Read California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances Online
Authors: Casey Dawes
Tags: #romance, #Contemporary
California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (59 page)
It was going to be a banner year.
The only thing causing her worry was Sarah who appeared to be tired all the time.
She pushed aside her concern and smiled when she saw Marcos standing on the other side of the custom’s gate, a bouquet of red roses in his hands. His eyes lit up when he spotted her. But when he turned to say something to the young woman next to him, Elizabeth’s steps faltered.
Marcos snaked through the crowd, the woman close behind him. When he reached Elizabeth, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth on hers.
Heart and hands.
Elizabeth sent her nagging worry to the back of her mind and slipped into the kiss. Her tongue caressed his, absorbing the smokiness of coffee and lust. He increased his pressure and she drifted into a place where no one else existed.
A cleared throat interrupted their passion.
“
Buone Natale
!” Marcos said as he disengaged from her embrace. “This is my daughter, Gina.”
The young woman held out her hand. “
Buone Natale
, Elizabeth. My father has talked so much about you that I feel I already know you.” She turned to her father. “Give her the flowers, take her bags, and let’s go. You know Nana will be unhappy if we are late for lunch.”
The power of Nanas.
Marcos laughed and did as he’d been told.
Elizabeth smiled as he took her hand and led her out of the airport. It was going to be a beautiful Christmas holiday.
Before I moved to Montana, I spent 16 years on the Central California Coast. My husband and I met there, discovered we liked wine-tasting and proceeded to write two books on the subject. Once we completed the first of these projects without any blood-letting, we figured it was safe to get married — at a winery, of course.
We also liked to take day trips in the region. In a small gift shop, tucked up a hill in Sausalito, I discovered
The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken
. Being a New Jersey native, the book intrigued me. So does the idea of making ravioli, but I haven’t ventured into that sphere of cooking yet. Should you want to take the plunge, the author of the book, Laura Schenone, has many informative YouTube videos.
Finally, if you’re curious about the fictional town of Costanoa, be sure to stop by my website (
www.stories-about-love.com
), to discover the real restaurants, shops and locations behind the California Romance Series.
I look forward to bringing you back to Costanoa again with my next book.
Casey Dawes, author of
California Sunset
&
California Wine
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2013 by Casey Dawes
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6980-0
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6980-7
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6981-9
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6981-4
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
To the men and women of our armed forces and first responders.
Thank you for all you sacrifice for us.
To the real-life Daisy, our neighbor’s golden retriever, who always greets us with enthusiasm.
Map © 2012 Pam B. Morris
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Brendon Freitas, former chief in prosthetic and sensory aids service at the Veteran’s Health Administration in Montana, who answered all my questions about what happens when an injured soldier comes home from war. Brendon Frietas also introduced me to the Fisher House Foundation (
http://www.fisherhouse.org/
), a group that helps recovering veterans and their families adjust to new realities.
Thanks to Skander Spies of Energetechs, Missoula, Montana for providing an amusing glimpse of how a romantic hero might put up sheetrock.
As always, thank you to my writing support team — Clare, Pam, Rachel, and Danica — and the beloved hero of my own life, Ken. He gives me the love I deserve and need every day of our lives together.
Sarah Ladina turned the key and pushed open the oak door, her pulse quickening in anticipation. Stale smells of forgotten perfumes and long ago dinners wafted from the entrance hall. She crossed the threshold, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it.
Mine. This soon-to-be-inn is all mine.
She rubbed her hand on her stomach.
Ours.
Cobwebs huddled in the high corners of the paneled entry and a screw sticking from the staircase newel told of a missing cap. Layers of dust added texture to the floor.
The work was also going to be all hers.
Her shoulders sank. What had she been thinking?
“If you want a job done right, do it yourself.” Other people aren’t dependable.
A bark from outside made her drop her bag of cleaning supplies, snacks, and tools on the floor. Cautiously, she opened the door.
A golden retriever sat on the porch, staring up at her, dark eyes pleading entry. The dog barked again, stood, nosed the door open, and walked in. He … or she … made a beeline for the front sitting room, circled, and laid down.
Great. A dog who thinks it owns the place.
Keeping a wide berth, she walked toward the dog. “Shoo,” she said. “Go home.”
The dog looked up at her, rolled over, and beat its tail against the floor.
Definitely a girl dog.
“Go! Get out of here!” Sarah raised her voice. She did not need anything else to take care of.
The dog whined and thumped her tail harder.
Tires crunched the driveway gravel.
Sarah groaned, stomped to the door, and opened it wide.
The dog got off the floor, followed her, and sat down crowded close to her leg.
The heat of the retriever’s strong body against Sarah’s leg gave her courage, ready to face whoever was coming to call.
Maybe I do need a dog
. A single woman — correction: a single pregnant woman — might be at risk living alone.
She glared at the newcomer’s car, a black Jeep polished to a gleaming shine.
A tall man with broad shoulders emerged from the Jeep. His dark hair was clipped short and he stood with the rigid carriage of a soldier, an odd contrast to the banana slug T-shirt and shorts he wore. His right leg ended in a prosthetic below the knee.
How sad.
“Hello,” he said, his deep voice easily carrying across the distance between them. “Nice dog,” he added and walked toward her.
A rumble from the dog’s throat made her put her hand on its head. The soldier wasn’t a threat.
Yet.
The man reached out his hand. Automatically, she took it. “I’m Hunter Evans.”
Her cold hand was engulfed by his strong warmth.
“I’m Sarah.” She withdrew her hand. “What can I do for you?”
“I understand you just bought this place.”
She nodded. “Today.”
“Will you sell it to me?”
She almost laughed out loud.
Is he serious?
“No.” She stepped back to close the door. The dog stood.
Hunter didn’t move. “I’d really like to buy it.”
“It’s not for sale any more.
I
bought it.”
His green eyes glittered with determination. “I know, but you haven’t had time to get attached to it yet. I’ll give you ten percent more than you paid.”
Now she was getting irritated. Why couldn’t he accept “no” to meant “no” and move on?
Typical male
. “Why do you want it so badly?”
His lips went to a thin line. “My family used to own this house. I spent some of my best years here. After spending some time in the war … ” He gestured to his leg. “I was hoping to return to happier times.”
Her irritation fled. “I’m sorry, I really am, but no.” She wouldn’t give up her baby’s future for anyone, even a vet. “I wish you well, but this house is not for sale. I’m going to make it into an inn.”
“Interesting.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled on it. “In case you change your mind.” He handed her the paper.
He gave her a mock salute, climbed into the Jeep, and drove off.
Sarah patted the dog, anticipation and regret tingling her nerves. Even with a bum leg, Hunter Evans exuded testosterone. He was the kind of man who could take the place of Rhett Butler, swooping up a reluctant Scarlett, and ascending the stairs to bed.
She shivered at the imagined touch of Hunter’s arms around her.
Stop that. He’s probably nothing like Rhett Butler.
She regarded the dog. “C’mon you.”
Shutting the door, she picked up her purse and supplies and headed off to the kitchen, the dog’s nails clicking on the floor behind her.
One thing she knew for sure. Hunter Evans was a
damn
good-looking man.
Too bad she’d sworn off the species.
Once they reached the kitchen, the dog wagged its tail, sat down, and peered up at her expectantly.
“What am I going to do with you?” Sarah asked. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed. “Hi, Mom.”
“How are you doing?” Elizabeth asked. “Is everything okay?”
Her mother was going to drive her crazy. Ever since Sarah had told Elizabeth she was pregnant, her mother had pinged between being furious that Sarah was throwing her life away and worrying about Sarah miscarrying like Elizabeth had done so many times.
“I’m fine. Healthy. Mom, stop worrying.”
“Um. Sure. Fine. Stop worrying about my unmarried pregnant daughter who just sank all her money into a rundown house. Sure. Okay. Whatever you want. Dinner should be ready around seven. I’ll see you then.” Her mother hung up the phone.
Elizabeth had flipped from worried to furious with the speed of a NASCAR racer.
Sighing, Sarah redialed.
“Mom, can you listen? I need some advice.”
“Oh. Okay.” Elizabeth’s voice brightened.
“It’s just … well … there’s this dog. It came in the door and won’t leave. Any idea who I should call?”
“SPCA. They’ll come get him, I think. Do you have the number?”