You're Still the One

“
Nothing’s
happened.” She looked into his face, felt a clamping sensation around her heart, then looked away. “A kiss. We’re two adults. There’s no reason to make a big deal out of such a little thing.”

“We’re not just any two adults, Jane. We were in love.”

“When we were seventeen to twenty-two. Practically children. People that age fall in and out of love all the time, Roy. They—”

“You didn’t,” he said. “I didn’t,” he added, pulling her to him.

It would be so easy to throw herself into his arms, to lose herself there. Instead, she planted her hands against his chest. “But we drifted apart for a reason.”

“What was the reason?”

Before she could answer, he bent down and nuzzled her ear. A gasp escaped her lips, and her mind blanked for a moment before rational thought broke the surface again. “We went our separate ways,” she said.

“And now our paths have crossed again,” he murmured before brushing his lips against hers.

Once their mouths touched, pulling apart was impossible . . .

LET’S BE JOLLY

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

MAYBE THIS CHRISTMAS

SCROOGE WORE SPURS

EVE’S CHRISTMAS

SEARCHING FOR SANTA

MISTLETOE AND MOLLY

AMERICAN DREAMS

AMERICAN DESTINY

SANTA IN A STETSON

MASQUERADE

TANGLED VINES

ALWAYS WITH LOVE

BECAUSE OF YOU

CAN’T SAY GOODBYE

DANCE WITH ME

EVERYTHING

FOREVER

HEIRESS

RIVALS

SOMETHING MORE

TO SANTA WITH LOVE

BANNON BROTHERS: TRUST

BANNON BROTHERS: HONOR

A COWBOY UNDER MY CHRISTMAS TREE

 

 

SANTA IN MONTANA

CALDER STORM

LONE CALDER STAR

CALDER PROMISE

SHIFTING CALDER WIND

GREEN CALDER GRASS

 

 

JULIA’S CHOCOLATES

THE LAST TIME I WAS ME

HENRY’S SISTERS

SUCH A PRETTY FACE

THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE

A DIFFERENT KIND OF NORMAL

IF YOU COULD SEE WHAT I SEE

 

 

SHE’LL TAKE IT

ACCIDENTALLY ENGAGED

SUNNYSIDE BLUES

MY SISTER’S VOICE

THE PUB ACROSS THE POND

THE THINGS I DO FOR YOU

THREE MONTHS IN FLORENCE

 

 

MISS YOU MOST OF ALL

WHEREVER GRACE IS NEEDED

THE WAY BACK TO HAPPINESS

 

 

ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

For most of my childhood I was poor.

I spent years living in a dismal trailer next to an apple orchard. I have spent years trying to forget those years.

My mother died the day after we made an apple pie.

I left home at sixteen.

I fell in love with a man I met at a waterfall. Something very sad happened.

We broke up. I have never stopped missing him.

I bought used clothing until I was twenty-two.

After college I worked for a high-end retail corporation. My fancy outfits helped me to hide my past from myself. I ended up vice president.

I saved money. When you grow up poor, you fight hard to leave poverty far behind.

I was fired when I told my boss off. She threw her Manolo Blahniks at me.

My dad died an hour after I was fired. We hadn’t spoken in years because he was both scary and abusive. He left me an apple orchard.

It’s hurtful that he chose to leave me apples.

I am using an urn, filled with his ashes, as a doorstop.

My name is Allie Pelletier and that’s the summation of my life.

“The doctor will be with you in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” I smiled through gritted teeth, blood gushing down my leg.

The nurse, over six feet tall with curly gray hair, pressed a cloth to my wound, peering at it through his black-rimmed glasses. “You’ve got Dr. Rios. He recently moved here from New York. Excellent doctor. We were lucky to get him. You’re traumatized? He’ll untraumatize you—that’s what we say here in Portland’s greatest emergency room.”

The nurse, whose name was Kevin, did not notice the blood instantly draining from my face, as he was busy tending to the blood draining from my thigh.

I swayed on the bed, gripped the handles, and took a deep breath. “It’s not . . .” I struggled to breathe, the pain from my gaping gash suddenly gone, lost in my sheer panic. “It’s not
Jace
Rios?”

“Yep, you got it. The one and the same. Not surprised you’ve heard of him. He has an amazing reputation. He’s been featured in newspapers and medical journals. He’s written articles and done extensive research on best medical practices for all sorts of life-threatening events. You bust it up, he’ll fix you up. You’re busted up, Miss Pelletier, and he’s gonna fix you up.”

I swayed again.

Kevin stood, winked at me, then noticed my rapidly declining state. “You’re not looking too good. Here, how about you lie down for me, close your eyes, think about being on an island with a pretty drink . . .”

I flopped straight back on the bed, the room spinning, as he took my pulse.

“Your pulse is higher than it was . . . blood pressure is, too,” he mused, a bit confused. “Okay, Miss Pelletier, I want you to take some deep, calming breaths. You’ll be sewn up like a quilt in no time, by the master quilter himself . . .”

A man’s face, Jace’s face, floated in front of my eyes. Straight, thick black hair, longer in the back—not long, exactly, but enough to run my fingers through. Dark eyes, high cheekbones. He had a face that was tough, a don’t-mess-with-me kind of face, lined from hours of being outside and from a chaotic childhood.

He had a face you wouldn’t want to meet up with in a dark, back alley, but once you knew him, knew his kindness, his openness, you knew his innate goodness. If he was in a dark, back alley, it was because he was administering medical care.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it! You’re going to have to be more careful around horses in future,” Kevin said, chuckling. “Ya gotta get out of their way when those hooves come up and kickin’ . . .”

It had been a horrible summer. Everything, all at once. I was fired from my job after telling my boss exactly what I thought of her, my rougher upbringing coming out in my language. After she threw her Manolo Blahniks at me, I picked them up, waved good-bye, sold them online, and donated the money to a kids’ hospital in her name.

Then I received that phone call which, surprisingly, knocked me over. I decided to sell my condo because I didn’t like it anymore anyhow. I moved. And, once again, I was dealing with the bitter loss and raging anger that I had stomped down hard over the years. Now this.

Jace.

I had to get out of the hospital. This was not going to work. I struggled up, feeling nauseous.

“No, now don’t try to get up, Miss Pelletier. You’re pale as a flying ghost. Here, let me take some of that hay out of your hair. What’s this? You have a couple of branches in there, too. Ah well, all that brown hair ya got, things are bound to get lost in there. I’ll get a cloth for the dirt on your face; you’ll be feeling better in a one, two, three . . .”

“You know,” Kevin said, almost to himself, “I’m going to see if I can get Dr. Rios in here pronto. Your eyes seem a bit vague and unfocused. You’re not cooperating real well, either.”

“I’m fine, quite fine. In fact, I think I’ll bandage this up myself.” I pulled on the collar of my light green hospital gown, open at the back. Gall. If I stood up, my white butt would be hanging out the back. And my underwear. Oh, groan. I’d worn my old beige
grandma
pair. I think there was a rip on the side . . .

The nurse chuckled. “No, ma’am. You are not going to be able to bandage this up on your own.”

“I’ll duct tape and staple it then.” I envisioned myself sneaking around hospital corners and furtively limping down the hallways. I would drive to another hospital. I could not see Jace now. I could not see Jace
at all
.

“Duct tape and staples, ha! Hang on now, I’ll let the good Dr. Rios know we’re ready. Don’t you wiggle on out! Promise me you’ll stay right here? No hopping up on the saddle, if you know what I mean, and galloping back into the country.” His eyes twinkled. “I can’t leave till you give me your word.”

“Sure will. I’ll stay.” I sure as hell would
not.
The nurse left and as soon as he was gone, I sat up and swung my legs over the bed, the paper crackling beneath my butt and my grandma underwear.

“Holy hell,” I muttered. My head felt fuzzy. My thigh sent up lightning flames of pain. I felt ill with panic and the desire to escape. I lay back down. “Slower, Allie. Take it slow and easy.”

I thought of Jace again, smiling, friendly, his hand in mine, pulling me closer to him, both of us in bathing suits in the lake, his leg between mine . . . then the tears that followed the disaster. That wretched disaster. He didn’t even know about it. I hadn’t told him. The first disaster had led to the second disaster, so nothing needed to be told.

I heard that other voice in my head, the harsh words, the accusation.
My fault, my fault, all my fault.

I yanked myself up again, gripping the silver bed rails with both hands, and tried to breathe right. Across the room was a mirror. I gaped at it, my mouth dropping open. “That cannot be me. It
cannot
.”

My brown hair, about the color of dark chocolate, was a mess. It had fallen halfway out of the ponytail I’d pulled it into for the usual morning chores on the farm, which I was terrible at. I had hay sticking out in several places. No makeup, of course, and dirt on both cheeks. I had bags under my golden-ish eyes because I was regularly up until two in the morning, often striding through the apple trees my dad left me, hoping to walk myself into exhaustion.

I was too thin. Not because I wanted to be, but because food doesn’t taste good when you’re spiraling into one of life’s pits.

I groaned at my gross face, hopped to the floor on one foot, wobbled, then shakily pulled off the light green hospital gown. I pulled on my jeans, ignoring the blood still zipping down my leg. The duct tape and stapler thing wasn’t going to work. I shoved my feet back into my knee-high black farm boots.

I scrambled into my red push-up bra and oversized plaid shirt. The top button was missing. Too much cleavage showed, but I had not dressed to go to the hospital and see
him
; I had dressed to feed horses, chickens, dogs, and cats, none of whom cared about cleavage. I would have worn one of my exercise bras, but both were in the wash. Hence, red lace push-up and a farm shirt.

I took my first step, which was unbalanced. Then I took my second one. More wobble, more pain, screeching pain. I winced, clenching my teeth.
Go, Allie, Go! Start sneaking around those corridors!

At the third wobbly movement the curtain opened and there he was.

Yes, Jace Rios.

All six-foot-four inches of muscle. Shoulders like a truck. He still had that head of thick black hair, courtesy of a Mexican grandfather. He wore the white coat well. I felt tears burning my eyes. Yes, he looked good in that white coat. He had become who he was destined to become, who he dreamed of becoming.

Jace Rios. Extraordinary doctor.

His head was down, studying my chart, and I saw him freeze for a second.

I knew he’d seen my name.

His head snapped up. He still had that intense, dark gaze—a man who really looked at you, who was truly interested in what you said and didn’t say. A man who was interested in who you are, way down deep—not the shallow stuff we show the world, but who we are when all the layers are pulled back and only raw honesty is left. I tried to get air in, couldn’t, and squeaked out, with all that I had left, “Hi, Jace. Good to see you again.”

Then I passed out.