Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (27 page)
Authors: Liz Talley
Mama, Papa, Alexi, Petre, Stefanâ¦
There had been only BunicÄ. This tiny mountain village. And these people.
A slight touch on her arm brought her back to the moment.
Drei.
He was there as he always was. The man who had long ago replaced BunicÄ as Mirie's protector, such a constant presence he had practically vanished. How could she notice her shadow or be surprised by the sight of her reflection in a mirror?
He was a blond bear of a man, hard from every angleâbig body, chiseled expression, gemstone eyes. But his gaze was soft now as he watched her with eyes so startlingly green they seemed out of place on a granite face. He waited for her cue, an exchange that had become as natural as breathing to them.
She inclined her head, and he led her away.
They rounded the front of the church, following the procession that was fast losing its formation and reverent demeanor. People joined friends and family for the walk back to the village. They greeted each other. Someone laughed.
Mirie followed with Drei a step behind, feeling the wind sting, more bitter somehow as they left the churchyard. Once these people would have welcomed her easily among them. The women would have ordered her to refill buckets from the well and the men would have asked her to fetch glasses of
Å£uicÄ.
Now they had receded from her as silently as snow in the spring.
She was no longer the girl they had known. More important, she no longer felt like that girl. And that knowledge made her mood grow as leaden as the clouds that promised snow.
“The storm's coming,” she said.
Drei glanced up. “Are you thinking about going back early?”
She nodded.
“What about the charity? The priest is behind us. He'll expect you to say something to kick off the celebration.”
Mirie met his gaze, as green as the meadows for those few glorious weeks during summer. She could think of nothing she would rather do less right now than celebrate. “We may risk getting snowed in.”
There were no plows to clear the roads. Trans-Alps highways did not traverse the gorges of these steep passes. Not close enough for convenience, anyway. Not until Mirie could find some way of bridging the distance between opposing parties and get a majority to agree on what Ninsele's future looked like.
If
she ever got everyone to agree.
Drei only nodded. He would do whatever she decided, no matter how much effort it cost to rearrange their plans. But Mirie glanced into the storm clouds and knew she would have to take her chances. Tradition must be upheld. She may feel like a stranger right now, but her quick exit would be noticed. She was a conversation piece. Alba LuncÄ would tell tales of the princess who had hidden among them for generations to come.
She would leave no one disappointed with BunicÄ's send-off. Especially since she wouldn't be back to host the series of charity meals that would commemorate BunicÄ's passing for the next year. Mirie would rely on others to host those. Today she would honor the woman who had given her life.
“We'll cross our fingâ” She broke off when she saw Drei.
He cocked his head to the side, his grip tightening on her elbow, bringing them to a sudden stop. Mirie knew he was receiving a report through his earpiece. Then he was in motion, pulling her hard against him, his arms like a vise as he spun her around.
“Go, go, go!” he yelled over his shoulder at the villagers. “We have gunfire. Get to the village. Quickly.”
Chaos erupted among those who had been nearest the grave site. Plaintive demands and fearful questions discharged into confusion. But none drowned out the sudden growl of an engine in the distance, unseen, yet swelling quickly, churning through the mountain stillness like the roar of an avalanche.
“The village,” Drei commanded. “Not the church. Get safely behind the gates.”
People started running, shouting, “To the village. To the village.”
“Quickly, Your Royal Highness,” Drei hissed while spurring her into a run.
Toward the church.
The priest broke away, vestments whipping around him as he bolted in the opposite direction. “I will sound the alarm.”
“Get the people to the gates, Father!” Drei shouted.
But the priest followed them to the church, following
her
when he should have been running in the opposite direction.
She tried to keep up with Drei, but the way he surrounded her with his big body kept her blind and off balance. His thighs rammed into the backs of hers with each step, forcing her to keep his pace and nearly sweeping her off her feet as he slammed into the churchyard gate, throwing it open.
The church steps proved her undoing, and she stumbled. Drei lifted her against him as though she weighed no more than air and dragged her up the remaining steps and across the threshold.
He spun around with practiced skill, using the building to shield her as he pulled open the door.
And in that instant, she glimpsed the priest flying through the open gate, and a military transport helicopter riding low just above the treetops, armed men bulging from the open sides.
Powerful engines reverberated through the gorge, the rhythmic
swoop-swoop-swoop
of the blades, the grumbling heartbeat of a conveyance that carried death. The sound was deafening, yet not loud enough to drown out the eruption of gunfire that stunned the morning.
Drei dragged her inside and pulled the door shut, but not before Mirie heard the familiar thuds of bullets pounding flesh.
No warning bells would sound the alarm in Alba LuncÄ today.
Copyright © 2014 by Jeanie LeGendre
ISBN-13: 9781460326022
HIS FOREVER GIRL
Copyright © 2014 by Amy R. Talley
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Paris is
always
a good ideaâ¦right?
Tara O'Malley has traveled across the ocean to find her biological fatherâand maybe rediscover who she is. The last thing she's looking for is romance. Then she meets fellow American Garrett Hughes!
Garrett may not be the reason she's on this journey, but he sure is a sweet distraction. Tara knows she's falling hard for everything about this man, including his sweet little boy, Dylan. But what will happen when she has to go back home and leave them behind? It's definitely not the best time to fall in love, but when in Parisâ¦
Garrett cringed inwardly as the pieces fell into place
“You and my buddy Josh work together?” Disbelief was evident in his voice, but the woman standing before himâwho sported a tattoo on her neck, a pierced eyebrow and blue-tipped hairâdidn't look like any of the high school teachers he'd had. Of course, his teachers had all been Catholic nuns.
“I teach freshman English at Paducah Tilghman.” A subtle rise of one of her eyebrows seemed to add,
“So there.”
Apparently the mention of Josh's name loosened his son Dylan's tongue. “What happened to your hand?” He pointed blatantly at her disfigurement.
“Dylanâ” Garrett started to correct him.
“No, it's okay.” Tara gave him a small smile, but then sobered when she looked back at Dylan. “Motorcycle accident.”
“Cool!” Dylan's voice was filled with awe.
Bona fide crazy,
Garrett thought.
Dear Reader,
I'm a Francophileâ¦smitten by France, its language and its culture since childhood. My uncle, a World War II veteran, gave me the French phrase book he carried while stationed there, and that small book started me on a love affair that has lasted a lifetime.
A few years ago, my husband and I had the chance to rent a flat in Paris for two weeksâone of those rare, dream-come-true experiences that pop up when you least expect it. I always keep a journal when I travel, and that one I filled cover-to-cover with wonderful observations of what it felt like to be Parisian for a short time.
The flat we rented had a large terrace shared by one other flat, which was unoccupied in real life. It was, however,
very
occupied in my imagination by a young widower, Garrett Hughes, and his son, Dylan.
When I was writing
The Summer Place
(Harlequin Superromance April 2013), Tara O'Malley introduced herself to me, and, as I got to know her better, I realized the preacher's kid from Taylor's Grove, Kentucky, was the perfect person to share that terrace with the Hughes men. I hope you enjoy their story!
And, by the way, I happen to have firsthand knowledge that nothing is more romantic than being kissed under the moonlight in Paris!
Until next time,
Pamela Hearon
MOONLIGHT IN PARIS
Pamela Hearon
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Pamela Hearon grew up in Paducah, a small city in western Kentucky that infuses its inhabitants with Southern values, Southern hospitality and a very distinct Southern accent. There she found the inspiration for her quirky characters, the perfect backdrop for the stories she wanted to tell and the beginnings of her narrative voice. She is a 2013 RITA® Award finalist for her first Harlequin Superromance,
Out of the Depths
(August 2012). Visit Pamela at her website (
www.pamelahearon.com
) or on Facebook and Twitter.
Books by Pamela Hearon
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1799âOUT OF THE DEPTHS
1847âTHE SUMMER PLACE
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
To my precious daughter, Heatherâ¦
the one true masterpiece of my life.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book requires gleaning information from many sources and sometimes becoming annoying in the process, I'm sure. I'm always amazed by the willingness of people to share their knowledge and experiences that add authenticity to my storyâ¦and I'm filled with gratitude.
As a small show of my appreciation, I'd like to thank the following people: Coroner Phil Hileman for his expertise on accidental death and suicide; Susan Barack for her contact in Paris; Steve and Jackie Beatty for sharing the opportunity for a Paris vacation; Sandra Jones, Angela Campbell, Maggie Van Well and Cynthia D'Alba for their suggestions, ideas, plotting help and patience; Kimberly Lang for always having the time to talk me through the loopholes and gaps; Agent Jennifer Weltz for her wisdom, insight and approachability; and editor Karen Reid for her gentle guidance, fabulous editing and her innate ability to just “get me.”
Above all, I want to thank my loving husband, Dick, who stays beside me through it all and encourages me to continue following this dream.
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