Книга - Once Upon A Chocolate Kiss

Once Upon A Chocolate Kiss
Cheryl Wolverton


When candy shop owner Samantha Hampton nursed an injured stranger and invited him into her home, she thought she was being a Good Samaritan– after all, it was the least she could do after breaking his foot. Richard Moore' s charm put her at ease and made her heart pound. But Samantha didn' t know that she was aiding the enemy!Richard Moore had no more control over his attraction to Samantha than he did the fact that his family' s confectionary chain would put Samantha' s small shop out of business. Despite being her competition, Richard had no intention of breaking her heart. Would Samantha forgive him when she learned the truth of his identity… ?









Richard had never been one to believe in love at first sight. But, maybe, love in the first twenty-four hours?


It sounded so sappy. Love was a relationship that developed over time when two people had the same likes and dislikes, or the same goals for the future.

But now, tonight, sitting here in the flickering firelight, Richard thought that attraction, the need to hold and care for Samantha despite the fact that they were from two different worlds, and that feeling inside him, the one that said this was the woman for him, was more important than anything else.




CHERYL WOLVERTON


RITA


Award finalist Cheryl Wolverton has well over a dozen books to her name. Her very popular HILL CREEK, TEXAS series has been a finalist in many contests. Having grown up in Oklahoma, lived in Kentucky, Texas and now Louisiana, Cheryl and her husband of twenty years and their two children, Jeremiah and Christina, consider themselves Oklahomans who have been transplanted to grow and flourish in the South. Readers are always welcome to contact her via: P.O. Box 106 Faxon, OK 73540, or e-mail her at Cheryl@cherylwolverton.com. You can also visit her Web site at www.cherylwolverton.com.




Once Upon a Chocolate Kiss

Cheryl Wolverton







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Truthful lips endure forever, but a lying tongue lasts only a moment.

—Proverbs 12:19


Patience Smith, to whom I submitted this years ago.

She loved it, and because of her encouragement,

I never forgot this story.

Lori Linxwiler, who willingly gave me information

I needed from a nurse’s point of view.

Let’s face it, it’s been twenty years since I’ve been a paramedic! Thanks, Lori!

The fans who demanded more

HILL CREEK, TEXAS stories.

And my family, who, when this story absolutely flooded my being, didn’t make me stop, but allowed me to write to my heart’s delight.


Dear Reader,

This story was such a delight to write. Just before I started it, I was diagnosed with MS. I lost my agent and I was scheduled for surgery. All within three weeks of each other!

I thought, well, this story isn’t due for three months yet, I should just set it aside. Instead, I started rereading the first three chapters, and I realized what a wonderful story I had here. One little omission, one little lie, can destroy a person, and yet, God is so willing to forgive. We should be able to forgive those who upset us in the same way.

Thrilled that I had a story where the hero actually messes up, but so does the heroine in the forgiveness department, I started writing. I couldn’t put it down. It absolutely flowed from me. Only one other story has ever done that—A Matter of Trust, my first Love Inspired novel.

I realized how much the story and its theme meant. Forgiveness. Boy, is it hard sometimes, but it’s so necessary. Poor Samantha must learn that even though she has been deserted again and again, she has a heavenly Father who will never desert her, and she can keep her eyes on Him as an example of forgiveness and love.

I hope you can, too, as you go through the trials on the horizon and learn how to let go and trust God by forgiving or simply communicating with the person who is lying to you.

I always love hearing from readers! Hope you enjoy the story!

Blessings!









Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen




Chapter One


December 31, Hill Creek, Texas

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

Thirty-six-year-old Richard Reilly Moore caught the young woman who had just collided into him outside the church doors, hardly registering her apology. He danced on the icy steps and held on to the shifting, slipping woman for dear life, trying to keep both her and himself from tumbling down the steps.

“Yikes. Wai-ai-ai-ait! O-o-o-oh!” The woman’s voice squeaked with each word. Richard sucked in a sharp breath. “Whoa! Just hold still!”

It was to no avail. He lost his footing. So did the woman. Tangling together was inevitable. They went down.

The only thing Richard could do was wrap his arms around the woman and pray God would protect them both. Holding her closely, he bounced, slid and rolled until, with a loud thud, they hit the snow piled up along the sidewalk. Pain ricocheted through his feet, back and elbows. No one had heard or seen them land in an ignominious heap. Most of the residents were in church already. He had been running late.

She had simply been running.

He ignored the elbow in his ribs and cracked open an eye to see what other surprises the bundle of energy had in store for him. He couldn’t believe what he saw, so he popped open the other eye to make sure. His vision hadn’t disappointed him.

Laying atop of him and looking rather shocked was a beautiful petite blonde who was quite flustered and out of breath. But she wasn’t just beautiful—for Richard had seen some of the most stunning women in the world—she was more. Her blue eyes sparkled with the emotions she felt—and they were certainly running the gamut as she stared down at him in surprise, recognition of their predicament and then dawning embarrassment.

“I don’t suppose this is the time to crack a blonde joke,” he asked dryly, unable to resist responding to the rising color in her cheeks.

Blue eyes twinkled with sheepish humor.

“Only if I can crack a British joke. Or Scottish or—”

“Close enough,” he replied, surprised she’d heard the slight Irish brogue in his speech that sometimes came out more British than Irish. He’d attended an English boarding school. His thoughts quickly changed from curiosity to pain when the woman scrambled to get off him. How could someone so alive and vibrant yet so tiny manage to elbow or knee every sore spot on his body?

“Here, let me help you.” She grabbed his arm, insistent on aiding him.

“Really, I think I’m fine. Just snow-covered,” he replied. The last thing he wanted was to risk allowing this woman to pull him up and accidentally knock him right back over. He managed to get to his feet before he found out he was quite wrong about being fine. His eyes widened with pain as he tried to put weight on his left foot.

“You’re hurt!”

A dull flush entered his cheeks. The pride in him wanted to deny he had hurt his ankle in that fall. But the inability to walk kept him from telling a falsehood. Trying to be gallant about the entire thing he replied, “At least you made it out in one piece. Care to tell me what had you rushing from church?”

“I wasn’t rushing from church,” she argued, moving forward to brush the snow from him.

He couldn’t help but notice how small her hands were as they brushed over his shoulders, down his arms and chest. Catching at her hands, he murmured, “I’m fine—if I can find somewhere to sit down.”

“Oh!”

She avoided his grasp like an eel slipping from a fisherman’s hands and anchored an arm around him. The tiny arm was really quite ridiculous around his six-foot tall frame. But the woman was insistent on helping him.

“Lean on me,” she commanded.

For one so small, she was quite authoritative. He grinned in amusement and gave her a bit of his weight. His grin quickly turned to a grimace when he tried to put weight on his foot.

Why had this happened now? He didn’t have the time. He had so many other things to do. The woman urging him forward drew his mind from thoughts of work. Glancing down, he realized she really was putting her all into helping him over to a safe place to sit.

“I wasn’t—” huff, huff, he heard as she danced around in her need to assist “—leaving. I had forgotten my purse and was going back to get—” huff “—it.”

As she moved back and forth, weaving around the piles of snow, he again noted how her head barely came to his eye level. She certainly was cute—especially in this nurturing mode. She didn’t even know who he was and yet she was trying to help him. How odd. People only helped someone like him to get what they could, but this woman—his ankle was really beginning to hurt—this woman didn’t have any idea who he was. Distracted by the pain, he let her assist him to sit on the edge of the circular fountain that was turned off for winter. He reached down to slip his shoe and sock off to examine the swelling.

“Oh dear. That’s very purple.”

Glancing up, he noted the worry on the young woman’s face. She looked genuinely contrite. “I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“I wonder if it’s broken.”

Moving it carefully around, he finally shook his head. “I don’t think so. But I do believe it is quite bummed up.”

The woman bounced back and forth in front of him, wringing her hands. Richard watched her, wanting to reach out and grab her to calm her down. She really was concerned.

When was the last time anyone had worried about him? He shook his head. Reaching out, he gave in to impulse and caught her hand. The chill in her fingers filtered through his leather gloves. Frowning, he pulled her down next to him. “You shouldn’t be out like this,” he murmured, and took her hands between his own to warm them.

“I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

She had a valid point. His ankle was really hurting now. “I’ll be fine…I think.” Glancing around, he noted there wasn’t a cab in sight.

“You can make it up to me by calling a cab for me so I can get back to my hotel,” he suggested, hoping to pacify her. His friend Dillon was certainly going to get a laugh out of this. Richard had arrived only last night and wasn’t due in for another few days at the store, though he’d stopped in really late to check things out. Dillon had wanted to talk to him, spend some time with him, and Richard had agreed. At loose ends, he’d decided to attend the midnight church service to welcome in the New Year. He’d promised himself to get back into church—at least while no one knew who he was, he thought wryly. Here, he didn’t have to hide out. Especially since most people wouldn’t associate him with the world-famous confectionery shop Dunnington’s, since the business had been in his mother’s family until just ten years ago, when Richard’s father was named CEO. In the business world everyone knew who he was. But here, people didn’t. It was so very refreshing.

“A cab? Hotel? Oh dear. You’re new here!” She stilled for the first time since she’d run him over, and studied him.

The odd look she gave him as her gaze ran over his face, his nose and his eyes made him wonder if she suddenly had recognized him. He wasn’t sure if her gaze was a good thing or not.

“Tell me tonight wasn’t your first time at church here,” she continued.

Slowly, with a grin, he nodded. “I’m afraid so. I just got into town last night.”

She groaned and dropped her chin against her chest. “I am really sorry. Oh dear, I can’t believe this!” She sounded very distressed. She nibbled her lip before glancing first to her left and then to her right, as if looking for help from some passerby or maybe even a cab to shove him into so she could relieve her embarrassment.

“Tell you what, let me take you to the local hospital and see that your foot is fixed up—”

“No hospital.” He immediately vetoed that. If he ended up in a hospital, Dillon would never let him live it down. “I’ve had worse injuries before, Miss…?

“Sam. Sam Hampton.”

“Sam…?”

The surprise in his voice earned him a chuckle. “Actually, it’s Samantha but everyone calls me Sam.”

“And I’m Richard Moore. Nice to meet you.” When he saw no reaction to his name, his smile widened. Having this woman care for him and be concerned for him without knowing he was one of the Dunningtons really threw him for a loop. It felt good—and so different from all the phoniness in the world he lived in.

“Now, there’s a lie!” she said chuckling.

At first he thought she’d discerned his identity, but then he realized her mind was on something totally different. She was still embarrassed over having leveled him flat like a linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys. Lifting a brow, he said gently, “What? You think I lie when I say I’m pleased to meet you?” His gaze traveled over her and he realized just how nice it had been to meet this woman. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

This woman had certainly caught his attention from the start. Richard had always been too busy, too caught up in work to have time for life. Until a moment ago.

“Well,” Samantha said, her cheeks turning pink, “if you won’t let me take you to the hospital then at least let me take you to my home and put some ice on that ankle.”

“Are you sure it won’t be any trouble?” he asked, surprised at her openness. Most women wouldn’t offer such a thing. He’d never met a woman that innocent and willing to help—unless she had ulterior motives.

Richard knew well that people usually weren’t what they seemed. Maybe that was why this woman was so refreshing. She wasn’t like the go-getters and manipulators he’d dealt with in the past. She was open and honest. The barely contained energy this woman had, as she rushed about and spoke what was really on her mind, not some veiled agenda, intrigued him.

“None at all. It’s the least I can do. Let me go get my car.”

Before he could protest, the small—and fast—woman was up and hurrying across the parking lot.

He wondered if he should call a cab. He was a Christian—had been raised in church and given his life to God at an early age. True, he’d been busy lately and hadn’t spent as much time as he should with God—sometimes life seemed to get in his way. But this evening it hadn’t. This evening, for the first time, he’d met someone who was a breath of fresh air. He wouldn’t want to compromise her by going to her house. Small-town gossip could be cruel.

Shaking his head, he thought again how unique it was for someone to be as concerned about him as this woman was. He thought about her offer. What would it hurt to go home with her, let her treat his foot and spend a few hours just chatting? The woman was harmless enough. He grinned at that thought.

His foot certainly didn’t agree with him.

And it was nice that she didn’t know who he was. No bowing and scraping from her, or worse, freezing up and refusing to talk to him because he was rich. He just didn’t want that again, he thought wearily.

As he waited, he pulled his coat closer against the cold air that blew through the sleeping oak trees that dotted the church’s landscaped grounds. Asleep for the winter, they had no leaves or greenery. Instead, their brown branches were coated with a layer of fine white snow. As the wind blew, those branches smashed together, sending a thin misting of snow over everything.

A few had icicles hanging from them, just as the building did. Lights dotted the huge lawn, shining in different directions, several lighting up the manger scene that sat on the corner of the lot.

The rest of the lights allowed shadows to be cast. He could hear music inside, as the service was already under way.

He heard the approaching noise of a vehicle traveling over the snow-and sand-covered street. As the engine’s hum grew louder, it pulled Richard’s attention toward the street.

The woman drove up to the curb in a tiny red pickup truck that had seen better days. She waved at him, her engaging smile shining across the short distance. Any thoughts he’d had about the past pain and disillusionment of life and people fled at the sight of that sweet, gentle expression that graced her face. He stood, transfixed by that smile. Unfortunately, reality intruded in the form of pain, and, to his utter embarrassment, he had to hop as best he could toward the truck.

Chuckling, the woman came forward. “I hate to say this, but have you ever played hopscotch?”

Grinning, he shook his head.

“Well,” she said, pulling open the creaking rusty door, “sometimes the players are wonderful at it, other times they wobble around, right?” Her eyes twinkling, she continued, “You look like the wobbling ones at the moment.”

He chuckled. “I do, do I?”

She grinned cheekily. “By the way, I live two blocks away. Normally I don’t bring my truck, but I had to make a pickup on the way and so I drove. Oh,” she added, giving him a very stern warning glance. “I don’t normally pick up strangers either. I’m not alone where I’m going.”

“An injured man doesn’t have much room to argue, madam, what form of transportation he takes. And rest assured, you will be safe with me.”

Glancing worriedly at his foot she nibbled her lip again. “We’ll get you right over to my house and get something on that.”

If she was relieved at his words, he didn’t see it in her expression. Her attention had returned strictly to the injury.

Helping him into the vehicle, she waited until he was snug with his seat belt fastened before closing the door.

He adjusted the tan belted coat and then, in as dignified a manner as possible, folded his black nylon sock and slipped it into the empty charcoal loafer in his lap.

Samantha jumped into the truck, pausing to tuck the bottom of her blue dress well in from the closing door. She adjusted the beat-up gray jacket she wore over it and then fastened her seat belt. In moments she made a U-turn in the middle of the vacant street and took off the way she’d come. The tiny vehicle was toasty warm, the vents chugging out an air current strong enough to ruffle his hair. He felt his cheeks thaw and begin to heat.

A trash bag hung over the standard stick shift, and between the driver and passenger windshield was a sticker of a cartoon character. Stickers and trash cans. Two things not in his expensive car or any car he’d driven in for quite a while.

“It’s quiet this time of the evening,” he murmured over the engine’s noise.

“Everyone is in church. Hill Creek, Texas, may only run twenty thousand or so, including the outlying areas, but most everyone attends church.”

They did pass a few cars, belying Samantha’s claim. He wondered if she exaggerated everything, and decided that must be part of her outgoing personality. She hadn’t exaggerated where she lived, though, he realized when she turned two blocks later.

As he watched her drive down the street, he opened his mouth to mention the new building two blocks down where the street dead-ended into Hill Creek’s new mall, which this farming community certainly was proud of. Dunnington’s was very visible; the main store was surrounded by large gray sections of wall that blocked the current entrance while engineers and such worked on the inside of the store.

She had an excellent view of what was going on at the construction site, he realized. Hoping to gauge her reaction to the mention of his business, maybe find out just what she thought about someone like him in general, he opened his mouth to ask her about Dunnington’s.

The woman beat him to that. “Over here is where I live and over there is the devil’s playground.”

Blinking, Richard stared at where she pointed and then looked back to her. Though she pointed at the construction site down at the mall, she had to be talking about the hardware store or perhaps something he hadn’t seen. Words like that from such a sweet young woman were so out of character.

“Devil’s playground?” he asked, certain the astonishment could be heard in his voice. He was lucky that he could get that out through his wind-pipe. It’d nearly closed at her words. She pointed at the mall again.

He simply shook his head, certain he’d missed something.

“Yeah. Well, that’s what some of us have taken to calling it. It’s rather bad of me, I know. But they’re bringing in a store that is going to be my competition.”

Then he saw what she meant. “You own a candy store?” he asked, taking in the tiny gingerbread-like building that advertised homemade confections as well as “lunch items.”

She turned in beside the shop and then slipped the brake on before she opened her door. She slid out and came around to the other side of the vehicle. “Yeah. I sure do. And that new company that faces this way from the mall?” She gestured down the street. “It’s here to put me out of business.”

Before he could reply, Samantha slipped her arm around him and led him toward the side door of the building. Unlocking it, she guided him inside.

Dark it might be, but he recognized well the smell of a confectioner’s shop. How could he not? He’d been raised in one himself.

But unfortunately, he was afraid that when this woman, this angel of mercy and simple beauty found out who he was, she was going to break his other foot before booting him right out the front door. How could he go about telling her that her conqueror and savior was the devil that was going to put her out of business?




Chapter Two


“I really don’t want to put you out.”

Samantha smiled at the man. How could she not? He was gorgeous. He was polite. He was gentle. She could go on and on with the impression he’d made on her, but didn’t.

“You aren’t putting me out at all.”

She wondered what the man thought of her candy shop. She paused here at the front end of the store where they had entered. A tiny light on the counter illuminated the front of the shop at night, allowing Mr. Moore to see around him.

She tried to see The Candy Shoppe through a stranger’s eyes. A black and white picture of her grandparents, from the newspaper, when they opened the shop aeons ago, hung on the wall to her right. Various articles surrounded it. The announcement about adding lunchtime meals was beside those, a testament to her needing to add more to keep the store open and draw in more people.

On the other wall were professional pictures of candy and flowers hanging in a gilded frame. Wainscoting climbed halfway up the wall. Above it was a soft pastel wallpaper of blue, pink, yellow and green. Old-fashioned wrought-iron tables, in various pastel shades, dotted the sturdy wood floor. Of course, behind the counter the floor became cement.

Oh, the memories. Some of her best times had been in this shop with her grandmother—getting to help mix the candy, playing ballerina while Granny cleaned up at night.

Memories to fill the places that should have been made with parents who were absent most of her childhood. Especially her father.

“Nice,” the man murmured.

Jolted into action by the deep soft voice, Samantha moved to the end of the counter and lifted part of the Formica-covered countertop.

Richard hobbled through it.

Samantha waited until he was through before slipping her arm back around him.

He fit her perfectly, she thought, as she tried to help him limp through the public area and into the back communal living room.

“What happened!” Angela McCade, sitting on the sofa, book in her lap, jumped up from her seat.

“Meet Angela, one of my boarders,” Samantha said. “This is Richard Moore,” Samantha said to Angela, who came forward to help.

“Nice to meet you,” Richard said, and Samantha thought again what a wonderful voice he had.

She helped him get seated on her sofa. “Well,” she breathed out, tired from trying to help the huge man. “Welcome to my home.” It was nearly a question.

Richard put her instantly at ease. “It’s beautiful.”

Samantha felt herself blushing. He looked right at home in her living room, she thought. She couldn’t believe her reaction to him. He was too handsome and too charming.

She was in so much trouble.

She had better keep her mind on other things.

“What happened to your ankle?” Angela asked.

“I’ll be right back,” Samantha murmured to Mr. Moore, sitting on the overstuffed sofa, his shoe and sock lying next to him. “Angie, why don’t you help me?”

She turned and headed toward the back room, past the old elevator that led up to her grandmother’s extra rooms, where Samantha had lived for several years. She crossed the cement floor to the freezer located in a small storeroom near the back door. Angela was right on her heels, her long golden-brown hair flopping in a ponytail.

When they were out of earshot, Angela asked, “Where’d you get the knight in shining armor?” Her light blue eyes flashed with curiosity as she waited for Samantha to explain.

Samantha shook her head at her young friend. “I didn’t ‘get’ him anywhere. And though I will agree he certainly has knight qualities—” like being the most gorgeous man she’d ever met…she allowed her smile to fade “—I’m afraid he didn’t rescue me. Exactly.”

At the last word Angela groaned. “What did you do this time?”

“Hey, it’s not always my fault,” Samantha protested, hunting through the dim supply room’s shelves until she found the ice pack. Going to the huge steel freezer, she pulled it open and patiently filled the bag. Unfortunately, Angela knew her too well. When Angela simply stood there, her arms crossed, Samantha sighed. “Okay. Okay. I had forgotten my purse in the truck and was in a hurry to get it because I hadn’t locked the doors.”

“You did that to his foot?” Angela exclaimed. Angela had many sounds, good and bad. This one was definitely chastising in its own way, with a hint of I knew it added in for good measure.

Samantha simply nodded. At only twenty-two Angela had the ability to make the older Samantha feel like a little kid. “It was an accident.”

“You were worried about today, weren’t you?” Angela asked, referring to a meeting they’d had earlier to discuss the store’s condition.

Samantha sighed. “Maybe a bit distracted.”

Angela reached out and touched Samantha’s arm. “Don’t be. The business hasn’t failed yet. We still have Valentine’s Day to pull it out of the red.”

“But we didn’t at Christmastime,” she said quietly.

They’d been through so much together in the past five years. Angela had come to work for her when she was seventeen and had worked her way through college in this shop while pursuing her veterinarian degree. She was Sam’s assistant manager and definitely someone she confided in.

Since her grandmother’s first major stroke fifteen years ago, Samantha had been struggling to make a success of this store. Her mother hadn’t wanted anything to do with it—until her grandmother became an invalid. And then she only wanted it for the money she could milk out of it for her drinking habit. That had ended five years ago when her mother ran off with some trucker passing through town. Her mother died a month later in an accident. Unlike her mother, Samantha loved the store. She could remember the excitement of standing on a footstool so she could reach the cabinets to help stir the fudge, learning how to tell by smell and feel if the confections were just right. Fifteen years she’d worked to keep the store running. Everyone in the area knew and loved the candy she made. But new people were moving in, new stores, new competition that had the money to put into advertising and mass marketing of their goods. New malls were opening, like the one out on the edge of town. A tricounty area endeavor, this mall was going to revive all of the nearby towns and give people a place to go other than the bigger cities, which were located as close as a couple of hours from here.

“Maybe our Christmas sales weren’t the best, but I bet that store down the street isn’t going to be open by Valentine’s Day. They still have too much work to do. So that means we still have a chance to turn this place around.”

“You’ve been talking to my father,” Samantha said curtly. Her father wasn’t around much, but whenever he had a job in town, he made sure to stop by, or to pump Angela for information. And Angela always imparted the information that Samantha’s father passed on to her.

Angela shrugged. “I was at the Mexican restaurant and he happened to be there too, and I asked him about Dunnington’s.”

Her father had worked on many projects at the mall since it’d gone up this year. Samantha didn’t need her father’s ill-timed advice when she was struggling for her very livelihood.

“I’m only concerned about the store,” Angela said softly to her boss.

Lately Samantha simply wanted to give up and say God had forsaken her. Why had she struggled so hard with this store, only to see it sinking now? Putting her father to the back of her mind, she concentrated instead on what Angela had said about Valentine’s Day.

“I don’t know, Angie. I’m not sure I even have enough money to keep us afloat until February. I do know it’s going to take a miracle to keep this place open, though.”

“It’s all Dunnington’s fault,” Angela said now.

Ten years ago Dunnington’s Incorporated had decided to leave the shores of Ireland and the surrounding area and travel West. Landing in America like the pilgrims of so long ago, Dunnington’s had forged ahead to explore the new country and stake its claim. In a short time it had opened its first overseas store in New York City, and the previously unknown company had been an instant success. The ability to walk in and get whatever one wanted from whatever part of the world one wanted had intrigued the public as much as the way Dunnington’s advertised its store.

“They certainly haven’t helped, especially with their ad campaign,” Samantha admitted, thinking about how smart they’d been with their commercials, and how much money and time they devoted to advertising.

The commercial she most remembered was their first one, which had actually been one of the original commercials from Ireland. It opened with a young man dressed in a kilt, walking out, bagpipes in hand. He ambled across a grassy knoll with a loch in the background. A soft wind blew, whipping at the edge of his red, yellow and green kilt, causing the white shirt to ripple across his body as he walked. And he played a beautiful old love song—“Greensleeves.” Then others appeared in the background, in the slight fog that blew as they walked, and the young man let go of the pipe and began to sing in a gentle Irish brogue.

Dunnington’s had been smart, all right. Its commercial could sell anything.

“Still, you have to admit, though they had a great campaign, they didn’t have any stores here,” Samantha added. “So, that isn’t the root of our problems.”

Finally, Angela spoke. “I guess you don’t want Uncle Mitch to run them out of town?” she quipped.

Samantha laughed, though it was tinged with a bit of melancholy. “I don’t think that falls within the sheriff’s job, Angie,” she said wryly.

Angela shrugged. “Well, God can work bigger miracles than the luck of that Irishman can boast stores.”

Samantha nodded. “Anyway,” she said, dragging her friend back to the present, “I don’t want to rehash anything more about that nightmare down the street and how it’s going to affect our business.”

She took a deep calming breath.

“Here.” She shoved the ice pack at Angela. “Go put this on our guest’s foot while I make him up some hot chocolate. How’s Granny?” she asked as she closed the freezer and turned toward the kitchen. Angela blocked her way.

“Granny’s fine. She’s finally asleep. But I want to hear the rest of this before I go,” she protested, not moving aside to allow Samantha to pass.

At least she wasn’t rehashing their financial state, Samantha thought. So, she answered quickly, hoping to put it to rest. “I ran the man over. I hurt him and offered him a place to get some treatment since he wouldn’t go to the hospital and is new to town.”

“You ran him over? In the truck?”

Samantha frowned. “No, I ran into him and knocked him down.”

“He’s new to town?” Angela asked.

Samantha sighed. “Yes. He’s new here. Got in last night,” Samantha finally said, staring at Angela and waiting.

“You certainly learned a lot about him in a short time,” Angela said, lifting her eyebrows.

Uh-oh, Samantha thought. “I did not,” she protested. “I just, um…” She shrugged, unable to come up with an appropriate excuse in time.

“You find him interesting! I don’t believe it,” Angela exclaimed. “For ten years you haven’t seriously looked at a man. Then you run one down in a dash for your truck and you fall for him?”

Samantha scowled. “Very funny.”

“You actually brought him here, you talked with him….”

“For Pete’s sake, Angela. I nearly broke his leg!” Samantha looked toward the door, hoping her voice hadn’t carried.

Angela simply shook her head, grinning.

“I haven’t had time for a man,” Samantha interjected, thinking of her grandmother upstairs who, after two strokes, required a part-time nurse to sit with her. All of those expenses demanded that Samantha run a successful business.

“You should be married by now,” Angela said dreamily.

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Spare me your adolescent ideas of love. I haven’t had time for a man.”

“Hey, all of my uncles are married and my dad—”

Samantha sighed. “One day, maybe. It’s not that I don’t want to be married….” She thought again of her grandmother, the shape the store was in, and then shook her head.

“Our guest needs ice.”

Angela continued to grin. Twisting the cap on the ice bag she patted the bottom to make sure it was secure. “This conversation isn’t over,” Angela warned before leaving.

How well Samantha knew that. This conversation was far from over. Angela wouldn’t rest until she’d heard every detail. The woman had too much imagination and too much time—a dangerous combination.

Still, Angela was her dearest friend, closer than a sister, the only real family she had. She could forgive Angela anything. She would do anything for her, too.

Samantha quickly slipped into the main part of the kitchen and set to work fixing up a tray of treats and hot drinks. She could hear Angela talking to the man in the main room.

The deep timbre of his voice as he answered floated gently back into the kitchen, surrounding her with such peace. How long had it been since she’d been so at peace? His voice invited rest. The sure, soothing tones made her think he was a man well in control of himself at all times. How she wished she had a bit of that control. It’d be nice to have it in her business. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a good businessperson, though she dearly loved to create the recipes her grandmother had made. Instead, she was watching the business slide further and further toward bankruptcy, toward the end of an era, a way of carrying on her family’s tradition through her recipes. She’d been so used to working, trying to make this store a success, that she’d forgotten the joy of simply being in the company of a man—especially a man who radiated such gentleness. What would it be like to enjoy making the candy again without worrying about overhead and competition and falling sales?

Lifting the tray, she returned to the main room. The stranger had removed his coat and was relaxed in one of the cushioned chairs, his foot propped up on a stool.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate and dark bread.”

“Rye?”

She shook her head. “It’s a sweet bread.” Placing the tray down, she seated herself on the old-fashioned sofa. She couldn’t help but notice how well the charcoal-gray suit fit him. It looked tailor-made, curving over his shoulders, tapering in at the waist, buttoning over his flat stomach.

She realized she was still in her frumpy blue dress and wondered if he noticed how wrinkled it was. She hoped not.

“I was telling Mr. Moore that you’ve lived here most of your life.”

Angela’s voice reminded her that she should be serving the company, not staring at him. After cutting a piece of the fresh bread, she handed him a plate and a mug of cocoa.

“You know the town well, then?” he inquired politely.

Samantha nodded. “I suppose so, though I spent most of my time here with my grandmother instead of running around town.”

“You enjoy cooking?”

Samantha handed Angela a cup and then picked up her own mug. “I enjoyed being with my grandmother who enjoyed cooking and passed the skill on to me.”

“I like to cook as well,” he commented, and took a sip of the cocoa.

Surprised, Samantha paused, cocoa halfway to her lips. “Really?”

“Cinnamon and…” he paused, his gaze drifting. “Hazelnut? Freshly ground?”

“How’d you know that?” she asked, stunned.

His gaze refocused on her. “I apologize, Miss Hampton. As I said, I enjoy cooking and have spent years at it.”

“It’s Samantha. May I ask if you’re a chef?” Samantha found it hard to believe she’d found a man interested in cooking.

Richard Moore’s gaze turned to his cup. “No. I’m not really a chef. At one time, perhaps, but no more.” He swirled the contents before taking another sip. “Now I do a bit of everything, I suppose.”

“Is that why you’re here? To find a job?” Angela interjected, leaning forward, her golden hair slipping over her shoulder before she brushed it back. Angela was full of energy and curiosity this evening, Samantha thought, but didn’t try to quell her. She wanted to know the answer to that question, too.

“Actually, yes. I’m from out of town and just arrived to work at a new store in the mall that’s going up.”

“I love the mall going in. I’ve met so many new people—some with accents like yours. Do you know, the guy who runs the Mexican restaurant is from Zimbabwe! And then there is the woman who sounds French but is really from Louisiana and is Cajun, like a relative of mine—the Cajun works as a waitress there. And this guy who owns a shoe store has an accent just like yours, and then—”

“Angela,” Samantha said politely.

Angela looked a bit guilty for running on, but that didn’t stop her. “So, have you found a place to live yet?”

“Angela,” Samantha warned, beginning to feel embarrassed at Angela’s persistence in ferreting out all of Mr. Moore’s secrets. “He might not want to tell us everything.”

“It’s not a secret,” her guest said, but Samantha had just the opposite feeling.

The muted emotions in the man’s dark eyes made her wonder if he really didn’t enjoy talking about himself at all. Angela, however, didn’t seem to notice the sudden reserve in his demeanor as he continued.

“I’m living in a nearby hotel until I find an apartment to rent.”

“Which will take longer now that you can’t walk on your foot.”

Samantha turned three shades of red. “Angela!”

“What?” she asked, her eyes all wide and innocent—too innocent.

Samantha’s gaze narrowed.

“Your employer didn’t mean to run me over, Angela,” he chided gently. “It’s not her fault I can’t walk.”

Angela smiled. “Of course it is. She as much as admitted it to me in the supply room—which brings me to my suggestion. You should stay here in the upstairs apartment until you can go house hunting on your own.”

Samantha gaped.

Richard gaped as well. Obviously that was not the tack he had expected Angela to take. It hadn’t been Samantha’s guess either.

“It’s perfect,” Angela continued. “You need a place to stay and Sam has an empty apartment.”

“I—I—” Samantha started.

“Uh-hmm,” Richard cleared his throat.

She knew where her friend was headed. Angela had been after her for years to loosen up and date—and she’d just found the perfect candidate.

“I don’t want to intrude…” Richard began.

“It’s no imposition. Sam really needs to rent out that apartment. Money is tight right now. She could use the rent.”

Please, God, just open a hole in the floor and swallow me up, she thought dismally.

“Angela!”

Amazingly enough, the man, instead of being shocked, chuckled. “You are a true businesswoman, Angela.”

His gaze returned to Samantha. “I think your friend has sold me on the idea. However, since you own the apartment, I would think the final decision is up to you. How much do you charge a month?”

Samantha stared at her friend. Rent. Money. That would tide them over, she suddenly realized. At least until February. The firm “no” to renting to this man dissipated before it could be voiced.

Angela named a price.

Samantha started to protest, but Richard nodded. “More than fair for a one-bedroom, one bath.”

“Actually, it’s a two-bedroom,” Samantha interrupted, weakly feeling it best to point that out. This was payback, she thought. It had to be. If she had bowled this man over tonight, she was certainly getting bowled over now, as he and Angela made plans about the apartment before she could comment one way or another.

His warm gaze returned to her, making her forget that she’d even entertained such an idea as payback. That gentle look touched her with acceptance, no hint of her earlier actions in his expression. He really was serious about renting the apartment.

Money.

Maybe God had heard her prayers, after all!

“Even better,” Richard added. “Do I get to see it?”

Samantha hesitated. “The service elevator will take you upstairs, but maybe Angela could drive you to pick up your things first so I can do another cleaning before you move in.”

Samantha had been using the place for storage and wanted to move the boxes out. Why hadn’t she thought of renting the room before?

He started to protest. She saw the objection in his eyes. Then he nodded.

“However, I insist on taking a cab.”

“But…” Angela started.

He shook his head. “The ice has really helped. I can hobble back to the hotel and pack my things. What about picking up the keys tomorrow?”

Samantha thought that sounded superb. She nodded. “I— Wow.” She sighed.

Angela chuckled. “God answers prayers, Mr. Moore. Do you believe that?”

Richard smiled at Samantha, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I do—now.”

She had no idea what he meant by that. She did, however, know what her friend meant. With a short warning glare at Angela, she stood.

“Let me get you a cane to at least help you, Mr. Moore. Then we’ll see to your cab.” She paused. “I can’t apologize enough for what happened this evening.”

His gaze met hers firmly and he replied, so sure of himself that it sent chills down her spine.

“And I can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t run into me, I might not have met you. And that would have been the greater accident.”

She hesitated at that accent of his, thinking how absolutely appealing it was. Shaking her head, she smiled. “The apartment. Of course. Yes. You found an apartment.”

And before he could contradict her, Samantha fled back to the supply room to find her grandmother’s walking cane.

Just when things had looked dismal, God had answered her prayers.

The sound of firecrackers outside told her it must be midnight. A new year and a new day.




Chapter Three


Dillon Sandal stared at his friend. “You’re what?”

Richard zipped closed his garment bag and carefully turned. “I’ve rented an apartment and I’m taking a few weeks off.”

Dillon ran a hand through his jet-black hair, exasperation clear in his action. “You just got here. How did you find an apartment so quickly? No, wait. First, answer what happened to your foot.”

Dillon strode forward, jerked the garment bag from his friend’s hands and carried it over to where Richard’s other suitcases sat.

Richard shrugged. Shifting the crutches under his arms he replied, “I broke my ankle.”

Richard had gone home, but, unable to sleep because of the pain, he had finally admitted defeat and gone to the emergency room. Surprisingly, one of the ankle bones had a hairline fracture. Samantha was going to love that, he thought ruefully. He probably wouldn’t live it down.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would have taken you to the hospital. When I left you last night, you were in here, alone.”

He paced back to his friend. “I come here this morning to find you packing, and in a partial cast, no less, talking about renting an apartment. And now you’re taking a bit of extra time off—”

“You should be glad. That means you’ll get to run everything until I recover.”

“I run everything anyway,” Dillon muttered. Dillon and Richard had gone to college together. Dillon was the one close friend Richard had.

Whenever a new store opened, Dillon took on the role of manager to oversee the hiring and ensure a smooth transition as it took place in the community. Richard usually came to make sure publicity was seen to, as well as a million and one other things. After all, he was being groomed to take over the business one day. His father thought he should know each store personally. So, while his maternal grandfather was the figurehead appearing in most of the commercials and interviews, and his da was the CEO who ran things now, Richard was left as the man behind the scenes doing the legwork for all the store openings.

Dillon dropped into one of the chairs and crossed his khaki-covered legs.

With his green polo shirt and dark brown loafers, Dillon looked like a young executive ready for the golf course. Of course, Richard knew Dillon preferred to dress that way, leaving the business suits to him. Still, he admired how relaxed his friend looked in the luxury room.

“So, what really happened to your foot?” Dillon asked.

Richard sighed and hobbled over to the edge of the frilly-lace-covered bed of the hotel and sat. While they waited for someone to climb the old-fashioned staircase to get his luggage he said, “I told you. I fell.”

“The rest of the story,” Dillon prodded.

Richard allowed his head to drop back. Staring at the stucco ceiling, he debated how best to answer. His eyes wandered to the cherry-wood posters that were draped with a thin see-through lacy thing and thought this was definitely a room for a girl. Even the chairs and tables had lacy stuff on them. He wasn’t going to miss the decor at all.

“I decided to go to a special midnight service at one of the local churches,” he finally said, returning his gaze to his friend.

Both eyebrows shot up as Dillon stared. “Really?”

Richard nodded and shifted on the down-filled bedspread. “No one knows me here. I wouldn’t be hounded.”

Dillon shook his head. “You are hounded back in New York because of the places you go, my friend. If you’d find a smaller church, like mine, or avoid—”

“Like my father would allow that?” Richard interrupted. “I am the business’s future,” he said wearily. “I have to go to all of those functions whenever I’m home.” He’d been through this with Dillon too many times to count.

Dillon shook his head. “You should talk to your father, tell him you’re not happy doing this.”

Richard sighed. “What else would I do? I’ve trained for this my entire life.”

He didn’t like the sympathetic look his friend shot him. Talking about his accident, although he knew his friend was going to rib him, was better than dealing with that look. So, taking a breath he said, “I was running late and hurrying toward the church when this woman came rushing out and knocked me flat.”

It took Dillon a moment to change gears. When he did, his jaw dropped. Slowly a half smile curved his lips. Disbelief filled his eyes. “A woman did this?” He motioned toward Richard’s foot.

There it was. He’d had it now. Richard nodded, glancing out the window. A weak sun shone through the white lacy curtains, indicating that there was still the possibility of snow. “Yeah. She’d forgotten her purse in her truck and was hurrying to get it. It was dark out and I guess she didn’t see me.”

“Didn’t see you?” he parroted, laughter filling his voice. “A woman didn’t notice you? She was driving a truck?” Dillon’s voice rose.

Restrained no more, his laughter burst into the room, filling every silent corner as it reverberated off the walls. Throwing his head back, he dropped his other foot to the floor and guffawed loud and long.

“It’s not that humorous, dear fellow,” Richard murmured.

His accent only sent Dillon into a fresh round of laughter. “Obviously it is, if you’ve lapsed back into that British brogue.”

“I’m Irish,” Richard reminded him, irked that Dillon was getting such a kick out of this.

“Let me guess, five foot ten inches, two hundred pounds of muscle, and her name is Frieda. She wears jeans and a flannel shirt, chews tobacco and looks as mean as a coyote fighting over his newest meal?”

Unruffled by this latest round of insults from his friend, Richard smiled. “You’d be wrong in your guess.”

“Oh yeah?” Dillon challenged.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Thank goodness.

“Get that,” Richard interjected, ignoring the question in Dillon’s voice.

Dillon rose and opened the door to the bellhop. Young, no more than twenty, the boy had outgrown the outfit he wore. The sleeves and pants were both just a tad too short and a bit too tight. However, what he lacked in the uniform, he certainly made up with the smile he gave them.

“Ready to go?” he drawled.

“Can you put these in the silver Lexus out front?” Dillon asked.

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered. He quickly and quietly started gathering Richard’s luggage, full of as much energy as a young man could be who was out making a living at a job he enjoyed. Where had Richard’s energy for his job gone lately?

Turning back to Richard, Dillon said, “So, when do I get to know where you’re moving?”

Richard pushed himself up onto his good leg. Today he wore his own pair of khakis with a long-sleeved white shirt. A loose tweed sports jacket finished out his outfit. Slipping on his tanned overcoat, he left it unbuckled and unbuttoned as he grabbed his crutches. “Since you’re driving me there, I suppose you can know now.”

Adjusting the crutches, he matched his gait to the swing of the metal devices as he maneuvered his way out the door. “There’s a tiny shop two blocks from the mall that is renting out a flat.”

“Wow. That’s close.”

Richard nodded. “Quite. I plan to reside there in peace for at least the next four weeks until this foot heals. Then I’ll return to work.”

Dillon fell in beside his friend. “Four weeks. What about the grand opening of the store?”

Richard frowned. “We can push it off for a month if we must. Maybe plan it for Valentine’s Day. After all, that would be a great time for the opening.”

“You know, you’re right.” Dillon’s mind clicked into motion. “We could do a huge campaign and build up to the grand opening targeting Valentine’s Day. Of course, we don’t want to forget to play up that this is the one hundredth store in America. I’m sure we could pull a lot of people from Amarillo and maybe even the Fort Worth and Dallas area if the advertising campaign were big enough. But that’s your department. I have some ideas for inside the store. I think you’re going to enjoy what I have planned.”

Richard nodded. “I’ll be glad to look it over, but do me a favor.”

“What’s that?” Dillon asked as they approached the stairs.

Richard turned slightly and oh-so-carefully began descending. “I don’t want to discuss business when I’m around anyone else. I want four weeks of rest, pure and simple. I want only to experience life in this little town and have time to recuperate.”

“From Linda,” Dillon said knowingly.

“Not just from Linda, but from society.”

His fiancée of four years had left him six months ago. He’d found out she was leaving him by the announcement in the New York Times about her upcoming marriage—to someone else.

He was embarrassed to admit he’d been so busy that he hadn’t even realized the woman he’d agreed to marry four years earlier had fallen for another man. That still smarted.

Since then, however, he’d been taking stock of his life. The store was all he’d ever had, all he ever would have. He’d been so caught up in the business, he realized now, that he and Linda hadn’t really had a conventional relationship. He’d met her at a few parties. His father, he now understood, had manipulated things so he and Linda were together—with Linda’s full support—and it had just seemed natural to ask her to marry him. It had been just like a business merger. She was a society woman and knew how things worked. He was going to be in that type of spotlight. He’d thought, sure, why not.

He knew when he read the announcement and felt only embarrassment that he hadn’t really loved Linda. She was manipulative and only wanted what his father had promised her—a name and place in society.

But that incident had gotten Richard to thinking about life. Church last night had been part of the new leaf he was going to turn over. He had decided that he had to get back to basics to find out just who and what he was.

God was as basic as he could get. He needed to reestablish that relationship and then go from there.

He was at a crossroads.

“Richard?” Dillon prompted, and he realized he hadn’t answered him.

“Linda is part of the reason I don’t want to talk about work. Truthfully, buddy, I simply need time. And this store, so far away from New York, gives me a chance to do some reevaluating.”

His friend nodded. “Very well. I’ll do my best to take my lead from you about work discussions.”

“I plan to have a line installed in the apartment and a fax put in. If any emergencies arise, you can contact me there or on my cell.”

Dillon pursed his lips. “You’re really serious about this.”

He nodded. “I am.”

They reached the bottom of the wooden stairs. The bellboy was just coming back in and paused to hold the door open. Richard reached into his front pocket and pulled out his money clip. Peeling off two bills, he gave the young man a nice tip and nodded.

“Thank you, sir,” the boy said, and smiled.

Richard smiled in return. Evidently, the tip he’d normally leave in New York was considered much better here.

Going out into the windy morning air, he wished he’d at least buckled his coat.

“So, then,” Dillon continued as the door closed behind him. “Tell me about this apartment.”

Richard got to the luxury car and handed the crutches to his friend. Grabbing the door and the top of the car he lowered himself into the front passenger’s seat. Carefully he lifted his leg and turned, working it into the car while avoiding bumping it.

When the car was in gear and they were carefully headed down the icy, sand-and salt-coated roads, Richard said, “I’ve never seen the apartment.”

Both hands on the wheel, Dillon cast him a quick look. “You’re kidding.”

“The woman told me there was a two-bedroom apartment for rent. I agreed.”

“That’s not practical. What if it’s a broken-down heap?”

“What if it is?” Richard replied. “I’m only going to be there for a few weeks. It’s away from the places I would normally stay and it’ll give me some peace and quiet.”

Dillon frowned. “You’re willing to risk renting an apartment unseen, just for peace and quiet? I don’t buy it.”

“Turn here,” Richard said, pointing to the main east-to-west street.

Dillon obediently obeyed.

“See that gingerbread house toward the end of the block?” he continued, pointing. “Right past the hardware store?”

“Yeah.”

“Just after there you’ll turn into the alley.”

Dillon started, “You’re—”

“—kidding,” Richard finished for him. “No, I’m not.”

Main Street was nothing like a main street in New York. Here, lining the straight four-lane street, were metered parking spaces. Down the middle of the street—though not up farther, he’d noted—was a median filled with grass and benches. There were flower beds but they were empty right now. He imagined this was a very beautiful area in the spring. A big clock stood on the corner, right beyond the hardware store and the candy store.

At the corner they turned right and then made another quick right. The alley was clean and wide enough for two cars, though it’d be a tight fit. Dumpsters sat behind the stores, most likely an indication that the garbage trucks made this their route to collect trash.

“Though there is a side entrance, I thought it’d be better to unload everything back here. I called and talked to one of the workers this morning, who told me this would be best.”

“Wait a minute,” Dillon said, his mind working furiously as he processed everything. “You’re staying at this candy shop?”

Richard buckled his coat and then shoved the car door open. “They have an apartment for rent.”

“But don’t you think staying under the competition’s roof—”

“She’s not our competition,” Richard said shortly.

Dillon’s eyebrows shot up. Quickly, he exited the car. “She? She?” He spied a red truck next to the building. His gaze returned to Richard. “The woman who hit you offered you a place to stay?”

He should have realized Dillon would put two and two together.

When he opened the trunk, Richard grabbed the smaller of the two suitcases, leaving the large one as well as the garment bag for his friend, and went to the back door to ring the bell.

The door was opened by Angela.

“Oh, great! You made it.”

“Young and fresh is now your style?” Dillon said through the side of his mouth as the woman pulled the door wider.

“Can it,” Richard replied.

“You’re on crutches. Sam is going to absolutely die!” the young girl said with glee.

“Sam?” Dillon asked.

“Hi. I’m Angela.” She stuck out her hand, saw his were filled and dropped her hand to her side. “Sam is the one who broke his ankle. It is broken, isn’t it? I told Sam it was.”





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