate how skittish people would be when it came to a little innocent fun.”

          Hah! Innocent fun, my foot. “Don’t worry, I’ll come up with a fourth. Brian seems to have the hots for Toddye, and as one of his closest friends, I’m sure I have enough ammunition on him to ensure his participation.” Angelique smirked. “I think all of his spare time from the slopes has expended into private lessons.”

          “How curious, and Toddye’s such an avid skier too,” Aunt Tina murmured.

Angelique smiled and said, softly, “I’ll tell you, Aunt Tina. I’m glad to see it. It’s been three years since her divorce from Darryl. She deserves some happiness. I’ll definitely talk to him about participating.”

          “I’ll leave it up to you then.”

Angelique considered the staging area that needed to sit the eight selected guinea pigs. “We’re going to have to locate a big strapping male to help with these tables. And, of course Jess is nowhere to be found.”

          “Luckily, we've plenty of others hanging about,” Mena said.

          “Yeah, if we can pry one from a dark corner out of his lover’s arms—”

          “Some of us haven’t been that fortuitous.” The depth of that resonance sent a shiver over Angelique.

          She should have known Collin would follow her. Grimacing, she spun slowly to face him. His broad shoulders blocked the doorway, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed, leaning nonchalantly against the frame. To an innocent bystander he appeared casual. The unreadable depths of his stare made her flinch, until the image of Booby-Pouty-Lips popped in her head, holding out his shirt like some triumphant trophy. The whole scenario filled her head like a badly drawn cartoon.

          Though her fingers itched to push the disheveled hair from his brow, she squeezed her hands into fists. His hazel eyes bore down on her. This was a man who prized order: dinner on the table at six, clean towels on the rack after his shower. Granted he did the cooking and the laundry, but still. She was the wronged party. She hadn't lied about her travel plans.

          “Hello, Phil, Tina. Val said the inn was full.”

          “I hate that name.” Mena muttered under her breath, but Angelique heard her and swallowed a grin determined to hold onto her anger.

          “Collin, how lovely to see you, dear. You do realize it's Valentines?” Aunt Tina said brightly. “I’m afraid we've had to pair you with another single.”

A slight curve touched his lips as  he stared at Angelique. Her flesh pricked and flames rushed her cheeks. Great. No mystery in where her aunt and uncle most likely stashed her ex-boyfriend.

“I suppose it’s fortunate that I’m a big strapping male and not trapped in some dark corner. What is it you need arranged?”

****

Angelique stood gazing out the plate glass windows from the second level lobby near the elevators of the SweetHart. The picturesque view did nothing to soothe her taut nerves. All was in place for the Newlywed Game, renamed Nearlywed for their purposes, set for later that night, finding her at a sudden loss with no more tasks to complete. She had no desire to hide in her room where, Val and Tina had, indeed, deposited Collin. She should have been honest with her aunt the minute she’d walked in the door the two days ago, though she supposed it didn't matter, and let out a disgruntled sigh. None of the rooms had two beds. Everyone knew that! It was the SweetHart Lodge.

The stairwell door swung wide, startling her. “Collin.” She meant to say it sharply, but to her dismay it came out that breathless huff she abhorred.

“Angel.” His tone, of course, was cool and controlled.

          She pressed her lips together, tightly, and stepped aside.

          “I got your note.”

          “Excellent,” she said, and started to brush by but he caught her arm.

          “We need to talk.”

          “I have nothing to say.”

          “How fortunate. I, however, do.”

          “Take it up with the occupant in 3B.”

          “What the hell does she have to do with us?”

          “Are you going to deny you went to New York?” she demanded.

          He grimaced. “What are you talking about?” he grated. “I ran into her in the laundry room the other day. I never said a word about my travel plans.”

          He leaned in close enough for her to breathe in the faint scent of his soap. He didn't go in for the big name colognes; just stuff that made her feel as if he’d spent the day chopping wood. “A-and I-I suppose she just accidentally found your shirt?”

 “Angelique,” he said softly, sweetly, almost a warning.
  She steeled herself against that tone, that heat that teased the tendrils of loosed hair. The one he used to melt her into a muddled mess at his whim.
“You must know that there is no one for me but you.”

          Luckily, a thread of common sense burst through. She stiffened. “So what?” she hissed. But the doubts edged their way into her brain-turned-mush. She tried to snatch her arm from his grip, but he pulled her in close. The warm breath that touched the side of her neck threatened the stability of her knees. His teeth nipped at her shoulder, followed by his nose nuzzling the assaulted area.

          “Collin?” she whimpered.

          “Angel, when are you going to learn to trust your feelings where I’m concerned?” he growled, just before he covered her mouth with his.

****

          Angelique’s husky laughter filled the ballroom through the microphone clipped at the vee of her cleavage-baring bodice, sending a rush of desire exploding through Collin. He could swear he detected the shadow of one of his more ardent attempts where the base of her neck met her shoulder. Her vitality captivated him. Yet her lack of trust left his heart feeling as if it had been shredded with a board of nails.

          Collin had finally reasoned out the events that must have poisoned Angelique’s mind. The apartment’s laundry facilities were located in the basement of their building. That little witch in 3B must have taken his shirt just waiting for the opportunity to present it to Angelique when he was gone. He shuddered to think of all that heavy make-up she wore smearing it, wallowing in it.

Regardless, Angelique needed to get past this self-imposed inadequacy. Hope for a lasting relationship was lost if they were doomed to live a lifetime without trust. Trust was the foundation in which love prospered. He was at his wit’s end in how to get Angelique to see they were on the same side. That he loved her. That he would never betray her. He huffed out a stilted breath, and ran a hand through his hair. Still, he refused to let her go. He would just have to show her through example. Love, in their case, would conquer her insecurities, he vowed. Her voice, as melodic as a well-tuned instrument, interrupted his brooding thoughts.

          “Aileen, what would Spencer’s last request on earth be?” Angelique asked.

          Aileen Kramer dropped her gaze before leaning into the mic centered on the table between them and announced softly, “another child.”

          A soft quiet filled the room as everyone waited. Angelique was looking at the cards she held, blinking quickly. “For. . .uh. . .ten points, Spencer, please show us your answer.”

          Collin waited, curiosity teasing him. Spencer was a young man, still in his twenties. His thick black hair, having fallen over his brow, hid an expression that turned his wife’s, thin face, pink. He lifted the card he held, slowly. It read ‘Aileen: the love of my life.’ The audience let out a unanimous “awww.” Collin was certain he heard a sniffle or two as well. Aileen Kramer threw her arms around her husband’s neck, her cries muffled. A boisterous applause that would echo through the mountainous terrain beyond the enclosure of the lodge erupted.

Clearing her throat, Angelique bolstered on. “Now for our bonus round. This should equal the lovely...um...cake balls you are enjoying by Holly Cavanaugh of Serendipity,” she announced. Cheeks pink after that announcement, Angelique's voice retained a slightly emotional inflection that squeezed something tight in his chest. She cleared her throat. “Complete the following phrase for twenty-five points. We’ll start with the couple with the lowest points.”

Collin’s eyes went to the NHL star center, Lance Hart. His sun streaked, blond hair was perfect. Of course, he’d graced the cover of both GQ and Sports Illustrated several times over, according to the gossip running rampant through the lodge. Lance tossed a crooked grin to the audience before glancing back at his partner. His unabashed appraisal no doubt wrung the hearts of some of the unattached women. Angela was grinning like a Cheshire cat. The woman had him wrapped around her little finger, and she hadn't even heard the question yet.

“Angela, how would Lance say you would complete the following phrase? Chocolate, flowers and. . .?”

“Home,” she said.

Angelique grinned. “Lance? Your answer, please.”

With a wide smile, he lifted the card.

“House!” Angelique read. “An answer along the Venus-versus-Mars lines of communications, but excellent, nonetheless. The judges, me, say it’s a match. Congratulations. That brings your total score to thirty-five. Let’s move on to Ben and Taffy. You have fifteen points. If you answer correctly, you’ll take the lead with forty. Chocolate, flowers and. . .”

The flush that moved up Taffy Sellers neck was interesting, Collin thought. Ben, however, shot Taffy a look that told the audience regardless of her answer, the outcome would end the same—in one bed where sleep would be scarce. “Uh. . .cake?” Taffy squeaked.

The shout of laughter Ben let out engaged the ensemble. He raised his card, but it read ‘Champagne.’ Even with the loud ‘ooh’, it didn't stop Ben Reece from planting a resounding smack on her lips, before Taffy hid her face in her hands.

Collin couldn't help but admire the guy.

Angelique tsk’d and moved to the last couple, Brian and Toddye. “Okay, this is for the win, you two. The Grand Prize, as you know, is an all expense week’s stay at the SweetHart Lodge for next year’s Valentine’s bash. That’s a working vacation for you, Brian.”

A rumble of laughter rippled through the spectators.

That same rumble felt like a rising storm in Collin’s blood. It took him a moment to recognize it as jealousy. Angelique’s easy rapport with Brian ate at him but he shoved it away. Her teasing manner and quick wit with others was one of the things he loved most about her. Brian’s nine-year-old son Jason sat front and center next to an older couple he'd heard referred to only as Glory and Andy.

“Let’s have it, Toddye. How would you complete the phrase ‘Chocolate, flowers and . . .’?”

Toddye’s pale complexion was not necessarily complementary to the sudden flaming of her cheeks, clashing violently with hair that was the shade of russet with streaks of fire. But Collin had to admit the brilliant blue of her eyes are what must have turned, not only Brian, but also Jason, into pools of mush at her feet.

“Well?” Angelique prompted.

Brian didn't appear so comfortable with the question either, and Collin found himself biting back a grin. The two hadn't known each other that long.

“Ahem. . .Chocolate, flowers and . . .” Toddye glanced at Angelique, then focused her attention on Jason with a slight smile. She took a deep breath. “Life, I suppose.”

The byplay Collin witnessed included Brian squeezing Toddye’s hand and Angelique blinking quickly. She swallowed before she spoke. “Uh, Brian?”

He lifted his card. It read—life.

          Letting out a held breath, Collin step forward from the corner he’d been holding up. “And you, Angelique?” The ballroom stilled, his voice carrying throughout the room even without the benefit of a microphone. “How would you complete Chocolate, flowers and . . . ?”  He skirted the round tables slowly, working his way toward her, ignored the lovers holding hands, their gaping mouths, their shocked whispers. “Love? Affection? Trust?”

****

          Angelique’s heart pounded so hard, she was certain it rasped through the mic to echo softly, stirring the balloons and their curled ribbons. She had sorely misjudged Collin. He deserved someone much more trusting, but she was too selfish to ever let him go. She was furious at herself. Why on earth would she trust that manipulative, overdeveloped she-devil over Collin. He was the one who’d earned her loyalty and regard. And it was time to let him know.

“You.” Angelique could not get her voice above a trembling whisper, and with the mic, her answer did reverberate against the walls.

          “Yes,” he said. He pulled her into his arms, fit his mouth over hers. She sank into his hold, his kiss. But just as quickly, he pulled away, glaring intently at her. “No more notes kicking me out?”

          She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling outright, and repeated, carefully keeping a demure tone. “No more notes kicking you out.”

          “No more accusations with the bimbo in 3B’s innuendos?” he demanded.

          She had to inhale deeply before repeating that promise. But repeat it, she did. “No more accusations with the bimbo in 3B’s innuendos.”

          Her stomach dropped when he reached into his pocket. He pulled out small concealed box. “No more doubts about my love?”

          Tears clogged her throat, and she found herself unable to speak. She shook her head. Hope filled her.

          “Say it, Angelique. I need to hear it,” he begged, softly.

“No more doubts about your love.”

          “You’ll trust me with your heart?”

          “I’ll trust you with my soul,” she whispered.

Collin dropped to one knee, before God and their onlookers, the couples on the makeshift stage and the crowd. He held out his palm. With a flick of his fingers the small velvet box popped open. “I shall always shower you with chocolate, flowers, love, affection, trust.” His voice dropped lower. “But, I believe I’d like to add diamonds to the list. Angelique Daugherty, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Angelique froze, shocked and touched, at the tremor in his voice. Her knees suddenly gave way, but Collin, hero that he was, caught her fall, his eyes never wavering from hers. The words lodged in her throat, her fingers shook.

          “Angelique?” His strained voice, boomed through the mic clipped to her bodice.

          “Yes. Yes. I’ll do you the honor of becoming your wife. I’ll trust you with my heart. Just don’t make me name our children Butterfly, Freedom, or—or anything with the word ‘Rain’ in it.”

          Collin pulled her into his arms. “John or Mary it is,” he whispered. And sealed his promise with a kiss.

Come back tomorrow for a wrap up of the OKRWA's Wildokies Valentine Anthology. Happy Valentine's Day!!! And may you have all the Chocolate, flowers and . . .your heart desires.

The Outsider

 The Outsider

by

Silver James

     Megan Carter stared at the blank window open on her laptop screen. She’d returned to Valentine, Colorado to be inspired, so this was supposed to be easy. She sucked hard on a chocolate Tootsie Pop, the white paper stick jammed in the corner of her mouth like a skinny cigarette.

     “What was I thinking? Oh, wait. I wasn’t thinking. Idiot. It’s February. In the Rockies. I hate snow.” She pushed back from the desk and rose to pace the confines of her luxury cabin at the SweetHart Lodge.

     The cell phone on the desk buzzed, dancing across the polished surface like water on a hot griddle. Megan didn’t bother to answer. The caller was either her editor or her agent. Both were panicked about her deadline.

     “Which is why I freaking came up here!” Her frustrated shout echoed through the empty room.

     This trip was supposed to be all about inspiration. She’d lived in Valentine for a couple of years in high school. Until her mother got wanderlust, picked up everything they owned, and moved to San Diego. It doesn’t snow in San Diego. But it snows in Megan’s unfinished romance novel. Hence her trip back to Valentine for inspiration. Her hero was a hunky ski patrol member and her heroine a reckless downhill skier. The whole idea was ludicrous. She knew nothing about skiing. What had she been thinking? Oh, yeah. Back to that again. 

     She poured a cup of coffee, lacing it liberally with cream and sugar before moving to stand in front of the picture window. Fat snowflakes drifted down and she experienced a moment of vertigo like she’d been caught in a snow globe, held upside down and shaken, not stirred. She’d have to bundle up soon and trudge over to the main lodge. Maybe that whole après ski thing would soak in as guests schmoozed around the fire. She could eavesdrop to get her Muse into high gear—and get an Irish coffee at the bar.

****

     Jesse Travers ducked his chin to his chest and hunched his right shoulder as he turned away from the couple strolling along the sidewalk he’d just shoveled. Holding hands and making goo-goo eyes at each other, they passed him like he was invisible. Just as well. He’d hate to give the woman nightmares.

     Wiping the sweat off his brow, he knocked his hood back. If it kept snowing, he’d have to get out the snow blower to keep up. He hated the noise and oily stink of the engine fumes when it was running. The sound and smell reminded him of things that gave him nightmares.

     Seemed he hated a lot of things these days. This place. The people who vacationed here. Life. He’d ended up back in Valentine by default after his discharge from Walter Reed Hospital in D.C. His old man had finally died and Jesse had to return to pay off the bastard’s debts. Val Hart offered Jesse a job and a place to stay in one of the old cabins on the back of the property. He hid out, doing odd jobs and repairs around the place. Come spring though, he and Sarge were leaving.

     A woman’s terrified scream raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Without a second thought, Jesse dashed toward the sound. He rounded the corner of one of the cabins and slid to a halt. Sarge had someone cornered on the ground. The woman was curled into a tight ball, still screaming even as she tried to fend off her furry attacker. Jesse waded into the fray, wrapped his fingers in Sarge’s collar, and yanked the big idiot back.

     “Stop screamin’, ma’am. He won’t hurt you.” The dog lunged at the woman’s face and she screamed again, right before the damned dog licked her face.

     “Jeez, Sarge. Release.” Jesse barked the order and the dog, with one final lick which dislodged something from the woman’s mouth, obeyed.

     She stared into amazing blue eyes—as hard and bright as aquamarine glinting under the summer sun—the same blue eyes she saw whenever she dreamed up a new hero. She recognized those eyes. Megan gasped.

     Jesse flinched at the sound she made. He flipped up his hood and shifted his face into the shadows. Only then did she realize he thought she was upset by his scars. She wasn’t. This man—who’d once been a boy as furtive in the shadows as he was now—had both rescued and humiliated her. She remembered the boy Jesse Travers had once been—the son of the town drunk—and a brutal man. She’d seen the bruises and cuts the boy tried so hard to hide. He’d been proud, even then, wearing his lost-and-found clothes like they came from an upscale store at the mall. He’d had a lean and hungry look in those days, much like his current expression.

     Megan peered around her. The dog had knocked off her glasses and now that both man and animal had backed away, she couldn’t see them as plainly. She patted the snow and rolled to her knees to check underneath her. Jesse just watched, silent and sullen. The dog—wolf—ravenous monster—decided she was playing a game. He jumped on her back, knocking her face first in the snow. She whimpered and tried to fend off the crazed animal.

     “Sarge, fuss.” Jesse’s voice crackled with command. The word sounded like “fooss,” German for “heel.” The dog seemed reluctant to leave her alone but he responded, dutifully returning to his master’s side. “Platz, Sarge.”

     A moment later, Sarge was belly down in the snow but his shining eyes tracked every move Megan made as she searched the snow again.

     “Lose something?”

     “Yes. My glasses.”

     Jesse kicked at the snow around his feet then bent from the waist and retrieved her heavy black frames. He hesitated then pulled out the tail of his flannel shirt and dried them off before handing them to Megan.

     She took them, settled them on her face, and gazed up at him. “I know you.” He shook his head and backed away. “Wait. Please? Jesse, right? Jesse Travers. You…I…we…” She inhaled and blinked a few times. “You saved me in high school. Down under the bleachers at the football field.” She held out her hand and offered a smile. “I think you just saved me again.” Megan wasn’t about to mention what else they’d done, or how he’d broken her heart.

     Jesse stared at her face before his gaze traveled to her outstretched hand. He wiped his palm down the side of his thigh before taking hers and pulling her to her feet. He didn’t say anything but his shadowed eyes glinted like gemstones under the soft streetlamps lining the pathway. Once she was on her feet, he jerked his hand away, like contact with her skin burned.

     “I’m Me—”

     “I remember. Megan Carter.” He turned on his heel and slapped his thigh for the dog to follow him. They left her standing there.

     If it hadn’t been so cold, Megan would have butt-planted in the snow. As it was, her knees barely held her upright. “Well, damn.” She exhaled on the oath, softening the sound of it.

     Jesse Travers. The boy of her dreams. The slayer of her dragons. And the man who’d broken her heart.

****

     His heart pounded in his chest and he fought the adrenaline surging through his body setting his fingers and toes on fire. He wanted to hit something. Or run. Megan Carter. She hadn’t changed a bit. Big doe eyes blinking behind the veil of her thick glasses. Full lips begging to be kissed. And he had. Despite everything, he had. Kissed her lips and more back then.

     Sarge whined at his side and Jesse automatically dropped his hand to the big dog’s head. He’d dreamed about her, hunkered down in a dozen different war zones. He’d pretended she was still his, that she’d be waiting for him when—if—he returned. He didn’t deserve her, but he’d wanted her. What the hell was she doing here? Especially now.

     The dog whined again as Jesse gripped his ruff so tight he was pulling fur. He relaxed his hand and breathed. In. Out. Thinking about the action until the pressure in his chest eased.

     Another couple approached, arms wrapped around each other. Jesse turned away, burying his face against the rough wool of his coat. He was still the invisible man. Just as well. He couldn’t stand to look in the mirror so how could he expect anyone else to look at him. Except Megan. She’d watched him. Even though she gasped—he knew he’d frightened her—but she didn’t turn away. She didn’t hide from the scars on his ruined face.

     Sarge crunched something in his teeth. Jesse bent to take whatever it was away, only to pull out a sticky mess wrapped around a wad of paper. He laughed. Sarge’s penchant for sweets was legendary. That’s why the dog went after Megan. She’d been sucking on a chocolate Tootsie Pop. The muscles of his face stretched and felt odd. Then he realized he was smiling. He hadn’t smiled in…he couldn’t remember.

****

     Megan cupped both hands around her Irish coffee and stared at the flames leaping in the massive fireplace. Her view was blocked momentarily as Tina Hart, one of the owners of the SweetHart Lodge plopped into the chair next to her.

     The grandmotherly woman didn’t waste time with small talk. “Val and I saw you talking to Jesse.”

     Blinking a few times, Megan considered what to say. Her jaw finally loosened so she could speak. “Is there a problem with that? Is he not allowed to speak to guests?” She snarled the questions.

     Tina arched one brow. “Jesse can speak to whomever he pleases. I just—”

     “You just what? If he’s allowed to speak to guests then there is no problem with me talking to him, is there?” Megan clenched the glass coffee mug so tightly the whipped cream on top threatened to slosh over the edges. What had gotten into her? She inhaled, relaxed her hands, took a sip, and then exhaled. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hart. That was rude of me. I just…Jesse and I were in high school together. Things were… Well… His life back then…I mean…” She inhaled deeply. “I just want things to be okay for him.”

     The woman leaned closer and patted her knee. “My grandson went to school with Jesse, too. It’s okay, hon. I understand. And I’m glad to see he has a champion. Afghanistan was…”

     Megan winced. “Is that how he was injured?” She was relieved, though, as she’d worried his father had scarred Jesse’s face with one of his beatings.

     Tina nodded and spent a few minutes explaining about the IED explosion, Jesse’s injuries, what Sarge meant to him, and why he was back in Valentine. The longer the innkeeper spoke, the more Megan’s heart broke.

     That night in bed, she tossed and turned. Every time she closed her eyes in an attempt to sleep Jesse’s eyes pierced the darkness. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and he was the most handsome man she’d ever known. Even with the scar. She wanted to kiss it, kiss him. Hold him. Her body ached with the memory of their one time together. It had hurt and been uncomfortable and she’d cried but Jesse held her and kissed her and told her everything would be okay. Only it wasn’t. He disappeared the next morning and a week later, her mother was packing them up to move.

     Megan knew what she wanted. She’d always loved Jesse and she was positive her feelings were more than the lingering effects of a schoolgirl crush. No other boy had ever affected her like he did. And now he was a man—a man still confined to the shadows. Her stomach lurched at the thought. He must be so lonely. She wanted to bring him out into the light, to prove he didn’t have to be on the outside looking in. Never again.

     With her mind made up, she rolled over and drifted off to sleep.

****

     Jesse greeted the dawn without ever seeing his bed. He’d been too restless, but he’d come to a decision. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t face Megan, or the pity he knew would be in her expression whenever she looked at him.

     Sarge was curled on the rug, his muzzle resting on his front paws, eyes never leaving his master. He occasionally whined and offered a gentle thump of his tail on the worn wooden floor of the cabin.

     “We can’t stay, Sarge.”

     The dog’s gentle woof sounded chastising. Ignoring the dog’s censure and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jesse got ready for his day. A couple of the snowmobiles needed maintenance. He’d take care of those and then tell Val Hart that he was moving on.

     Chores came hard and fast and before Jesse realized it, the sun dipped behind Valentine Mountain. Lights blinked on in the gathering shadows even though the sky looked like someone had painted it with pastel pinks and purples. Mr. Hart would be in the office. It was time to say goodbye. As he turned the corner of the building, he found the parking lot full of vehicles, including the sheriff’s SUV. A crowd gathered near the front doors to the Lodge.

     “There he is, Sheriff Landers!” Brian Benjamin, the Lodge’s ski instructor, pointed toward Jesse.

     He slowed and hunched lower under his hood.

     Val Hart waved him over, calling, “Jesse, we need you! We have a missing guest.”

He relaxed a little but kept his chin down. There were a lot of people and lights and he wasn’t comfortable with either.

     “We don’t know when she went missing,” Mr. Hart explained to the sheriff. “One of the maids saw her headed toward Cupid’s Creek Trail. Nobody saw her come back, her room is empty, and with weather moving in, we’re worried.”

     The old man gave a quick description but when he said the guest’s name, Jesse stopped breathing. Megan was missing? Sarge quivered at his side, picking up on the tension in the group.

     The sheriff split the searchers into groups and gave terse orders. Sarge did his best to pick up the scent but the area was muddled with tracks, people, and too many odors for the dog to winnow out the right one. Hard dark and a fast-moving winter storm had the sheriff calling off the search around ten p.m. Disheartened people tramped into the Lodge looking for food, drink, and warmth.

     Jesse wasn’t ready to give up. He’d run away from her in high school. He wouldn’t abandon her now. “We’ll find her.” He turned on his heel and gave Sarge a sharp command. “Fuss. Heel.” They started up Cupid’s Creek Trail and Jesse issued another order. “Such, Sarge.” The word sounded like tsuuk and meant track. “Such Megan.”

     The dog raised his muzzle, lifted one front foot then he lowered his nose to the snow and took off. Jesse followed close behind, his breath catching in his chest as his heart hammered. Within minutes, a curtain of snow cut off view of the lodge. Jesse didn’t stop. Megan was out there, lost and alone, and she wouldn’t survive the night if he didn’t find her.

     Midnight arrived. And left. The military watch on Jesse’s wrist glowed. Two a.m. The sharp wind abated but still swirled and drifted snow so that he had to struggle forward. He was so cold. And so afraid. Then Sarge’s bark echoed through the night. And he heard a faint shout.

     “Help!”

     Megan! He pushed through the snow, running hard now, no longer exhausted. Sarge’s excited barking guided him and he found her halfway submerged in a pond at the bottom of a short slope. The ice had broken, dowsing her legs. The dog had her coat sleeve in his mouth and was tugging even as Jesse slid down the slope.

     After dragging her up onto the bank, he noticed her blue lips. Her teeth chattered so much she couldn’t talk. He didn’t have a radio. Staring around him, wild-eyed and panicked, he realized they were trapped in white-out conditions. Even if he had a radio, no one could find them. It was up to him to get Megan to safety. He wouldn’t fail her again. He’d die first. He pushed away the very real possibility that neither of them would make it.

     “Megan? Megan, you have to hang on, baby. I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll get you home and safe.”

     She nodded mutely.

     “Sarge! Home, boy. Take us home.” With a happy bark, the big dog followed an overflow trough below the pond. Jesse wanted to carry Megan but she’d be better off moving, getting the blood to flowing.

     After what seemed like hours, the area around them looked familiar. A few minutes later, Sarge led them straight to Jesse’s cabin. Inside, Megan collapsed on his ratty old sofa while Jesse stoked the fire.

     “I’ll start the shower. We need to get you out of those wet clothes, Megan. I have to get you warm, baby. Okay?”

     Once in his bathroom, Jesse discovered Megan didn’t have the strength to stand on her own. He stripped her and then, after a moment’s hesitation, he stripped as well. Taking her in his arms, he stepped into the shower, under water as hot as Megan could stand it. The small room filled with steam but he knew she could see his scars—every last ugly one of them.

     Megan gazed up at him, her eyes tracing the scar that ran from his forehead and down around his left eye to slash across his cheekbone. The tip of her finger followed the same path a moment later. Her touch felt almost reverent. Her teeth had stopped chattering and color flooded her cheeks.

     “You’re always saving me, Jesse.”

     He shook his head, denying where the conversation was headed. “I’m no hero, Megan.”

     “You are to me.” She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “You always have been,” she murmured against his mouth.

     With a groan, he wrapped her tighter in his arms and kissed her back, his tongue tracing her lips before they parted and let him in to taste the sweetness of her mouth. The bands constricting his chest and heart eased.

     Later, after he’d called the sheriff to let everyone know Megan was safe, they lay curled together under a pile of blankets in front of the fire. He told her about his life. About what had happened the night after he’d pledged his love to her and she to him. About the Army. About Afghanistan. About Walter Reed. Sarge lay beside Megan, adding his warmth.

     “I loved you, you know,” she whispered when he finished his story. “I still do.” He opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him with a gentle finger laid across his lips. “Shh. All I want is the chance to get to know you again.”

     Jesse closed his eyes. “There’s not much to know. Not much worth knowing.” He mumbled the words and moved to roll away from her. She’d have none of it.

     “I love you, Jesse Travers. Period. Just the way you are. I have since that day under the bleachers when you scared those bullies away.” She snuggled into his arms and within a few minutes, her misadventures caught up with her and she drifted off.

     When Megan awoke, she was alone. The fire radiated heat and looked liked it had been stoked not too long before. She found a neatly-folded stack of her clothes—jeans, sweater, socks, and dry boots. She dressed in front of the fire, still chilled to the bone from her ordeal. She’d been terrified but never once doubted that Jesse would find her. She knew all she had to do was hang on until he came. He didn’t disappoint.

     Something scratched at the door. Curious, Megan opened it. Sarge sat on the porch, the handles of a bag from Serendipity Bakery in his mouth. She retrieved it and peeked inside—chocolate, flowers, and… She glanced up at the man who stood in the shadows of the porch. He’d always been an outsider. She refused to let him remain one.

     “Are these for me, Sarge?”

     The dog woofed and she rubbed his ears as he nosed the bag. Megan smiled at Jesse and stretched out her hand. He took it and moved into a small patch of sunlight. He wasn’t wearing his hood. Her eyes glistened with tears as she twined her arms around his neck.

     “I love you.”

     “Yeah…I…I love you, too.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Be sure to return tomorrow for the next story, CHOCOLATE, FLOWERS, AND...CHAMPAGNE by Anna Kittrell. If you missed a story, you can use the Older Post button below or the archive list on the right to go back and catch up. Happy Valentine's Day!