We hope that you’ve enjoyed the stories in Three Weddings and a Murder. This is a very special project for us. We put together this anthology to honor women who have been important in our lives, who have suffered from breast cancer. All of the authors have had friends, mothers, or aunts diagnosed with this deadly disease.
We will be donating 100% of the profits from this anthology to breast cancer research and treatment, and on September 22 and 23 of 2012, we will be participating in the Avon Walk in Santa Barbara, California (three as walkers, and one as support staff).
If you want to follow our progress or make a donation to the Avon Walk directly, please visit the page for our team at http://bit.ly/3weddings/.
A Lady by Midnight
Spindle Cove Book 3
Available August 28, 2012, from Avon Books
A temporary engagement, a lifetime in the making…
After years of fending for herself, Kate Taylor found friendship and acceptance in Spindle Cove—but she never stopped yearning for love. The very last place she’d look for it is in the arms of Corporal Thorne. The militia commander is as stone cold as he is brutally handsome. But when mysterious strangers come searching for Kate, Thorne steps forward as her fiancé. He claims to have only Kate’s safety in mind. So why is there smoldering passion in his kiss?
Long ago, Samuel Thorne devoted his life to guarding Kate’s happiness. He wants what’s best for her, and he knows it’s not marriage to a man like him. To outlast their temporary engagement, he must keep his hands off her tempting body and lock her warm smiles out of his withered heart. It’s the toughest battle of this hardened warrior’s life…and the first he seems destined to lose.
From Chapter Two:
KATE PLUCKED A LONG BLADE of grass and dangled it for the puppy to nip and bat. His long, thin tail whipped back and forth with joy.
“What do you mean to call him?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Patch, I suppose.”
“But that’s horrible. You can’t call him Patch.”
“Why not? He has a patch, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, and that’s exactly why you can’t call him that.” Kate lowered her voice, gathering the pup close and smoothing the splash of rust-colored fur around his right eye. “He’ll be self-conscious. I have a patch, but I shouldn’t like to be named for it. It’s not as though I need a reminder it’s there.”
“This is different. He’s a dog.”
“That doesn’t mean he has no feelings.”
Corporal Thorne made a derisive noise. “He’s a dog.”
“You should call him Rex,” she said, tilting her head. “Or Duke. Or Prince, perhaps.”
His gaze slid sideways. “What about that dog says ‘royalty’ to you?”
“Well, nothing.” Kate set the pup down and watched him scamper through the heather. “But that’s the point. You’ll balance his humble origins by giving him a grand-sounding name. It’s called irony, Corporal Thorne. As if I were to call you ‘Cuddles.’ Or if you were to call me Helen of Troy.”
He paused and frowned. “Who’s Helen of Troy?”
Kate almost betrayed her surprise at his question. Fortunately, she caught herself just in time. She had to remind herself that “corporal” was an enlisted officer’s rank, and most of the Army’s enlisted men had only a basic education.
She explained, “Helen of Troy was a queen in Ancient Greece. They called hers the face that could launch a thousand ships. She was so beautiful, every man wanted her. They fought whole wars.”
He was quiet for several moments. “So calling you Helen of…”
“Helen of Troy.”
“Right. Helen of Troy.” A small furrow formed between his dark eyebrows. “How would that be ironic?”
She laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? Just look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
Good heavens. Yes, he was. He was looking at her in the same way he did everything. Intensely, and with quiet force. She could all but feel the muscle in his gaze. It unnerved her.
Out of habit, she raised her fingers to her birthmark, but at the last moment she used them to sweep locks of hair behind her ear.
“You can see for yourself, can’t you? It’s ironic because I’m no legendary beauty. No men are fighting battles over me.” She gave a self-effacing smile. “That would require at least two men to be interested. I’m three-and-twenty years old, and so far there hasn’t even been one.”
“You live in a village of women.”
“Spindle Cove’s not entirely women. There are some men. There’s the blacksmith. And the vicar.”
He dismissed these examples with a gruff sound.
“Well…there’s you,” she said.
He went stone still.
So. Now they came to it. She probably shouldn’t have put him on the spot, but then again—he was the one pressing the topic.