One More Kiss (13 page)

She stared, wondering what on earth he could mean. How could they both know a name yet? Then it hit her. She realized what he meant and laughed out loud.

He winked. They both said it together:

“
Satin.
”

Epilogue

Present day.

B
ack in the bathroom, the memories coursing through Betty’s mind splintered the dam of her emotions, and she burst into tears. She clutched Randall, who gripped her as if they were clinging together on a rickety life raft.

“Yes!” she said, the word exploding out of her. “We are going to be parents!”

Randall whooped, and she wondered at the improbability of it. Of
them
, being together. Of the baby growing inside of her right this minute. Of the miracle that was happening to them here and now.

Randall choked out something she couldn’t quite make sense of. Then he was kissing her, holding her like he would never let go, and she was swept away in the sweetness of it, in the rightness of it.

They were going to be parents. Together.

“Betty,” he murmured her name, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her neck. She gave in to him, loving how this man knew exactly where to put his lips, every time. Even now. Her spine tingled with feeling. Joy coursed though her.

“A baby!” she said, still trying to believe it.

Randall pressed his forehead against hers. “Could you have ever imagined when we first met that this would have happened?” he asked, tucking a piece of her blond hair behind one ear.

“When we first met, you were just my pastor. It wasn’t until the fiasco with the sign that I knew I liked you.”

Randall laughed, a rich sound in the small space. “The sign. That was the thing that set everything in motion.”

He kissed her and she twined her arms around his neck. “That was the best mistake that ever happened to me.”

Randall grinned. “Are you calling me a mistake?”

Betty smiled back. “Never.”

Nothing about Randall had ever been a mistake. She had a new life growing inside her as proof of the rightness she felt with him. They belonged together. Forever.

She kissed him again. “Do you still have the banner?”

“I do. I think it’s in the garage somewhere.”

“We should hang it in the nursery,” Betty said playfully. “We owe a lot to that banner.”

“Now I feel like we’re giving the banner too much credit,” Randall said. “After all, I am the one who asked you to marry me. The banner didn’t do that.”

“You’re just lucky I said yes,” Betty teased.

“I am that,” Randall agreed.

He kissed her again, and Betty felt fireworks light up her body, bursting everywhere with happiness and feeling and disbelief at the rightness of her life. When they were done celebrating, she’d find that banner and enshrine the darn thing in a tomb of gold.

They were having a baby.

All because of a terrible typo.

Betty Lindholm’s Witches Brew Chili

Ingredients

• 1½ pounds ground beef
  
• Three 15-ounce cans diced tomatoes (Ro-Tel is best)
  
• Two 15-ounce cans light red kidney beans
  
• 1½ cups frozen corn
  
• 2½ tablespoons chili powder
  
• 2 packets French onion soup mix
  
• 1 cup water
  
• Tabasco sauce (optional 2–3 dashes for a little heat; 6–8 dashes for extra heat)
  
• shredded cheddar cheese to taste
  

Directions

Brown the ground beef; drain off excess grease.

Place the beef and all remaining ingredients into a Crock-Pot.

Simmer on low for 5 hours or high for 3 hours.

Top with shredded cheddar cheese and enjoy!

About the Author

A Midwesterner whose roots run deep, Kim Amos is a writer living in Michigan with her husband and three furry animals. You can contact her at
[email protected]
.

Learn more at:

Twitter, @KimAmosWrites

Facebook.com/KimAmosWrites

Eternal good girl Casey Tanner moved to White Pine for a fresh start. Her mission: to
finally
have fun with a bad boy. And after one long, lingering look at sexy firefighter Abe Cameron, Casey has found her man…

A preview of
Every Little Kiss
follows.

Chapter One

C
asey Tanner had never before had colleagues who played practical jokes. She was used to a corporate watercooler over which smiles were rarely traded. She’d once been so startled when a receptionist cackled loudly while watching an online video about grandmas smoking pot that she’d spilled a nonfat latte across her keyboard.

So it was only slowly, over many long, uncomfortable moments, that Casey wondered if she’d been had. If she’d been punk’d, for lack of a better word.

Because surely the intern with the wide eyes and trembling chin was joking about having just called 911.

“Tell me once more why you thought this was necessary?” Casey asked the young girl—Ellie, if she was remembering the name correctly—whose cropped ginger hair was in disarray around her head. The poor thing could barely be more than a first-year in college.

“The carbon monoxide detector in the basement was
screaming
. We should open windows or get everyone out of here
right now
.”

The girl’s words might have been a tinge dramatic, but her face was stone serious. If Casey had wanted this to be a hilarious prank, it sure wasn’t turning out that way. Cold fear crawled along her spine, but she focused on Ellie and worked to stay calm. Ellie already looked like she might pass out.

“All right,” Casey said, “easy does it. I want you to take a deep breath and—”

“I don’t want to breathe deeply if the air is poisoned!”

Casey pressed her lips together. She had only just started at Robot Lit, a youth literacy nonprofit, two weeks before. She was still trying to figure out where the extra copier paper was stored, never mind what do to in a carbon monoxide emergency. Ingrid, their director, was out taking her ten-year-old daughter to the doctor, which meant Casey was probably the most senior person in charge. Never mind that she was the newest.

At that moment, though, none of it mattered. If the building was filling with carbon monoxide, she had to get her colleagues out safely. Without causing a panic. Her mind raced.

“Okay, Ellie,” she said after a moment. “Most everyone should be on the third floor here. So I want you to calmly—very calmly—let people know that we are being extra careful about our carbon monoxide levels, and folks should stand outside for a bit while the fire department gets here. While you’re doing that, I’m going to make absolutely sure the rest of the building is clear. Does that make sense?”

Ellie nodded, her eyes enormous in her small face.

“Don’t forget to check the restrooms, okay?”

“Yes.”

“And no freaking out, right?”

“Right.”

“Say it with me,” Casey said, grabbing the young girl’s hand. “We’re being what?”

“Extra careful.”

“And what should folks do?”

“Stand outside.”

“Should they panic?”

“No.”

“Good. Go tell them.”

Casey breathed a small sigh as Ellie walked away, grateful that Robot Lit had only six employees. And there weren’t any kids here at the moment. For once, their small staff would be an asset.

Casey grabbed her coat, her eye catching the white of a snow-covered day outside her window. At least if she had to spend time in the cold she’d get to look down Main Street and see all the holiday lights twinkling.

She heard sirens in the distance as she wound her way down to the conference rooms and kitchen on the second floor, looking for anyone as she went. The rooms were empty, so she headed into the lobby on the first floor. All clear. Through the door’s wavy glass she spotted Ellie along with the other Robot Lit employees outside, clustered in a small circle. She knew she should join them. Instead, pushing aside a prickle of unease, she descended into the belly of the old warehouse on Main Street, all the way to the basement.

She wasn’t going to just let firemen rumble into Robot Lit without knowing what was the matter. It was her job, after all, if Ingrid wasn’t there. She would simply find out if the carbon monoxide detector was really going off, or if it was something else entirely.

Careful
, a small inner voice cautioned. It was this need to know everything—and, okay, maybe control everything—that had come close to unraveling her life a few short months ago. Casey had screwed up so badly that she’d left a high-paying job in a Minneapolis suburb for a chance at a new start in White Pine and to be closer to her sister, Audrey. Now, she was working at Robot Lit for a fraction of her former salary and living in a creaky Cape Cod instead of her sleek city apartment.

It was all worth it, of course. Casey would do just about anything to atone for her past. She grimaced as she remembered how selfishly she’d acted just a few short months ago, nearly ruining Audrey’s chance at true love.

She wasn’t about to make that mistake again. She figured she could, however, spare five minutes to figure out what was happening in the basement.

Its shrill beeping pierced her ears as she flipped on a small overhead bulb. She inhaled the dank air of dim space. Carbon monoxide was odorless—she wouldn’t be able to smell anything—but she took an inventory of her breathing, of her vision, of any pains in her head that could signal toxic levels. At her body’s first sign of symptoms, no matter how tiny, she’d be out of there.

Unless she collapsed in a clueless heap first.

Hoping for the best, she followed the beeping to a small box on the wall. The sirens were louder now. The firehouse was just up the street, and the firefighters would be here in no time.

A light was flashing, strobe-bright in the dim space.
Head fine, vision clear
, she thought, accounting for her every breath and movement. Using the flashlight app on her phone, she trained a blaze of light on the panel. There were three lights—green, yellow, and red. But only one of them was flashing.

Yellow.

Service.

The damn thing was low on batteries.

Casey groaned as the thunder of heavy boots came down the stairs. Three firefighters swept into the room, their tanks and gear making them seem like giants. They weren’t wearing their oxygen masks, meaning she could see their faces. Two men and a woman.

“What are you doing down here?” the tallest of the two men asked. His hazel eyes were sharp. The bridge of his nose was slightly crooked, like it had been broken in a fight.

“I just wanted to check and make sure things were all right,” she said. “I was looking—”

“You should be outside with the others. This is a potentially dangerous situation.”

“I know,” Casey said, feeling small and silly, “I was trying—”

The fireman shined his flashlight into her eyes. She blinked. “Do you have a headache? Nausea?”

“No, this is all a misunderstanding. The detector is—”

“Did you make the call?”

Frustration needled her. The man hadn’t let her finish a sentence yet. “
No
, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. An intern called when she thought something was wrong. But the thing is out of batteries. That’s all.”

She stepped aside so the massive firefighter could take a closer look at the white box on the wall. Underneath the smoky, chalky smell of his gear, Casey detected a scent like wood chips and cinnamon.

The other firefighters stayed a few feet behind, sharing a look that signaled to Casey this wasn’t the first time they’d had a false alarm on a carbon monoxide detector.

“Write it up, Lu?” the woman asked. Her dark eyes were striking in her pale face.

The man’s name was Lou, Casey realized. It seemed an odd name for him—like calling a bulldog Fluffy.

“When was the last time this device was calibrated?”

“I’m sorry, I have no idea. Lou. Or is it Louis? Louie?” Casey figured she’d better get on this man’s good side, and fast.

“Lu is short for lieutenant,” he replied, eyes sparking with irritation. Underneath the visor of his helmet, the lines of his face were granite hard.

“Oh.” She could feel her cheeks redden. “I’m sorry. Look, I just started here a couple weeks ago.”

The lieutenant trained his jaw at the ceiling. His flashlight beam slid down an old copper pipe. “You got a sprinkler system installed?” he asked.

Was he not listening to
anything
she said? She was a brand-new employee. What good was grilling her? It may have been her imagination, but Casey could swear the other two firefighters had just groaned quietly.

“I don’t—I couldn’t tell you,” she stumbled. She checked the time on her phone. The employees had been standing outside for a while in the Minnesota cold, and she figured she ought to herd them down the street to the Rolling Pin and buy them all hot chocolate for their trouble.

“Are we settled here? Can I go back upstairs to the others?”