Save Me, page 34
Alexis thought her heart might just fly right out of her chest.
“You do?”
TJ moved closer. There were only a few inches between them now. “I do. If you give me the chance, I’ll make sure you know it every single day for the rest of your life.”
Tears sprang into Alexis’s eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, you made a promise to Mark and your feelings about relationships...”
TJ reached out and took her hands into his. “It took me a while, but I finally realized those are just excuses. I was scared. Of losing you. So scared that I pushed you away and risked losing you anyway.”
Alexis chuckled. “Yeah, that didn’t make much sense, did it?”
TJ gave her a smile. “No, it didn’t. I needed a little help to see that, but I see it now. I just hope it’s not too late.” He looked at her with a question in his eyes.
Alexis bit her bottom lip, but it did nothing to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s not too late.” She stepped into TJ’s embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It would’ve never been too late. My heart belongs to you, and it always will.”
TJ let out a shuddering breath that shook them both. “I love you, Alexis, and I promise I will never leave your side again.”
When he captured her mouth with his a second later, she knew she could count on that promise forever.
* * *
Look for more books in K.D. Richards’s
West Investigations series,
when Lakeside Secrets
comes out next month!
A Q&A with K.D. Richards
What or who inspired you to write?
I’d have to say both of my parents inspired me to write, not because they are writers, but they are both big readers. My mother taught English for thirty years and my dad had an extensive personal library so I think my love of reading and writing came from them.
What is your daily writing routine?
Generally, I start writing around 8:00 a.m. and write until I get hungry. I take a break for lunch. After lunch I’ll pick up writing if I need to or I may work on some social media posts or plan for the next day’s writing. I usually stop writing at three and if I’m on deadline I’ll try to squeeze in more writing after dinner.
Who are your favorite authors?
There are so many. Karin Slaughter. Lisa Unger. Riley Sager. S. A. Cosby. I could name a hundred more.
Where do your story ideas come from?
Pretty much everywhere and anywhere. The other day I saw a very cool-looking, but very steep, narrow staircase and my thoughts instantly went to how I could incorporate it into a story.
Do you have a favorite travel destination?
Spain. I love Barcelona, Spain.
What is your most treasured possession?
I have three. A piano my great-aunt gifted me when I started playing, a little porcelain brown bear my great-grandmother gave me and a teddy bear my mother gave me for Valentine’s Day when I was eight.
How did you meet your current love?
I met my husband at a party a mutual friend threw. Didn’t like him at first—LOL—but he grew on me. :)
How did you celebrate or treat yourself when you got your first book deal?
I bought myself a violin I’d been coveting for a while. Now I just have to find the time to practice more!
What are your favorite character names?
My favorite character names would have to be the names of the characters in the first West Investigations book, Pursuit of the Truth. Nadia and Ryan. I’ve always loved the name Nadia and I really don’t remember why I chose the name Ryan but I love the character.
Other than author, what job would you like to have?
I’d love to be a professional classical violinist. Of course, I’d need to play A LOT better than I currently do.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Rancher’s Law by Diana Palmer.
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Rancher’s Law
by Diana Palmer
Chapter One
Cal Hollister nursed his piña colada, only half watching the flamenco dancers on the dance floor at Fernando’s in San Antonio. He wasn’t sure why he kept coming here, except that she’d enjoyed the music back in the days when they were friends. Before the big blowup that had left him reeling with shock and fury.
He was drop-dead gorgeous. Tall, broad-shouldered, with thick blond hair and black eyes. Women noticed him. He never even looked up.
He sipped his drink, his mind far away. It had been seven years. All that time. He’d married a San Antonio socialite only two days after the woman from his past had brought the world down on his head. His socialite had herded him, drunk and in anguish, to a justice of the peace. And he’d texted the woman who betrayed him with bitter, shaming words and the news that he was now married. At the time, it had seemed exactly the right thing to do.
She, the socialite—Edie Prince by name—had always said that the other woman was too young and carefree to settle down. She’d convinced him that revenge was his best bet, and he’d said it was justified.
But the breakup was bad timing. He’d just come home from a devastating mission that had left him sick of his own hopeful new career and aching all over for Amelia. Her grief had led to an unforgettable night in bed, one that led to tragedy.
Guilt had ridden him hard afterward. At her grandfather’s funeral, he’d taken Edie with him, just so he wouldn’t have to face Amelia alone. He knew it had hurt and confused her. But then, he was confused, too. He’d thought mercenary work was right up his alley, with his background in police work. Well, it wasn’t. He’d seen things, done things, that haunted him still.
He’d stayed away from Amelia for weeks while he got counseling, put his life back together, changed jobs and became settled. He’d finally come to terms with his feelings for her. He even had a set of rings in his pocket. He’d been looking forward to starting a new life. Then Amelia’s great-aunt, in a fit of rage, had called him to say that Amelia had solved their little problem and now there were no complications, so he was free to seduce another innocent woman, wasn’t he?
He took another swallow of the drink. That news had started him on the downward spiral that led him right into marriage with his worst nightmare. So long ago. So much pain. He’d given Amelia hell, not allowing her to even get a word in edgewise, not giving her a chance to defend herself, explain herself. And to complicate matters, a few days later, at the end of a drinking binge that had almost landed him in jail, he’d married Edie. Biggest mistake of his life.
It was a shame that he’d sobered up soon afterward. Because Edie had faults that he hadn’t known about when he’d put that ring on her finger. He hadn’t known that she was a blatant alcoholic; that she used drugs; that she was a habitual liar. He’d found all those things out one by one.
She’d said they could have children, but that was before he found out that she’d had a hysterectomy some years before, and that she’d never wanted children.
They were a nuisance, she told him, and she wasn’t risking her figure to add another squalling brat to the world.
It had only taken him a few days to realize that what he really felt for her, when he wasn’t drunk, was contempt. He’d married her out of spite, to rub it in that Amelia meant nothing to him, that he’d never cared for her.
It had been a lie. His life had been hell for three long years before Edie finally drank too much one night and, after adding narcotics to the mix, had put herself in the morgue.
Cal, who’d given up mercenary work to hire on with the San Antonio Police Department, had climbed from patrolman to sergeant, then to lieutenant. He was now captain of the detective squad, a testament to his ability to manage cases and get along with politicians and protesters alike. Promotions that usually took years had taken him far less time, through a series of lucky breaks and ability.
But his job, although satisfying, was just a job. He went home to an empty house on his Jacobsville ranch, where he lived alone. He’d given Edie’s house to a distant cousin of hers, who promptly sold it. Cal hadn’t wanted it. The place held too many memories of his drunken wife making his life hell. He moved into an apartment and then, not long afterward, bought a small ranch in Jacobsville, where he and Amelia had first met.
People in his department noticed that he never dated. They assumed it was because he was still mourning his late wife. Nothing was further from the truth. He’d hated Edie with a passion. When he was finally cold sober, he slowly came to realize that he might not have had the whole story about what had happened in the past. But after he married Edie, he hadn’t done any checking. He didn’t want to know. Amelia was out of his life, and he could never trust her again, even if they met again someday.
He didn’t know where she was, or what she was doing. He’d heard rumors that she was involved in some covert work, but that didn’t sound like the young girl who’d listened, fascinated, to his stories about his mercenary years. She was soft and gentle, not at all the sort of person to involve herself in violence.
He grieved for the young girl she’d been when they’d first known each other. He never should have touched her in the first place, but he’d wanted her so desperately, for so long, until she was all he thought about. What happened was...inevitable, he supposed. But what came after had destroyed him.
Why hadn’t she told him about the child? Didn’t she realize that he’d have married her at once? He’d planned it even before he knew there was a child. He adored her. When he’d gone on that last mission, he’d almost ended up shot because he was thinking about her instead of the danger he was facing.
Only to be presented with evidence that she’d gotten rid of his child. She’d gone to a clinic. She hadn’t wanted him, or the baby, and she hadn’t even bothered to tell him. He’d been bitter. So bitter. He’d called her names, raged at her, damned her for what she’d done. But here he sat, after all these years, in Fernando’s. Hoping she might walk in some day, because he’d brought her here at least twice to introduce her to the addictive tango. And he’d taught her to dance it.
It was stupid. She’d never come back. Her life was elsewhere, somewhere. Hell, she might even be married by now.
That thought depressed him even more. He finished his drink just as he spotted his friend Clancey sitting with her little brother, Tad, and her new husband, Colter Banks. Clancey had worked for him several years ago. He was fond of her and Tad. They were like the family he didn’t have. He’d looked out for them until Banks came along. Well, he liked Banks, and it was good to see Clancey and Tad settled. But he was alone again. He didn’t have friends, unless you included Father Eduardo, a fellow merc who’d taken the collar. He had a church in San Antonio smack dab in the middle of gang territory. But Los Serpientes had learned the hard way not to attack this priest. He’d put them in the hospital. Seven armed men, and he’d put them all down. Two had joined his church afterward. He chuckled silently. Father Eduardo was a local legend.
He paid the check and walked over to the table where Clancey was sitting with her family.
Clancey invited him to sit down after introducing her cousin from Chicago. The woman was nice-looking, but she was a brunette. Cal wouldn’t have been interested even if she’d been a blond, though. He was still buried in thoughts of the past, in misery and anguish for what he’d lost.
Just as he started to excuse himself and go home, he saw her. There, at the counter, picking up an order. She hadn’t aged a day! It had been years, and she was just the same as he remembered her.
He murmured something, unaware that his companions were staring at him. Amelia. His heart tried to climb into his throat. Same pretty figure, same pretty face, same blond hair in a bun atop her head. He’d have recognized her in a crowd of thousands.
She turned with her purchase, still smiling, until she spotted Cal. The smile was suddenly gone, wiped away like magic, to be replaced by a look of such anger that he felt those eyes making holes in him.
Amelia, he thought in anguish.
But if she felt anguish, it didn’t show. She glared at him, turned and walked out of the restaurant. He murmured something to the people at the table and went out after her. He got to the sidewalk, and she was just gone, just like that.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared out at the misting rain with dark eyes that mirrored his misery. So many years without a sight of her, and here she was, back in San Antonio. But where? Doing what? He was going to have to do some digging. He had to find a way to talk to her. Somehow.
* * *
Amelia Grayson had darted around the corner of Fernando’s and hailed a cab back to her new apartment.
Her heart was going like a fast watch, and she could barely catch her breath as she told the cab driver where to take her. She hadn’t expected to see Cal. But, of course, she knew that he’d always gone there on Friday nights when he was in town to watch the flamenco dancers. And the tango.
He was a past master at tango, one of the few men she’d ever known who could dance it. In fact, he’d taught her, in the days when they were like one person, when the world began and ended with him in her life.
That was over. He’d never given her a chance to explain what had happened. It no longer mattered, anyway, she told herself. If somebody cared for you, they wanted an explanation. They wanted your side of the story. It wasn’t like that with Cal. He’d attacked her verbally the minute he saw her. Accusations, blame, hatred, in the space of seconds, after they’d been so close that they almost breathed together.
He’d gone out of town on police business for two weeks. She’d been living with a hateful great-aunt here in the city, one now long dead and forgotten. After a tragic loss, and two days in the hospital, she’d left her great-aunt’s house and gone straight to Eb Scott with her bags packed and her heart encased in ice. He’d always said he wouldn’t train women, but she changed his mind. She told him what had happened. She lost her job, her home, her child... Cal. Everything. She had no place to go. So how about training her?
And he had.
Amelia hailed a taxi to her apartment. She just sat there, after giving the driver her address, in the back seat, staring into space. Seeing Cal so unexpectedly had opened gaping wounds.
The woman he’d married seven years ago was a socialite she knew. The woman had been a pest. She came down from the city on weekends to pester Cal, who seemed to find her amusing. At least, he never sent her away. Amelia had been furiously jealous, but he’d only laughed and said the woman was harmless; just bored and flamboyant. He’d known a dozen like her.
So Amelia hadn’t fussed. But the woman, Edie Prince, didn’t like her and made a point of trashing her clothes, her accent, anything she could find to pick on. Cal didn’t seem to notice. He said she was just kidding, and Amelia shouldn’t take her seriously.
That must have included not believing her when she said that Cal was just playing with Amelia because she was a novelty in his life, but he was going to marry Edie, so Amelia might as well enjoy Cal’s company in the little bit of time left to her.
Amelia didn’t believe her. The socialite had just laughed. She’d see, she’d replied. And soon. Then, Amelia’s grandfather had died. She and Cal had grown quickly intimate, but he’d backed off at once. She hadn’t understood what had happened to him in Africa, not until she joined Eb Scott’s counterterrorism unit. She did now, too late. Cal had been coping—rather, not coping—with trauma from what he’d seen and had to do in Ngawa. He’d been confused and upset, and she hadn’t understood that it was just too much too soon.
But the baby was a fact. Her great-aunt, with whom she’d lived up in Victoria after her grandfather’s sudden death, had been a fanatic about the family name never being soiled. And here was her great-niece, living with her, pregnant out of wedlock! Worse, Amelia was planning to keep the baby! Everyone in town would know. Great-Aunt Valeria was horrified. She’d acted out of that horror and caused a much worse tragedy.
When Amelia got out of the hospital, she had an aide go and pack her things and bring her suitcase to the hospital. The pain was too raw to allow her to even speak to the woman who’d done so much damage. From the hospital, she went to Eb.
So much pain. So much anguish.
* * *
And the worst was yet to come. Cal called her and she wasn’t able to get one word in about what had really happened. He’d made his opinion of her known, railed at her, raged at her. He’d been drunk out of his mind, but she didn’t know that. And he didn’t know that Edie had phoned her earlier to thank her for getting rid of that little complication that Cal didn’t want anyway.
Not three days after the accident, Cal married the flamboyant socialite. Everybody in town knew because Cal had put the announcement in the local newspaper. Amelia had lunched at Barbara’s Café in Jacobsville on her way to Eb Scott’s place, with sympathetic glances making her uncomfortable. It was a small town, and most people knew that she and Cal had been close. When couples broke up, it was food for gossip. Especially when one partner married someone else after the breakup. They thought of Amelia as family, and they were protective of her. It wasn’t until much later, when she was doing jobs for Eb, that she’d learned Cal had bought a ranch in Jacobsville. But he had to shop for it in San Antonio. The owner of the feed store wouldn’t trade with him. Through the anguish, it was one of the few things that amused Amelia in between jobs.
