THE STORYBOOK GROOM

SARAH GAY

LITERARY EVOLUTION
 For the Marvin Philip Family, who graciously lent their expert knowledge for this book:

Marvin, Sara, and their beautiful children: Kendrick, Kyla, Malakai, Amara, and Samuel : May
your life continue to be filled with Storybook endings.
 C O NT E NT S

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
Message From The Author
1
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Ginny yelled at the white suburban that jack-knifed in front of the
pick-up zone at the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, restricting three cars from continuing
around it—including Ginny’s candy red corvette.
She tapped her left foot next to the brake pedal to stay her impatience. It didn’t work. If she
couldn’t get to him, he’d take another car, and she had turned down three other fares to pick him up.
All that effort would have been for naught if she couldn’t get to him, and she needed this guy.
Perhaps she had been a little hasty with her decision to become an Uber driver, but it worked
beautifully as a cover. It had been the only job she could think of that would mesh, and frankly benefit
her other employment, but some days were brutal. And the job gave her the opportunity to interact
with normal people—to feel normal.
Ginny hit a button on her steering wheel, changing her radio station from 80s love songs to
Country. Country music didn’t appeal to her, but it did to some of her clients. It would to this guy, and
she strived to make her clients happy. Country did have one redeeming quality; the fiddlers. Being a
violinist, Ginny had fiddled on a few occasions.
It took forever for the family of six to pack into the Suburban in front of her and continue on their
merry way. In reality, about four minutes had passed. Ginny pressed down the gas pedal and sped at a
whopping fifteen miles per hour to Terminal E. Why did it seem like going over seven miles per hour
on an airport road felt like you were committing a felony? She laughed at the irony.
She pulled to a stop at the curb where a lone man stood. Next to her low sports car, he appeared
eight feet tall. Yep, this was him. This was the guy she needed. She hopped out of her car and opened
the trunk.
“You’re my Uber driver?” he questioned in a sexy Southern drawl. “And you drive people around
in that?”
Okay, maybe not so sexy after that last question.
She cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t like my car?”
She reached to take his bag, but he pulled it back into his chest. “Seriously?” she questioned him.
“What do you think I’m going to do to your bag?”
“I’m a gentleman,” he said, offended, then placed his bag in her trunk. “And it’s not that I don’t
like your ride. It’s just...” He rubbed the side of his face. “Don’t mind me; I haven’t had much sleep
these past few weeks and the hits are catching up with me.”
She reached up to close the trunk at the same moment he did. For a split second, when their
fingers brushed, all her cares vanished. Years of hurt and deception floated away like dandelion fluff
in the wind.
She looked up at him—way up at him. The guy was a giant. He wasn’t just tall; he was thick in a
good way. In a really good way. His shirt couldn’t hide his defined chest and arm muscles. The cotton
t-shirt didn’t cling to him with the objective of displaying every hard-earned muscle, like a body-
builder’s; it lightly swept over his chiseled torso, lending the impression of confidence, tempered
with humility.
When her eyes finally raised to his face and she caught his seductive smile, she knew that she’d
been caught appreciating his fine physique. His clear blue eyes twinkled their satisfaction as his hand
settled onto her shoulder. His touch pacified her anxiety and provided her a moment of clarity. By the
way he focused on her eyes, he had felt something too, but was it the same calming sensation she had?
He released her shoulder and turned before she could fully scrutinize his facial expression.
Ginny settled back into her seat with a smile tugging at her lips as a plan came together to get him
to touch her again. She slowly pulled out of the airport and advanced onto the freeway.
With the top down, Ginny’s loose hairs circled her face in the wind. She loved how her hair blew
just enough to lightly caress her checks when her convertible top was down. She caught traces of
cinnamon and sugar as the sweet aroma spun with the wind.
She couldn’t help but lick her lips. “Did you bring one of those huge cinnamon rolls back with you
from Atlanta?” she questioned with eagerness.
“Yes, ma’am.” He shot her a confused look. “How did you know I was coming from Atlanta?”
“This is the Delta terminal. I park myself here and wait for the larger flights from Delta’s other
major hubs, and, judging by your accent, I’m guessing you’re not arriving from Salt Lake City.”
He laughed, but then caught himself and did a sideways stare as if he shouldn’t trust her. “Delta
flies in from all over the world. What makes you think it was either Atlanta or Salt Lake City?”
“It helps with the job.” She shrugged dismissively. “I’ve memorized most flights in and out of
Dallas and their schedules. If I picked you up an hour from now, I would have guessed Toronto or
Chile.”
She stared ahead at the road, hoping he wouldn’t press it. She had always been good with
numbers, not just good, a savant of sorts; that’s one reason why the agency had recruited her.
“That’s some dedication. You deserve this.” He pulled a white box marked with brown swirls
from his carryon bag resting in his lap and placed it on the center console between them. “I’d put it in
your back seat for you, but…”
She placed her hand over his before he could pull it away from the box. “Thanks.” Another
moment of clarity and peace calmed her, bolstering her spirits and causing her bubbly nature to
surface; something she hadn’t felt in years. She reluctantly removed her hand and waved it in the air,
deciding she’d play along with his little game. “Who needs a back seat?”
He tapped his finger against his chin, drawing attention to the cleft and his five o’clock shadow.
She diverted her attention from the road for a few moments to study his profile. His chiseled facial
features and sturdy build screamed masculinity. She found him more attractive than she cared to
admit. She forced her head to turn and face forward when he pulled lip balm from his pocket and ran
it across his perfect lips. She had to remind herself she was driving and to quit staring at him.
He waved his lip balm in the air. “You’re right. Back seats are only for people with a kid, anyone
with more than one friend, anyone who wants to be an Uber driver and have more than one
passenger.” He let out a deep chuckle. “How did you work that one out? I thought all Uber cars had to
seat at least three or four.”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she said with a smile. If only he knew how true
that statement was. “Okay, funny guy, maybe I like having only one passenger. It’s more like I’m a
friend than a chauffeur.” She tapped her steering wheel. “Does that make me sound lonely?”
“Not at all.” He shook his head. “Desperate would be a better word.”
“Oh, you’re rotten,” she giggled out, pretending to slap his upper arm.
Instead of slapping it, she held his bicep for a few seconds, allowing his tranquilizing effect to
quiet her mind. This guy was witty, cute, and a soothing balm. The perfect fare. Unfortunately, that’s
all he could ever be to her.
Their eyes met. “Believe me, no man would ever consider you desperate.”
 “Oh really. Why would you say that?” She had never flirted with her passengers, until now. She
couldn’t seem to help herself with this guy.
“Where should I start? Your vibrant green eyes or your copper hair?”
“Oooo copper, I like that. It’s usually referred to as orange or strawberry blonde.”
“No way.” He lifted a section of her hair and twisted the ends in his fingers to examine it. He then
lightly touched her cheek as he tucked the section behind her ear before he turned to look out his
window. “Were you wanting to get into that lane?” He motioned with his head to his right.
Ginny’s adrenaline spiked as she straightened her spine and pulled her car back into the center of
her lane. She had unknowingly drifted into the lane to their right as she leaned into him while he was
playing with her hair.
This guy was dangerous, and neither of them needed that liability.
“If we was in Atlanta right now,” he shook his head, “we’d be cursed off the road.”
“C’mon, I only drifted for a second,” she said defensively.
“Your speed, Darlin’. My granny drives faster than you.”
Ginny glanced down at her speedometer. Fifty-five. The all-too-familiar heat rose up her neck and
rested in her cheeks. “So, you want speed, do ya?” She allowed the mischief in her eyes to linger
until he responded with the same devious expression.
She pressed down the accelerator. Her car sped to a hundred and fifteen in less than two seconds,
pushing them back into their seats. He let out a whoop as she let off the gas. Most sports cars were
equipped with a regulator to control their speed, but not Ginny’s. Her baby could reach close to two
hundred. She never drove that fast, but it was nice to know she could if she got in a bind.
They exited the freeway and wound along a wooded lane in one of the poshest neighborhoods of
the greater Dallas area. The entrance to his community sported a tall black iron gate controlled by a
security code pad.
He adjusted the travel bag on his lap. “Pull up to the gate and I’ll give you the code.”
That wouldn’t do. For his own protection, she didn’t want those numbers in her head. She hit the
gas, switched gears into neutral, and used her emergency break like a police officer making an
emergency turn to flip around. She slowly backed up to the control panel for him to enter his code.
“Never seen that before.” He shook his head and blinked his eyes as if he were trying to wake
himself. “That may be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a girl do.”
He entered the code with recognizable tones, C, F sharp, A, E, D. Ginny cursed under her breath.
The code was in her head now. When would these security companies learn? Blast her musical
background. She slowly backed in through the open gate and flipped around once inside the gated
community.
“I’m the third house on the left, with the Grecian fountain in the front.”
Ginny tapped her wheel at the rare sight of an opulent white fountain in the center of a Dallas
yard. “Are you Greek?”
They bumped up his red cobblestone driveway.
“No. Greece.” He paused before clearing his throat. “My mom loved their fountains.”
Ginny could sense there was more to that story. She felt something burn in her chest as she
watched as his facial expression soften. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. Coming home to
her mother had a very different physical effect on her. “That’s tender.”
“Don’t repeat that.” He ran a palm across his forehead. “That information could be dangerous to
an offensive lineman like myself. We’re s’pose to be tough.”
“You play football?” she questioned innocently.
 “You didn’t know?” He appeared slightly put out by her indifference. “I’m Torin Godfrey with the
Titans.”
“Torin the Titan.” She clicked her tongue. Now was the time to lay the act on thick. She switched
to agent mode. “I like it. And you’re a professional football player?” She pumped out her chest and
said it in the most sorority flirtatious way she could muster without vomiting. “My sister’s a physical
therapist. She sells orthopedic braces, specifically back braces to aid in the recovery and pain of
back injuries football players like you sustain and constantly battle.” She slipped her hand into her
purse, pulled out a business card, and handed it to him. “If you’d like to try it out, give her a call.”
He nodded with apparent interest as he examined the card, then placed it into his bag. Mission
accomplished; she’d get her sister’s business off the ground.
“Titans,” she continued, staring out the windshield at the massive stone fountain with white lights
illuminating a woman draped in robes pouring water from her vessel into the pool she kneeled in.
“Well that explains your fountain. Torin the Titan with the Triton fountain.” She blew out an exhausted
breath. “That’s a tongue twister if I ever heard one.” She winked. “If anyone asks about the fountain,
you can say you’re a Titan, through and through. Personally, I prefer the real story, but we aren’t
always able to offer the truth. Are we?” She sighed. “Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is lie to
protect ourselves and those we love.”
“You messin’ with me? You don’t really believe that?” He paused when she didn’t respond. “Do
you?” he questioned, remaining in his seat as she jumped out of her car and opened the trunk.
With apparent reluctance, he climbed out of the car and joined her at the back. “I’m an idiot. I
can’t believe I never asked you your name.” He moved both of his bags to one arm and extended his
hand to her.
“It’s Ginny,” she said, taking his hand. She held on for longer than socially acceptable, but he
didn’t seem to mind. She released his hand, severing the calming connection, took in a deep breath,
and closed her trunk.
He brushed her arm. “Don’t you ever worry about the types of guys you might be required to drive
around? Or where they’ll take you?”
She didn’t like the protective look he gave her. It made her more vulnerable somehow. “No,” she
said in her most naïve voice.
“Can I have your number, Ginny?”
“Oh, you know how Uber goes, you get whoever is closest.” She gave him a timid smile, hoping
he’d buy her naïve bit.
He might not get her number, but she had his. Eight: the number of times he had moved growing
up. Four: the number of bone fractures he’d sustained. Three: the number of serious girlfriends he’d
had. Six’ five”: his stature. Two hundred sixty-five: his weight. One: number of siblings. Four:
number of speeding infractions. Twelve: the age when he started playing football. Two: the number of
pro-football teams he’d played for before the Titans. 4.0: his GPA from MIT with a degree in
Electrical Engineering he finished remotely after being drafted into the NFL his junior year.
She knew who she drove around, and they usually served a purpose, including Torin Godfrey. But,
unlike her other fares, her mission with him had been purely personal to help her sister. With less
risk, she allowed herself to put down her guard. She couldn’t help it; this guy was straight out of a
storybook.
“Maybe I’ll pick you up again sometime. You’re perfect.” She caught her breath when he gave her
a smile that said he knew she was into him. “You’ve been the perfect fare,” she corrected.
She turned away before she did something really stupid, like give him her number and beg him to
call. She opened her door, closed it, and sped away without looking back.
The life of a spy didn’t include true love. That was reserved for the olden day storybooks.
2
T orin dropped his bags in the front entry, stumbled to his room, and sank, fully clothed, between his
cool sheets. He hadn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep at any given stretch for the past two
weeks. He was glad he could help his sister Kaitlyn out with her newborn baby, but his niece, the
adorable bitty Anna, only slept while she was skin-to-skin, and she loved the skin on Torin’s chest.
The moment her cheek met his pecs—she was out cold, more like out hot. It was like having a little
breathing heating pad attached to his chest.
With her husband deployed to the Middle East and their mama in heaven, Kaitlyn had no one to
help her when she had Anna last month. When she had called Torin in tears, desperate for sleep and
maternal comfort, he rushed to Atlanta. Luckily, it was May and spring training hadn’t begun yet,
allowing him time to travel at will. A few days before he left Atlanta, he found a full-time nanny for
Kaitlyn, providing him some peace of mind. At least his sister’s immediate needs would be taken
care of.
He wished he could have stayed longer, but he had a sportsman’s expo in two days he couldn’t
miss, then a benefit for his buddy in a week. The Titan boys were tight like brothers and that’s how
they supported each other. They each had their own charitable organizations they believed strongly in
and the players were religious in their attendance of each other’s charitable event.
Most of the players understood what it was like to grow up without privilege. Their charities
were predominately altruistic but also a necessity. They doubled as tax write-offs. When a players’
income reached into the millions, tax write-offs were a must.
Torin drifted off to sleep with the tang of copper in the air as the bright malleable wire threaded
through his hands as it left the spool, leaving behind a black sticky film on his fingertips. In his dream,
the room was dark, stale, and insufferably hot. He rolled another spool of copper wire to his machine
and connected it to the line. The wire felt different as it threaded through his hands, resembling silky
hairs. He brought the wire to his nose and breathed in its floral scent. Ginny? Torin jumped forward
and hit the red cut-off button, sending the machine to a screeching halt.
He struggled to slow his respirations as his eyes flew open. He wasn’t at his summer high school
job at the wire plant in rural Georgia. He was home in Dallas. He grabbed his phone from off the
nightstand; 3 a.m. He’d slept six hours.
Had the copper haired girl been real? Or was it all a dream he now woke from? She had to be
real. He had battled his fatigue during that entire drive home from the airport just to talk with her.
Their conversation was now scrambled in his mind, mingling and melding with his disturbing dream.
He cursed how his brain had gotten messed-up from all those concussions.
Torin gave it as good as he took it on the football field, which didn’t give him much comfort, to
think he had given guys on the other side of that line concussions, causing them to wake up in night
sweats like he did. Night terrors were just another byproduct of pro-football, but would he have
changed his course? If he could turn back time, would he still have played?
Heck yes he would. He loved the sport. He loved his buddies, and he hated to admit it—but he
loved the money and the attention.
There was one way to know if the copper beauty was real. Torin stepped out of bed and down the
hall to the front entry. He sifted through his carryon bag until he located the crisp business card. He
brought it to his nose and breathed in the scent of lavender and sweet vanilla. It read: Scarlett Young,
Doctor of Physical Therapy.
He glanced over at the grandfather clock in his living room. 3:20 a.m. He couldn’t call anyone
right now. But it was almost 5:30 Atlanta time. He would have been up feeding little Anna if he were
in Atlanta right now. A visceral, almost primitive longing to protect and shelter his niece from harm
overtook him.
Torin had never thought about having any kids of his own before, until now. He had never been
certain he even wanted any snotty-nosed creatures running around, making messes and upsetting his
guests, but baby Anna woke something primal inside of him that he guessed women were born with.
When he walked out Kaitlyn’s door yesterday morning, he never thought he’d miss Anna’s
constant squeals or how her spit up flowed down his bare chest. But he missed it all. And this big
quiet house only magnified the void in his gut.
Ginny was beautiful. She could give him adorable babies. He walked to the kitchen sink and
splashed water on his face. Tough NFL players weren’t supposed to think like that. He’d start at
square one by figuring out how to impress Ginny.
He paced the length of his house and back, weaving through the living room attached to the
kitchen, and stopped in front of his home gym. Dang, he needed an intense workout. He passed his
office/man den that looked out into his back yard at the enclosed deck and Olympic-sized pool. He
then paced the four thousand feet again as he mulled over what had worked for him in the past;
flowers, chocolates, love notes, friend’s recommendations, taking flowers to a girl’s mother…a light
flickered in his brain. It was that first idea coming back to him; Scarlett, the sister.
He could arrange for Scarlett to have a booth at the sportsman’s expo. That would impress Ginny.
He rubbed his face and sighed, remembering that there were no longer spaces available. He’d heard
that booth rentals had sold out over six months ago, and they were pricey. But they wouldn’t say no to
him if he gave testimonial about his personal experience with the back supports and how the Titans
and their sport’s drink sponsor would be willing to share a space with the amazing inventor.
He jogged to his office and turned on his home computer. He couldn’t remember the last time he
had booted it up. When he traveled, he sometimes carried his laptop, but he did most of his
correspondence with his phone.
It was too early to call, but he could email. He typed a letter to the convention liaison, an
associate of his from MIT who now put on these sports’ expos around the nation and who had
contacted Torin to get the Titans scheduled at the event. The Titans would be one of the main ticket
items to bring in buyers to the expo. Torin had immediately contacted the Titan’s sport’s drink sponsor
and told them he’d be willing to take the booth at the expo if they would release him from the late
December event in Toronto. Who wanted to go to Toronto in December? The sponsors said yes and
Torin committed two of his team buddies to go with him.
Torin opened his internet browser and brought up Scarlett’s website. He researched the back
supports for a few minutes, then finished his email with a testimonial, raving about the products. He
hit the send button and pumped his fist in the air. He was one step closer to beautiful offspring. Now,
he simply needed to convince the copper-haired beauty.
He knew he should try and get more sleep to set his internal clock right, but he was too jazzed up
with thoughts of Ginny’s copper hair and her electric personality. Copper, electricity? The surges
running through him could knock out the greater Dallas power grid. He needed to expend some of that
pent-up energy to prevent the remaining functional circuits in his brain from getting fried—and him
ending up a vegetable.
 He glanced out the office’s French doors at the pool. That could do it; a nice long swim. He
stripped off his clothes. Was it still skinny dipping if you were the only one swimming in the privacy
of your own pool? A smile split his lips as memories filled his mind of his high school days when he
and his buddies jumped the fences of the upscale neighborhood pools and skinny dipped to the chatter
of katydids. He didn’t think on that for too long. He bolted out the doors and dove into the pool,
loving how the moonlight shimmered across the dark water before he upset the glow with a smooth
dive.

***

Ginny’s thighs burned as she and Scarlett climbed the high school stadium bleachers. “Why do we do
this to ourselves?” Ginny let out a huff. “Remind me again.”
“You’re the one who wakes me up at 5:30 a.m. every morning with those incessant emojis.”
Ginny shrugged. “Can I help it if I’m an early riser? You’re the drill sergeant here.”
“No,” Scarlett objected. “You’re the one who decides what exercises we’re doing that day and
where we go. I just modify the workout to be as joint friendly as possible.” Scarlett stopped at the top
of the bleachers and rested a hand on her hip. “Why do we go somewhere different every day?”
“I’m protecting us from getting dementia, keeping it fresh, discovering new places, living life to
its fullest.” Ginny lifted a defiant eyebrow. “Want more?”
“More reasons why we end up somewhere different every morning?” Scarlett challenged her with
a look. “Or more reasons why you never let a guy take you out on more than one date?”
“Where did that come from?” Ginny laughed. “And look whose talkin’?” Dating wasn’t on the
agenda for Ginny. It was an occupational hazard waiting to happen, but she did want Scarlett to find a
nice guy.
Scarlett slumped into a red bleacher seat. “Are we destined to be like the Austen sisters?”
“Austen sisters?” Ginny questioned, pulling Scarlett back up onto her feet to continue their jog
down the stairs.
“You know…how Jane Austen and her sister ended up,” she said, making quotation marks with
her fingers, “as ‘old maids’? But at least they lived together. Why won’t you move into my house with
me. I don’t understand why you want to live in that small apartment downtown by yourself.”
In reality, Ginny had two separate apartments in two very distinct areas of Dallas, one of which
Scarlett had never visited—and never would. “You know how I feel about Jane Austen.”
“I know.” Scarlett rolled her eyes. “You don’t do romance.”
“I can handle a little heat,” Ginny said defensively. “It’s that sitting around crocheting all day and
brooding. And who could write that stuff? Seriously, why don’t those romance authors go out and do
something useful.” She smiled brightly at Scarlett. “Like my brilliant sister who developed the next
big thing in physical therapy and pain maintenance.”
“Ahh, shucks,” Scarlett said, bowing her head and shuffling her feet like the timid scarecrow in
the classic Wizard of Oz.
Ginny let out a howling laugh and hugged her sister. “What would I do without you, sis?”
“Be crippled and injured,” Scarlett answered with a grin. “Because you start your exercises with
the incorrect form every time.”
They shook off their legs as they walked to their cars. “I do,” Ginny admitted gingerly. “Don’t I?”
 Scarlett’s phone chimed. “I need to turn off my email notifications.” She reached into her fanny
pack and pulled out her phone. “It’s driving me nuts. My phone makes a noise every time I get a new
email.” Her brows knit together as she stared down at the screen.
“What’s wrong?” Ginny questioned, opening her car doors to release the scorching air before she
dared sit inside the mobile oven. She should have left the top down.
“I don’t get it,” Scarlett said with confusion. “I never signed up to have a booth at the sportsman’s
expo tomorrow. It says here that Torin Godfrey from the Texas Titans has offered to share a booth
with me because he loves my stuff.” Scarlett shook her head. “I need to tell this guy he’s got the
wrong person.”
“Let me see it,” Ginny said, reaching for Scarlett’s phone. She read the message. “It looks like it’s
all set.” She shrugged. “There’s even an attachment here with detailed instructions on how to pass
through security and the requirements for setting up your table.” Ginny pointed to Scarlett’s phone.
“I’d do it, if I were you.”
Scarlett crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Explain yourself.”
Ginny hadn’t gotten away with this one. “Okay.” She paused, tilting her chin down as she
extended her hands out to explain herself. “So, I happened to give Torin a ride home from the airport
last night and may or may not have slipped him your business card.”
“You’re the best!” Scarlett screamed, waving her hands in the air before lifting Ginny off the
ground and squeezing her center. She placed her back onto the ground. “But how did you get him to
say he’d tried my back supports,” she said, typing something into her browser.
“I’m shocked,” Ginny admitted honestly, but then she winked wickedly. “That’s how you know if
a man’s a keeper. Any man will defend your honor, but only a man truly under your hex will lie for
you.”
Scarlett held up her phone with a Paparazzi photo of Torin on the beach, looking all buff and
gorgeous. “So, is he under my hex or yours? Cause this guy is super hot and rich.”
“Yours,” Ginny tried to keep straight face.
“Not buying it. If you don’t date this guy…” Scarlett shook her head. “But seriously, I don’t feel
right about Torin recommending my stuff if he’s never tried it.” She pointed a finger at Ginny. “I’ll
make you a deal, if you take him a few of my back supports to try, maybe smooch a little bit while
you’re there,” she wiggled her eyebrows, “then I’ll go to the expo.”
“Hard ball, huh?” Ginny tapped her chin dramatically. “Tell you what, I’ll write a note to go into
the package and we’ll send it same day delivery.”
Scarlett held up her hand with her pinkie finger extended. Ginny wrapped her pinkie finger around
her sister’s and they pressed their foreheads together; something they’d done since childhood to enact
a promise.
3
T orin placed the package with no return address onto his kitchen counter and examined it. His
address wasn’t listed. He couldn’t hide what neighborhood he lived in from the press, but only a few
close friends and family knew his house number.
The package looked normal. But was it safe? One of his ex-teammates who lived in the same
neighborhood had a stalker a few years back. The stalker had planted a bomb in his buddy’s house
and detonated it, destroying a bedroom or two. Thankfully, no one was hurt.
Leaning on his electrical engineering background, Torin shook the box, then tore it open with
gusto. Everyone needed a little excitement in their lives, and, without the adrenaline rush on the
football field, his life was downright boring. He recognized that his actions were most likely more
stupid than brave, but it gave him a slight thrill to take that chance.
The box held what appeared to be sewn black webbing. Was it a mountain climbing harness? He
didn’t know; he’d never scaled a mountain before.
Torin pulled the strapped contraption out of its box and scrutinized it in the air in front of his face.
A pocket-sized piece of yellow paper dislodged from the tangle and floated gently to the hardwood
floor.
The note read: Torin, Thank you for your lies. They were most kind, but I will make an honest
man of you. Ginny.
“She’ll make an honest man out of me!” He pumped his fist in the air. That meant she wanted to go
out with him, right? At least that’s what he deciphered from the hand-written note. She had written I
will. That was the future tense, but why didn’t she give him her phone number?
He opened the Uber app and ordered a lift to an expensive restaurant downtown for a late lunch.
When the options of drivers popped up, Ginny wasn’t one of them. He cancelled the ride. He’d try
again later.

***

Later that day, an hour before sunset, Ginny pulled at her black wig in the mirror of her car visor. It
was secure. She counted down from ten in Russian, priming her mind to cue into the language. She
grabbed her violin case from the passenger seat, stepped out into the balmy evening, and made her
way through the full parking lot to the old mansion utilized as a popular venue for contracted events.
This wasn’t the first time she had posed as entertainment at the mansion. She entered in through
the caterers’ entrance unnoticed and walked with confidence and purpose into the main hall. The room
was dark and heavy, adorned in hunter green and gold. The green of the carpet and drapes matched
her evening gown by design. She preferred to blend in to her environment. She only wanted to gain
the attention of one man at the political gathering.
The party guests stood in small groups and spoke with fervor above the flawless piano
performance. No one gave much heed to the background music or musicians unless the piece spoke to
their souls, and her piece would hopefully speak to that one dangerous man. She swallowed back her
fear as she approached the piano.
“You ready for a break?” Ginny questioned the pianist as he lifted his fingers from the piano keys
and shook out his fluffy brown hair.
His dark eyes told her he didn’t like the disruption. “I thought they wanted me to play all
evening?”
“I was hired to relieve you for thirty minutes,” she said with a bright, innocent smile. “I
absolutely love these hosts. Don’t you? I played an event for them a few weeks back and they had a
pianist come relieve me.” She cocked her head to the side when he produced a scowl. This wouldn’t
be as fluid as she thought. Some artists lived to entertain. “But if you don’t want to take a break,” she
raised her eyebrows, “no skin off my back. I’ve already been paid, so I’ll just grab a drink and mingle
until my time is up.”
He closed the lid over the piano keys. “We can drink?” he questioned, his eyes widening with his
every word.
Ginny nodded. “The daiquiris are divine.”
“Be back in thirty,” he said, rushing off toward the open bar.
She spent a few minutes tuning her violin, then started into a rendition she had compiled of soft
classical melodies; the typical stuff heard on elevators that no one seemed to mind or pay attention to.
She slowly walked the perimeter of the room as she played. On her second circle around the
room, her ear caught Russian. She finished her piece, then started into a Russian classic, the one
played at his inauguration into office. Bingo. One middle-aged man with a beer gut and thinning gray
hair broke from his social circle and strode toward her.
Ginny ignored him at first, playing the part of a true musician immersed in her art. She closed her
eyes and swayed to the somber arrangement. Now for the hook. She widened her stance slightly,
allowing the hem of her dress to rise above her knees. She gave him sufficient time to study her bare
legs before she smiled up at him with doe eyes.
By the hunger in his eyes, she had him. This guy was known for his promiscuous, and often
dangerous, behaviors. But he was good at what he did. He knew how to sway state government
officials to vote in favor of his party’s agenda. Blackmail or payoffs would be more accurate than
sway. Perhaps that’s why he was kept in his position. After tonight, hopefully his employers would
cut the cord.
“You must be parched after that beautiful playing,” he said in a heavy accent. “Can I get you a
drink?” By the malty vapors escaping his mouth, he had already had a few.
“Yes, thank you, but my roommates are all out for the evening,” she said shyly as she looked to the
floor, then fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Possibly for the night, and I have to drive myself home. I’d
better only have a tonic with lime.”
“It’s a shame you’ll be all alone this evening.” He rubbed a palm of his hand against his suit pant
leg. “If I could arrange a room for you upstairs, would you like something stronger?”
She waited a moment and pouted her lips as if contemplating his offer, then leaned into his ear and
whispered, “I’ve found that this helps when I have trouble sleeping.” She uncorked a miniature glass
vial with two blue pills and held it out for him to investigate. They looked identical to a drug used to
enhance intimacy. “If you can find me a place to sleep, and you’d like to share this with me, bring us
two drinks.”
She winced internally as his hand slid down her back.
“It will be a night to remember,” he said, stepping away.
“Not that you’ll remember,” she said quietly as she raised the violin and settled her chin in place
to play another piece.
He returned just as she finished.
She placed her violin in its case and pulled out the glass vial. She giggled childishly. “This stuff
really helps me let go of my inhibitions.” She discreetly placed a pill in each of their glasses,
assuring that the placement of the pills was only visible to him.
Ginny swirled her glass until the pill dissolved halfway, taking care to assure his had dissolved
completely. “It only takes two sips. More than that and we’ll be out cold in no time.”
He laughed. “You think I can’t handle it?” He downed the drink in two gulps.
“What’s the room number?” she said in a hushed tone. “Leave the door unlocked. I’ll freshen up,
then come to you without being seen.”
A wicked smile played in his deep caramel eyes. “Room 211. Come to me soon or I will come
find you.”
His threat settled deep in her gut. She needed to tread with care. “I’ll be there.” She took a long
sip and exaggerated a swallow. She took his glass from him, winked, and walked to the ladies’ room,
turning back to catch his gawking eye.
Once inside the bathroom, she locked the door and spat her drink into the sink, but it had been in
her mouth too long. She wouldn’t be able to escape some of its effects. She prayed they’d be minor as
she rinsed her mouth with vigor, then gently placed his glass into a plastic bag.
Before long, the secret knock echoed through the room. Ginny opened the door to a fellow female
agent.
Ginny handed the agent, known to her as Agent 62395, the Russian’s drinking glass. “Room 211.”
“You’ve done your part,” the agent, dressed in a server’s costume said in a monotone voice that
Ginny could’ve fallen asleep to. “We’ll take it from here.”
“His prints are good.” Ginny motioned to his glass. “And he downed the entire thing,” she sighed
at the man’s stupidity. “He’ll be passed out within minutes and you’ll have full access to his room.
Let’s hope he has the data we’re looking for.” She reached for the door handle. “And if you plant his
room as planned, he’ll think it was just another one of his flings.”
Her fellow agent nodded. Ginny didn’t know the agent’s name, only her number. She had made the
mistake of becoming friends with fellow agents in the past, and then they died. She shivered,
remembering when Jenny took her last excruciating breath, and the pained look in Seth’s eyes when he
realized he wouldn’t make it. It was easier to say goodbye to someone who didn’t have a name.
A few minutes later, Ginny sat in her car and contemplated how to spend the remainder of her
evening. She craved normalcy, connection, anything to drown out the ghosts in her head. Scarlett had
gone to a movie with friends. That’s something Ginny couldn’t have, real friends, at least not now. It
was too dangerous for everyone involved. Ginny should have distanced herself from Scarlett the
moment she was recruited, but Scarlett was her only lifeline and Ginny had accepted a career as an
intelligence officer to protect her sister from a greater danger.
Ginny and Scarlett had had a target on their backs since infancy, thanks to their mother’s
involvement in the Irish Republican Army. Ginny’s maternal grandparents had been heavily involved
in the IRA and had a difficult time dropping their arms when the party adopted peaceful diplomacy in
the mid-1990s. Growing up in that environment, it was an engrained part of her mother’s identity,
something she either couldn’t, or wasn’t willing, to give up.
Ginny had always known her mother was different from other moms, more paranoid and less
affectionate. It wasn’t until a psychology class in college that she recognized that what her mother
suffered from was a severe case of PTSD.
 She had approached her father in anger, demanding to understand how a psychiatrist would not
have gotten his wife the proper treatment or protected his children from her constant abuse. That
conversation didn’t go well. Turned out even psychiatrists don’t always take their own advice.
Without her father’s assistance, and not wanting to alarm Scarlett, Ginny had gone on a lone quest
to understand the origin of her mother’s PTSD. The dark discovery of her family ties to the IRA
catapulted Ginny to a dismal angry place where she felt only the military could beat the anger out of
her, and it did.
With Ginny’s security clearance, she was now able to monitor her mother’s correspondence and
interrupt anything dangerous or implicating. Ginny had worked years to eliminate the threat to her
family, and she was now within reach.
Last year, her father had finally acknowledged his wife’s disorder and agreed with Ginny that the
best thing for everyone was to have he and his wife retire to Costa Rica to an area off the grid, but
with access to civilization and medical care.
Ginny hadn’t burdened Scarlett with the knowledge of their mother’s IRA ties and the danger it
placed the family in. Without that insight, Scarlett understandably fought against the move, but
reluctantly agreed. Together, the sisters purchased a small home on the Costa Rican Nicoya Peninsula
where life would be quiet and beautiful for their parents.
Once her family was no longer a target, Ginny could retire from being a spy and do something
normal, like be a real Uber driver. And that’s exactly what Ginny needed to do to silence her mind—
give someone a lift and wish she had their normal, boring life.
In less than fifteen seconds, she pulled out her phone, accessed her Uber account, and noted her
immediate availability. A ride request popped up from Torin’s address. It made sense, the mansion
was less than a mile from Torin’s house with the Greek fountain.
Ginny relaxed into her seat, contemplating Torin’s therapeutic touch as her finger slid across the
screen to accept his ride request.
4
Even with his four-hour intense workout earlier that day, Torin couldn’t get the copper-haired beauty
out of his head. Her red hair had lit a flame inside of him that wouldn’t die and a thirst that wouldn’t
quench.
He pulled Scarlett’s card out of his wallet, ignoring the fact that he was on the way of becoming
the stalker he himself constantly fended off. He dialed her work number. Before he pressed the last
number, he received a text from Uber.
“Yes!” he shouted when Ginny’s photo popped up as his driver, although the name under her photo
read Candace.
The app showed Ginny’s car approaching his neighborhood. He panicked. She was only a few
minutes out and he still hadn’t showered. He ran to his room, jumped into a cold, twenty second
shower, then threw on black slacks and a grey button up shirt. The doorbell rang before he had a
chance to throw on a tie. He tousled his hair with thick, aromatic pomade as he sprinted for the door.
He opened the front door with the same anticipation he had as a boy waking up to gifts under the
tree on Christmas morning. The emotions churning inside of him when he drank her in rivaled any
Christmas morning he’d ever had.
“You?” He blinked his eyes a few times. “You’re hair?”
She had dyed her ginger hair jet black. Her dark loose curls framed her milky face and large green
eyes.
Her bold eyes widened with a look of discomposure. “Oh,” she stammered out, then regained her
poise. “Do you like it?” she questioned, twisting a section in her fingers.
The mystery behind those beautiful elusive eyes intrigued him. She seemed so giddy and full of
life one moment and haunted by ghosts the next. He found her exciting and fresh—while at the same
time veiled and mystic. She was like the most esteemed paragon in a fairy tale.
“You look amazing,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. “Straight out of a fantasy storybook.”
Or a fantasy straight out of his dreams.
She touched his hand. “Did you say storybook?”
He threaded his fingers through hers as an electric bolt surged through his heart, then ricocheted
out, pulsating as it rippled through his veins, causing his muscles to quiver.

***

The setting sun cast rays of pale crimson and cerulean blue across the evening sky as they stood on
Torin’s porch with their fingers intertwined. Ginny smoothed her hand against his and enjoyed how
his palm ridged with deep callouses from years of dedication to his sport. Did he feel as tranquilized
as she did when they touched? It was the first pause of solace Ginny had felt since he had touched her
last.
“This is not professional of me,” she said, pulling her hand back.
Had she lost her focus? She never got caught up in moments like these. First, she forgot to remove
her wig. Second, she held this guy’s hand. She was getting sloppy, and when a spy got sloppy,
someone got hurt.
She turned away from him and walked toward her car. “Why don’t we get you to the restaurant, so
you can meet up with your party,” she said cheerfully.
“I have a confession to make,” he grabbed her hand before they reached her car. “I don’t need a
ride anywhere, but I did make reservations. Would you be my date tonight?”
Her mouth must have dropped open momentarily, because he laughed as he studied her lips and
chin. When he took her hand in his, she suddenly felt faint. Her anxiety spiked. The blue pill. If the
little blue pill was taking affect, she’d need food in her stomach asap. Note to self; eat before
swishing with a sedative that could knock out a bear.
“I would love to,” she said with a soft smile.
“Perfect. Do you mind if I drive? I’d like to open your door for you.”
If they didn’t hurry, he may need to do more than open her door; he may need to carry her.
“Can’t handle the speed?” she teased, walking toward his car.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ll show you speed.”
“Promise?” she almost begged. Time was of the essence.
They made it to the exclusive restaurant in record time. Torin had been true to his word. He
opened her door and offered his hand, then his arm, allowing her to lean into him as they walked into
the restaurant. She couldn’t have planned it better because she could no longer walk in a straight line.
The posh restaurant sported white linen and tapered candles. Ginny’s chest grew heavy when she
recognized the paintings on the wall. She had been here before. The exclusive club had ties to a
mafia. The night of their operation, the mission had been compromised, exposing the agents. Ginny
had made it out with her arm grazed by a bullet. The other agent hadn’t been so lucky, and that one had
a name.
Ginny fought back her tears. “Excuse me, I need to find the restroom.”
“Of course,” he said, concern clouding his voice. “I’ll wait to be seated.”
“Don’t be silly,” her voice slowed to nearly a slur. “I’ll come find you.”
Instead of heading to the restroom, she went straight to the bar. She pulled a twenty-dollar bill
from her purse and waved it at the bartender. She had no time for pleasantries. She hadn’t eaten in
time and needed a cover, and quick, to explain why she was acting drunk. “I have an unusual request.
I need a tiny squirt of lemon and vodka in a wide glass with a salted rim please.”
The bartender furrowed his brow and grimaced but reluctantly prepared her “drink.” She swirled
the small amount of liquid up the sides of her glass and waited until a sufficient amount of time had
passed for her story to be believable, then made her way to Torin’s table.
Her stomach ached when the aroma of freshly baked bread hit her nose. She held her glass in the
air. “They were handing out free drinks in the lobby.” She set her glass on their table and took her
seat. “That smells so good.”
He gave her an inquisitive look as if he wanted to ask her a question. “You setting that glass down
reminds me of the last time I was here.”
“Oh really?” She didn’t like how rude she appeared at having enjoyed a drink without him or how
she feverishly started into her food, but her physical, as well as mental, abilities were rapidly failing
her. She took a roll and bit into it. “What does it remind you of?” she questioned, breaking off another
piece of bread and chewing it with purpose.
“Even though the Texas Titans is the third NFL team I’ve played for, it was my first year as a
Titan. And as a rookie to the team, it was customary to have the new guys buy the entire team drinks at
an inaugural night out with the guys. I’m not much of a drinker, so I didn’t know what to expect. When
they handed me the bill, I about passed out.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Fifty-grand to
split between the three of us. Can you believe it?”
“Wow.” She blew out a low whistle. “I don’t drink either,” she pointed to her glass. “Virgin.”
He took her glass and smelled it. “Ginny, this is not virgin, and, considering how you’re slurring
your words right now, I’d say it was pretty strong.”
“How?” she questioned innocently. “I asked for a virgin Margarita.”
“How high was this filled?”
Ginny touched the rim of the glass. “At first it was only to here.” She pointed to a third of the way
up. “But after that first sip, I told the bartender how much I liked it and he filled it to the top and
chatted with me as I drank it.” She smiled brightly. “He’s really nice. Said I could come in any time,
even by myself and he’d pour me another one for free.” She hoped she hadn’t laid it on too thick.
Judging by the rose color in Torin’s cheeks, she had gone too far with her naïve stint and implicating
the bartender.
His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head to one side. “You feelin’ alright?”
“Now that you ask.” She cast her eyes to the ceiling. “I am feeling a little dizzy.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.” She twisted her lips. “But I’m getting really sleepy.” She slumped into her chair. “Do you
mind if we leave?”
Torin stood and held out his hand. She took his hand and smiled, but her legs refused to lift her
body.
“Sorry.” Fear engulfed her. She had never experienced the sensation of incapacitation before and
she decided she’d never allow this to happen again. “My legs don’t want to cooperate.”
The muscles in Torin’s jaw tightened as he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the club.
“That bartender is lucky I have my arms full of something precious, or I’d knock him from here to
Timbuktu.”
Once in his arms, her fear subsided. She basked in the serenity he provided. “Do me a favor,” she
said, straining to keep her eyes open. “Don’t contact my sister. I feel like an idiot. I’ll sleep this off
and I don’t want to worry her.”
“Where do you want me to take you?” he said in a breathy, strained voice, but he didn’t appear
winded.
“With you,” her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the sedative.
5
T orin drove into his garage with Ginny slumped over the center console, her arms stretched to the
floor. “That doesn’t look comfortable,” he said.
“It’s not,” she replied.
He hadn’t expected her to answer. “You awake?”
“No,” she sighed out with her eyes closed.
He had to restrain himself from laughing. He’d had plenty of drunk girls come on to him, but
Ginny acted different somehow, and she didn’t smell like alcohol. He leaned down and took in a deep
inhale of her hair and neck. She smelled like lavender and vanilla.
He quickly jumped out of the car and went to her passenger side door. He pulled her into his arms
and out the passenger door.
“Do you want to walk?”
“I can’t,” she whined as if she wanted to. “My legs aren’t working.” She kissed his neck in
gratitude as he cradled her in his arms. “Thanks.”
A surge of adrenaline coursed through him. “No problem.”
Her tiny frame was surprisingly heavy. He imagined that if she flexed, she’d be all muscle, but
right now—she was all mush.
He stopped abruptly as he stepped in through the doorframe of the garage into his house and
stared down at her peaceful face. He had always imagined the first girl he carried across the
threshold of his home would be his newlywedded wife.
“You okay?” she whispered. “Want me to try and walk?”
He shook his head, wishing she would open those amazing eyes and look up at him. “I’m good.”
He continued walking. “It just feels like a lie, carrying you inside my house without me being in a tux
and you in a wedding dress.” She wouldn’t remember the conversation anyways.
She smiled, showing a strip of her straight teeth and patted his cheek. “I’ll make an honest man of
you yet.”
“Promise?” he laughed out as he carried her up the stairs to the guest loft with a king-sized bed
and private bath that rivaled his master suite.
He pulled back the covers on the bed.
“Promise.” She held her hand in front of his face with her pinky finger out.
Was that a promissory sign of some sort like the Boy Scout sign and salute? He wasn’t sure what
to do, so he gave her pinky a quick kiss. She released a soft, throaty giggle as he set her gently into the
bed and folded the covers over her, tucking them in at the side.
He sat next to the bed and watched her breathe. She slept more peacefully now than in his car. He
didn’t want to be that creepy guy who stared at women, especially not a sleeping woman, but it
amazed him how anyone could sleep so peacefully. As he contemplated her gentle, 100% feminine
face, it made him happy for some inexplicable reason. He couldn’t, however, rationalize staring at her
all night.
He stood and turned to walk back down the stairs when he heard a strange noise bubble out of her
throat. She no longer held a serene facial expression. Her body tensed, and her chest lifted and fell
rapidly. “No, no, no. Scarlett,” she said as if in the middle of a nightmare.
 “Ginny?” Torin slipped his hand inside the covers and held her arm. “You’re alright,” he said in a
comforting voice.
Her body relaxed as quickly as it had tensed. “Don’t go.” Her eyes fluttered under her eyelids, but
they didn’t open. “Will you hold me again?”
Torin contemplated her request. “You want me to…” He paused for a few seconds. “Lie down
with you?”
“Yes,” she drew out. “I’ve never been more at peace than when you touch me.”
Now Torin knew he was dreaming. Had the dream started last night when he reached the airport?
Or was he dead? Fear overtook him. Maybe his flight had gone down, and this was the waiting place
before heaven. Or this was heaven.
He looked down at Ginny again. It didn’t seem too far off to think she might be an angel. She
radiated light through her creamy, flawless skin and plump lips. And she was asking him to touch her?
He sprinted to the loft’s bathroom and splashed water on his face. He took a few minutes to regroup,
then went back to her bedside.
Ginny’s face wrestled with some unseen demon. How could he soothe her? All he wanted to do
was take away her fear and pain, like his need to protect his niece.
She patted the bed. “Lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.”
Where had he heard that before?
Torin laid down next to her, but on top of the covers. He would limit their contact. He knew his
limits and would never forgive himself if he made a move on her when she was so out of it. Being an
NFL star, he had had many opportunities to push that line, but he had a code he lived by; love and
commitment were prerequisites for sexual intimacy.
She continued, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:
for thou are with me.”
Memories of sitting on a hard bench in bible school skittered through Torin’s mind. Psalms. He
had found an angel. Only angels quoted the bible in their sleep.
Torin reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened his bibles app. He read through
Psalms until he ultimately found where Ginny had quoted from, number twenty-three. He agreed
completely with David, my cup runneth over.

***

Ginny warmed in a cocoon of comfort, from the back of her head to the bottom of her toes. She
released a euphoric sigh as she opened her eyes. Reality hit her like a sledgehammer to the face as
she stared out at the unfamiliar, powder-blue and brisk white room resembling a bedroom straight out
of a seaside cottage catalogue.
The events of last night flooded her mind like a rushing tsunami. She remembered every minute
detail. How was that possible with a sedative? She needed to find out what exactly was in that drug
to allow her to remember everything down to Torin’s exotic scent. Correction, how he now smelled
like cloves and coconut suntan lotion as he spooned her from behind with the back of her head nestled
happily against his pecks.
Ginny tensed with alarm, realizing they were lying on their left sides, spooning, with his right arm
draped over her body and sandwiched between hers as she held his hand in a death grip. With her
anxiety heightened, her respirations quickened.
As unluck would have it, turns out the sedative also worked as a type of truth serum on her. She
had told him how he had the power to relax her, and then she basically begged him to snuggle with her
all night. She released her grip of his hand. It felt amazing, snuggling into him, but she couldn’t stay in
his arms like this forever.
Judging by the light filtering in the room through the sheer white curtains, she guessed it was some
time after seven. Fortunately, Scarlett had an early physical therapy appointment scheduled to
accommodate her leaving at midday for the sports’ expo. They hadn’t planned on meeting for their
daily workout, saving Ginny from a very uncomfortable conversation.
Ginny couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in past 6:00 a.m. Not only that, she didn’t
wake once during the night. This guy could double as a calming blanket, or had the sedative been the
cause of her restful sleep?
She took in a deep breath, patted his arm gently, and scooted away from him, severing the serenity
bond between them. She caught his eye as she rolled over onto her stomach to sit up.
“Hi,” he said in a charming and relaxed voice.
“Hi?” she said inquisitively as she rolled onto her right side and leaned into her elbow to face
him. She bit at her lower lip and stared at his bare chest as he spoke. She could hear him speak but
the deep sounds leaving his lips bounced around in her head like sugar granules in a cotton candy
machine as it spun into fluffy cotton.
“Sleep okay, Candace?”
She nodded. Then did a double take of his ripped chest. “I always liked the name Candace.” She
swallowed hard, attempting to concentrate on not concentrating on his amazing body as her eyes
wandered down to his rippled abs. “It’s my Uber alias.”
“I like Ginny more.” He took a piece of her black wig and twisted it in his fingers. “And I prefer
ginger haired Ginnys.”
She pulled the pins out of her wig, removed it, and shook out her natural hair. “Thanks.” She
closed her eyes and tilted her head down, embarrassed at how she had gawked at his insanely
beautiful body.
“Stunning.” Torin brushed her hair back off her shoulder. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Better than okay. I think that was the best night sleep I’ve had in years.” What? Why was she
telling him that? Was that blasted truth serum still in her system?
He raised her chin with his fingertips. His ski-blue eyes were kind and gentle. Gentle and calming
like the still, calm waters of a mountain lake, in complete opposition of the turbulent deep blue of the
ocean.
She had heard married people say that they knew their spouse was right for them by how they felt
around them. They experienced a powerful feeling of contentment or completion. She’d always rolled
her eyes at those people, until now. Ginny had never felt so at ease, so fulfilled. She smiled one of
those dopey, blissful smiles.
“What are you so happy about?”
“I was just wondering how you intimidate on the football field when, to me, you are the
embodiment of peace.”
He shook with laughter. “No one has ever called me peaceful before.” He ran his finger down her
arm. “Except for that once, when a pretty girl told me she was never more at peace than when I
touched her.”
The moment of truth or lie had arrived; where she would either pretend she had been under the
influence and loopy last night—which was only a half-lie—or tell him the truth that he was the peanut
butter to her jelly. She took in a deep breath. “About that…”
He placed a finger to her lips, causing her body to erupt into a million goosebumps. “Please don’t
take that back. It was one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me.”
She nodded. This guy was sincere and kind, and in a way, vulnerable. She could see it in those
still-water blue eyes.
“We all have demons.” He tapped her shoulder. “But your demons appear to be more…ahh.” He
looked up to the ceiling, then back at her. “Like Harry Potter creepy.” He made a howling noise and
shook his hands.
She cracked an amused grin, relaxing in his easy nature. “You’re right. We do all have demons.
Suffice it to say, the least destructive thing my mom did to my psyche was repeatedly concocts stories
to embarrass me in front of my friends.” She shrugged. “At least Scarlett and I had each other to
convert the hurt into laughter, but that laughter can only blanket you for so long. At night, memories of
her iron fist and razor-sharp tongue are my demons.”
He cupped the back of her head and brought her forehead into his chest. When her skin touched
his, and she breathed in his coconut and clove scent, she nearly fainted. She swallowed back her
drool, took one last deep breath of his manly essence, and pulled back.
His face tugged up on one side and his nose wrinkled slightly. “Tough home life?”
“About as tough as it gets.” She sighed. “You?”
“I had it about as good as it gets.” His face held a look of concern. “I’m sorry you didn’t.”
“Thanks. But I came out of it, right?” she said in the most positive tone she could muster. “And I
like to think I can handle just about anything life throws at me now.”
He brushed her hand. “Can I tell you my parent’s story?”
She nodded. He had caught her interest, and in more than just his parent’s story. She wanted to
know everything about him.
He scooted closer to her. “I never met my grandparents. Either set.”
Ginny turned onto her stomach and gazed up into his face, letting him know he had her full
attention. She could relax here next to Torin forever, listening to his deep voice, and breathing in his
sweet and spicy scent.
Torin continued, “My mom and dad both came from abusive families. Part of me thinks that’s the
reason they got along so well together; they really understood each other.”
“And you never met your grandparents?”
He shook his head. “My momma and daddy had a talkin’ to their parents. They forgave ‘em but
couldn’t trust ‘em.”
“Wow.” Ginny blinked her eyes, stunned at his openness. “Thanks for trusting me enough to
disclose that.”
“You seem a little too amused,” he said sternly when she gave him a soft smile.
“I’m being sincere, it’s just.” She scrunched her nose as she searched for the best way to tell him
he spoke like a hick sometimes. “I think it’s the cutest thing how you speak with more of a Southern
drawl when you’re talking about back home. The other times, I hardly hear an accent.”
“No, I don’t,” he objected, but furrowed his brow as if he were reevaluating his objection. “You
didn’t ask what most people do when I explain to them why I don’t know my grandparents.”
“What’s that?”
“They’d say ‘how could your parents have really forgiven them and then cut them off from you
like that? It don’t sound like true forgiveness.’”
 “Well that’s ignorant,” Ginny huffed out. “Your parents were protecting you.”
He nodded. “They had their own demons that followed them through life on account of their
parents. They wanted a different life for their kids. They done decided not to just preach Christian
values but to really live them.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But by looking at my daddy, you’d a
never guessed it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He had a scruffy beard, tattoos, and drove a Harley.”
“That’s so cool.”
“It was cool…until he crashed his bike and died when I was a senior in high school.”
She pushed her palm across her forehead then rubbed her eyes. “I’m so sorry. That must have
been hard.”
“Hard don’t nearly describe it, but my momma taught me to be thankful for the time we had with
him. Her positive attitude and mental strength kept me strong. It sustained me when she died from
cancer and continues to sustain me with the mental game of football.”
“Sounds like you had amazing parents.”
“I did.” He stared down at the sheet between them. “I want to be just like ‘em. I want to give my
kids the same childhood I had.”
She wrapped her fingers around his upper arm. She tried, at least, but her fingers only made it
about a third of the way around his bicep. “Lucky kids, to have a dad like you.” Her body temperature
rose as she held his arm. And one lucky lady to be his wife.
She shook off the crazy notion that she might be able to settle down someday with a genuinely
kind guy like Torin—not to mention extremely hot. How could she manage a relationship with him
when she was a spy?
As she stared into his light blue eyes and drank in his smile, her desire to be with someone like
him, to spend a lifetime with a man like him, suddenly didn’t seem so out of reach.
“You really think so?” He raised an eyebrow. “Because I’d like the mother of those kids to be
able to quote the bible in her sleep.”
Adrenaline shot through her body. She swallowed hard and sat up, resting her back against the
white fabric headboard. She fanned her face, willing the red in her cheeks to fade. “Whoa there
cowboy. Let’s reign in that wild stallion. You don’t even know me, not really.”
He sat up as well, which didn’t help her predicament with his massive bare chest and muscles
and abs everywhere, giving her no other option than to stare at his glorious physique.
He winked. “Wild stallion. I like it. And we haven’t even kissed yet.”
She gave him the universal arrogant much? look. “Yet?”
“Are you denying your attraction to me?”
She crossed her arms and meditated on his words to determine if they were meant to be smug or
simply confident.
“Not exactly…more like you have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into, young man.”
His face broke into a wide grin. “Let me be the judge of that, young lady.”
She shook her head. “I’ve given you fair warning.”
He laughed and jumped up out of bed. “Ready for some breakfast?”
Her eyes watered from staying open for so long from staring at him. She couldn’t get over how
beautiful he was. She blinked and wiped her eyes. “Would you mind putting a shirt on?”
He grabbed his shirt from off a cushioned wicker chair. “What?” He slowly put his shirt on,
giving her a flirtatious smile as he dressed. “Are you afraid these muscles will burn your eyes?”
 She waved her hand in the air dismissively as she blew a hot breath out her puckered mouth. It
was better he didn’t know how on-target he was with that comment. “You are a confident one, aren’t
you? But seriously, you don’t want to be seen as a piece of meat, do you? I sure don’t like it when
men look at me like that.”
“Sorry. You were looking at me how, exactly?” He paused, but she didn’t take the bait. “And is
that a trick question? Because there’s only been once.” He raised his pointer finger. “There has only
been one time I can think of when it bothered me.”
“Oh?” she prodded.
“Yes, ma’am.” He shrugged, as if to tease her.
“You have to tell me now.”
“I’ll tell you over breakfast. If my sniffer still works, Jean is making Eggs Benedict, and he gets
mad as a bull if I don’t eat it the minute it’s ready.”
“Jean?” she nearly choked out. “You have a chef?”
“A temperamental French chef. I’m gonna take a two-minute shower and meet you downstairs.”
He motioned to the bathroom off the bedroom. “You’re welcome to take one as well.”
“Thanks, but I’ll shower at home after breakfast.” She rung her hands. “You sure he’ll have
enough food for me? I don’t want to impose.”
“He always makes extra, in case a friend stops in—which they do often to eat his cookin’. And
you’re parked where Jean normally parks, so he knows I have a guest.”
He hadn’t answered her real question. “Do you have guests…often?” her voice rose an octave.
He smiled that devilishly cocky smile. “Not overnight guests.” He motioned to the hallway. “Why
don’t you go meet Jean? He’s really friendly.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling Torin’s absence the second he walked out the door.
She stepped into the ocean inspired bathroom, rinsed her mouth out with green mouthwash she
found under the sink, and ran wet fingers through her hair to lift and style her wig head. She may not
want to be seen as a piece of meat, but she absolutely and unequivocally wanted Torin to see her as a
steaming hot, sophisticated woman.
Ginny stepped quietly down the stairs, straining to hear the treble voice speaking in throaty
French. When she reached the kitchen entrance, she stood behind a pillar that separated the two rooms
and watched as a small thin man somewhere in his early thirties spoke into the air as he poured a
generous amount of creamy yellow liquid over a plate that he held up in front of his face. She tilted
her head to one side and advanced toward him, trying to figure out why he would plate a dish like
that.
When she reached him, he turned around abruptly. The rim of the plate pressed into her chest and
bounced back, hitting Jean in the forehead. The plate plummeted to the tiled floor in a catastrophic
crash. Jean responded with an onslaught of French swear words.
“Sorry,” Ginny said, reaching for the paper towel roll on the counter and leaning down to wipe up
the mess.
He let out a dramatic sigh and shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said, waving an arm in the air as
if telling her not to worry.
She smiled up at him prematurely, because, in the next instant, his face turned down into a scowl
as he puffed a breath out the side of his mouth before continuing, “It is only the most amazing
hollandaise sauce I have ever made, and it is now smeared.” He held his hand out over the mess and
made circular motions. “Smeared all over the floor.”
This guy took his job seriously. Ginny walked over to the gas stovetop where the thick yellow
liquid rested in a double boiler pan. Jean released a nervous squeal as Ginny dipped her finger into
the sauce and brought it to her mouth. As the warm, creamy citrus coated the inside of her mouth, she
closed her eyes and moaned at the delicate butter and lemon flavor. She now understood why Torin
kept the temperamental chef around.
“Jean, have you ever heard of Amelia Bedelia?” she said, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and
scooping up a hearty spoonful.
By his furrowed brow, she guessed not. After she enjoyed her spoonful, she skipped to Jean,
wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you!” she exclaimed.
“Should I be jealous?” Torin’s deep voice echoed through the room.
Ginny laughed, causing Jean to give a deflated shrug.
Jean raised his sauce spoon. “Eggs Benedict, anyone?”
6
T orin took Ginny’s hand and led her out onto the back patio. “Jean,” he called back to the house,
“would you mind bringing the food out to the pool?”
Jean nodded.
Ginny rested her head into Torin’s arm as they walked along the winding gravel pathway. Would
she object if he tried to kiss her? He had wanted to kiss her earlier, but she had basically shot him
down. Why was she sending him such mixed signals? She had to be into him or she wouldn’t be
snuggling up to him now or have snuggled into him all night.
Whatever her deal, Torin would find out because the heat between them was real, almost tangible
and he knew she felt it as well. He just had to convince her that she wanted to be with him as much as
he wanted to be with her.
He led her to the patio table next to the pool and pulled out her chair.
Ginny stretched her back and yawned as she took her seat. “You have an amazing back yard. Do
you use the pool often?”
“I have a swim party or two during off-season, but it’s usually just me in the buff, swimming a few
laps.”
He hadn’t meant his comment to be provocative, but, by the rising color in Ginny’s cheeks, she
was either upset or intrigued by the idea.
She took a sip of the orange juice Jean had brought out to them and pointed to the glass. “Fresh
squeezed?”
“I buy bushels of oranges from a farmer in southern Texas.” He took a few gulps before
continuing. “Jean makes me fresh juice whenever he’s here.”
“Do you ever cook?”
“Is that another trick question?” He motioned to Jean, who approached with two plates loaded
with Eggs Benedict, asparagus, and baby red potatoes sautéed in olive oil and rosemary. “Would you,
if you had Jean around?” Jean made Torin’s favorite hearty breakfast at least once a week.
She pointed her fork at Torin and laughed. “No. I wouldn’t. Ever.” She took a hefty bite and
moaned. “Ever. Cook again.”
It made him happy to see her eating with such gusto. When he caught her eye, he winked. “Then
don’t. Ever cook again.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Are you inviting me to come stay here with you, so I can
be pampered by Jean?”
“Since Jean works for me, it would be more like me pampering you.”
Ginny’s fork stopped in the air midway from her mouth to her plate and her eyes widened. “Huh?”
He took her fork out of her hand, wove his fingers through hers, and smiled. “Someday, I could
see you here with me, relaxing by the pool, laughing, holding hands.” He leaned across the table.
“Kissing.”
Ginny held his gaze. And, by the soft look in her eyes, she wanted to kiss him almost as much as
he wanted to kiss her. She pulled back just before their lips met. “About that story. The one about you
feeling like a piece of meat?” She blinked her eyes as if trying to refocus. “Because if I kiss you
now.” She fanned her face. “I’m not going to lie, it would have a lot to do with physical attraction.”
 He wanted to do a fist bump in the air and shout Amen! to the heavens, but he didn’t want to
appear shallow. “What’s wrong with physical attraction? I’m happy to be your personal piece of meat
any day of the week.” He slapped his thigh and laughed. “I ain’t never heard a guy say ‘Dag gummit,
she used me.’”
She shook her head. “And I don’t think I’ve heard anyone say ‘dag gummit’ before.”
“Tell you what.” He pointed to her. “Promise me this. If I tell you my piece-a-meat story, then
you’ll kiss me the next time you feel the slightest attraction to me.”
She crossed her arms, but those gorgeous green eyes twinkled as they smiled up at him. “Not sure
that’s a fair trade, but you’re on.”
He finished off his last bite and pushed his plate out of the way, resting his elbows into the table.
“Have you ever heard of the NFL Scouting Combine?”
“Hm. I think so. I think I saw something on cable once where a bunch of collegiate football
players worked out and were ranked or something.”
“That’s a part of it. I was invited my junior year in college to Indianapolis to be one of three
hundred guys to participate in physical and mental evaluations with the chance of being recruited.”
“How many collegiate football players make it into the NFL?”
He whistled. “Last time I checked, only two percent ever make it to the pros.”
“Wow. Those are slim chances.” She batted her eyelashes repeatedly. “Same percentage of the
world’s population with green eyes.”
“But out of that two percent, you have prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen.”
She scooted her chair closer to him, but no kiss.
He continued, “And if these teams are going to invest several millions into each player…” He
tapped his fingers on the table. “They want to know what they’re buying.”
“Buying?” she said with disgust. “You feel like they bought you?”
“They did buy me.” He practically laughed out the words. “They bought my body.”
She reached across the table and gave him a quick peck on his lips, sending his brain into
overdrive. “Go on,” she said, relaxing back into her seat like nothing had just transpired between
them.
He cleared his throat before continuing. “I was stoked to have been picked, and seriously
nervous. When I first arrived at the combine, I was taken to an open room with several other
prospective players and immediately told to strip down.”
“Completely?”
“Like the good Lord sent me to this earth.”
She reached across the table again and kissed his forehead.
He’d take whatever she’d give. “They dressed us in this little loin cloth. I’m not going to lie.” He
scratched at the two-day stubble on his chin. “I felt strong…in a Native American, tribal sort of way.”
She stood, swinging her arms as she walked around the table to him. “I need to watch what I
promise next time.” She slowly bent down and softly pressed her lips to his.
Torin could taste the sugary citrus from the orange juice still lingering on her lips. He imagined
her kiss exemplified her, delicate and sweet. He had to refrain himself from pulling her in at her waist
and kissing her deeper. This was on her terms, not his. When she pulled away, it took him a minute to
regain his senses.
She brought her chair around the table and repositioned it kiddy corner and across from his. He
had a sudden urge to touch the satiny emerald dress that flowed over her curves in the most
intoxicating way. He imagined it felt like silk. When she sat in her seat in a way that their legs grazed
each other, he placed his hands under his thighs to restrain them.
He blew out a breath. “I’ve got more.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “The first day was all
physicals, x-rays, blood work, and medical exams by the team doctors in front of the several
executive team recruiters, owners, who knows who they were exactly. Let’s just call them, the
buyers.” He waited for a minute, then waved his hands in a come on, bring on the kisses motion, but
she didn’t budge.
“Nope.” She shook her head. “That just makes me sad. Go on.”
He’d have to step up his game. “Imagine, sitting on an examining table of sorts with a bright light
above your head and in the distance a long table with men and women, the buyers, asking you all sorts
of questions about past broken bones, diet, and I can’t remember half the stuff they asked. They would
even approach my table and prod at my arm or lift my leg.” He looked over at her with hope.
She listened intently but didn’t move.
“That was the first team. From there, I moved to the next room, and the next, and the next, until I
had met with each and every NFL team.
“How many NFL teams are there?”
“Thirty-two.” He shook his head. “That was a long day.”
She rubbed her face. “I can’t even imagine.”
“That was just the beginning. The next few days were intense physical and mental evaluations, a
few of which are likely what you saw on the NFL channel; like the forty-yard dash, two hundred and
twenty-five bench press repetitions, the broad jump, and the vertical jump, just to name a few.”
“So…how many bench presses did you do?”
Her eyes told him he had a good chance of getting another kiss if he made the right play.
“Thirty-eight.” He paused as her face darkened to a passionate pink. “I was only three reps away
from attaining the record that year.”

***

Ginny’s head spun with the image of Torin all greased up and tanned as he pressed the weighted bar
up. Okay, so that was more like an international weight lifting contest, but she could dream. As her
knee brushed against his, her muscles loosened and relaxed.
She had made him a promise, and she had every intention of keeping her word. She slipped off
her chair and onto his lap. Their breath mingled for a few seconds before she surrendered to his soft
lips. He responded to her kiss like a Steamboat Springs’ breeze, both warm and cold, clement and
temperate.
Ginny’s hand moved from his chest, up the side of his neck, and to the back of his head. She
played with his loose curls that ended at the nape of his neck. She then stretched out her fingers,
placed her hand on the back of his neck and held his head in place as her lips echoed her rapture,
growing more intense by the second. As their lips danced, the spirit inside her knew Torin’s soul
complimented hers in a most glorious way. Maybe they did have a chance. She couldn’t deny her
intense physical, and now almost spiritual draw to him.
She noticed that he hadn’t wrapped his arms around her. She released his lips and looked down.
“Why are you sitting on your hands?”
“You’re in the driver’s seat,” he said as if sitting on his hands was completely normal.
 She lifted her eyebrows. “What?”
“I’m enjoying how you take control.” He blew out a breath. “And honestly, sometimes my hands
have a mind of their own, and this is the only way I can control them.”
“Thank you. But it might be nice to feel the strength of your hands on my back.”
Torin’s face turned a shade of scarlet as he blinked his eyes. “You see. I really like you. Like I
really, really like you. And, although I believe attraction is a gift from God, I also hold firm that love
and commitment are a necessary ingredient to fully acting out that attraction.”
“You are one peculiar man.” She tapped his chest. “You know that?”
His brow knit together. “Is that a good thing?”
She placed her hands on his checks and held his face as she stared into his tranquil eyes. “You are
the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”
“Okay.” He placed his hands on the small of her back. “Maybe this once.”
Torin pulled Ginny up and into him. Suddenly, it wasn’t just her kissing him. His lips warmed her
neck before they found her mouth again. His touch no longer calmed her; it caused sparks to blaze
through her chest and heat her blood.
Lost in his spellbinding kisses, Ginny had no idea how much time had passed since they’d begun
kissing.
He cupped her cheek in his palm. “I need to slow down, or I’ll never make it to the sportsman’s
expo.”
She jumped up from his lap and sucked in a quick breath. “Scarlett! I told her I would help her set
up.”
“When do you need to be there?”
“12:30.”
He wrestled his phone out of his pocket. “No worries.” He rubbed her arm. “It’s only 10:00.”
She relaxed into his touch. “I’d better get home and get ready.”
“I’ll see you out.” He held up a finger. “Just give me one minute to cool off after that intense hour-
long workout.”
An hour? Yikes! They had kissed the entire morning away.
Torin rested his phone on the table, stripped off his shirt as he ran toward the pool, and did a front
flip into the water when he reached the edge. Something stirred inside Ginny; something beautiful,
thrilling, and downright nerve wracking. She flicked off her heels and followed Torin into the pool
with a splash.
“Yeah!” he yelled, throwing a fist in the air.
She did the doggy paddle to him. She couldn’t perform any other swim stroke with how her dress
clung to her body.
He grabbed her by the waist and laid a kiss on her she was sure could have boiled the water with
how her temperature rose.
He pulled back. “You jumping in here with me, all wet and stunning, kind of defeats the purpose
of me getting in.”
She replied to his look of accusation with a seductive smile. “You can run and hide but I will
always find you,” she teased.
“Ditto.”
“Promise?” she questioned with eagerness, resting her head into his neck and enjoying how his
wet skin suctioned to her cheek.
“Always. And I’ll seal it with a kiss.”
 She tilted her chin up to accept his kiss. Her heart warmed when her eyes settled into his sincere
gaze. His lips met hers, and she knew he was for real. This was real. Torin meant what he said, and if
she could finally take down her protective barrier, she might have a chance at her own personal
storybook ending.
7
T orin entered the Dallas Expo Center at the VIP entrance in the back. Being famous did have its
perks and walking down the windowless, artificially bright tunnel without anyone pulling at his
sleeve or trying to seduce him was definitely a perk. But he knew the special treatment wouldn’t last
forever. The average career span for an NFL player was a grand three years.
He was already pushing six, but he had had two Super Bowl appearances, which extended that
average out by a few years. Point being, his career couldn’t last forever. And with the end of his
career came the end of stardom and those perks would drizzle away. He’d seen it time and time again
after his buddies got dropped.
“Torin Godfrey?” a tall brunette with thick black bangs and round glasses asked as she
approached him.
He nodded.
“Please come with me. I was asked to escort you to the door nearest your booth.” She pointed to
the enormous metal doors that, if the circus hadn’t retired, two elephants could fit through.
He scratched his chin as she waved her fob key in front of the security pad and the colossal doors
opened inward. “I know I’m big, but I’m guessing you were expecting someone much bigger.”
“The crowd is going to love you,” she said in a monotone voice. “We please just ask that you
refrain from any garish behavior that would draw attention away from our sponsors.”
If he had to guess, he’d say that was meant as a disparagement not a compliment, but it didn’t
matter; he’d be with Ginny soon.
His fellow MIT classmate hadn’t exaggerated when he said it would be the sportsman’s expo of
the century. The two hundred thousand square foot column free exhibit hall was lined with hundreds
of booths and several thousand people bumping shoulders to get through to the end of the maze. And
where did the maze end? These organizers knew what they were doing when they put the Titans, the
big draw to the expo, at the end of the road.
The doors to the expo had opened ten minutes ago, but you’d never know it by looking at the
Titan’s sport’s drink table, where a few of the Titan cheerleaders were handing out drinks. They
already had several fans lined up for autographs from the players.
Torin scratched the back of his neck, dreading the next four or five hours. He had hoped to steal a
few moments away with Ginny, but that didn’t seem possible.
“Hey man!” Demitri, one of his fellow Titan teammates, approached with his fist extended out to
Torin.
Torin gave him a fist bump. “What’s up, man?”
“How’d I let you rope me into this?” Demitri motioned to the room. “Look at this insanity.”
“What are you talking about?” Torin wasn’t going to take his crap. “You begged me to put you on
the ticket when I told you you wouldn’t be required to go to Toronto in December if you did this gig.”
Demitri shrugged. “Oh yeah.” He laughed. “Hey, you gotta check out this hottie who’s setting up
next to us.”
Torin pushed his buddy to the side when he caught Ginny’s warm vanilla scent. She stood with her
back to him. Her ginger hair cascaded halfway down her back in more defined curls than earlier. He
couldn’t breathe for what seemed like a full minute when she tossed her hair, exposing her creamy
back. She wore one of those cut-out, almost backless shirts that so many hip college kids wore to
show off their sporty under clothes.
He approached her clandestine like, spun her around by her waist, placed his “strong hands” on
her back, and pulled her into him. He kissed her softly, like she had kissed him that first time. She
kissed him back, but it didn’t hold the same emotion. The kiss felt empty somehow.
“Torin?” Ginny’s voice came from his right side.
He turned his head to the voice. Ginny stood with her hands on her hips and rapidly tapped her
foot. The fear he experienced at that moment rivaled anything he’d ever felt on the football field,
including those few times he knew he’d get knocked to the ground so hard he’d see stars and break
something important.
He slowly glanced down at the girl he had just kissed. She smiled up at him with those same
intoxicating green eyes. She appeared identical to Ginny, yet, when he looked closer, there was
something about her nose and chin that weren’t an exact match.
“I am so, so sorry.” He took a few steps back and faced Ginny. “You didn’t tell me you were a
twin.”
“That’s because I’m not a twin.” Ginny’s foot continued to tap, and she didn’t look happy.
“Scarlett is three years younger than me.”
Scarlett held her hand out to Torin and winked. “Nice to meet you, Torin.”
“You finished, Scarlett?” Ginny said in a more amicable tone.
Scarlett gave her sister a nod. “I think you could say we’re even now.”
Ginny’s composure softened as she shook her head and laughed. “I guess you could say that.”
Torin looked from sister to sister, still not sure if he was off the hook.
“It’s okay.” Ginny took hold of Torin’s hand. “You’re lucky that I sort of let her college boyfriend
kiss me after she broke his heart.”
“What she isn’t telling you,” Scarlett piped in as she continued arranging her back supports on the
display table, “is that she let him believe he was kissing me.”
Ginny shrugged. “The guy was depressed.”
“I’m depressed,” Torin chimed in. “Really, really depressed.” He puckered his lips.
Ginny laughed, then clicked her tongue. “I think we may have already given these people, and
possibly the world, a pretty good show.”
She was right. Chances were at least one person had recorded that kiss and it was now spreading
like wildfire through the internet. Good thing he wanted Ginny in his life long-term. He didn’t mind
speaking to the press about her, but how would she respond to the media?
Torin glanced around the room. “At least the monotone, round glasses lady didn’t see that garish
spectacle.”
“Monotone lady?” Ginny questioned with more surprise in her voice than normal.
“There was just this lady who escorted me through the tunnels earlier who said something about
not wanting me to draw attention to myself. She spoke in this clandestine, monotone voice.”
Ginny squeezed his hand. “Everything looks in order here.” She pulled a phone out of her purse.
“Call me later?”
“You’re leaving?” He sounded possessive and infantile, but he wanted to spend every minute with
her.
Ginny handed him her phone. “I need to head in to work.”
He gave her a confused look. “You’re going to go hang out in your car?” He took the phone and
entered in his contact info.
 “Can you blame me?” She waved a hand in the air. “If you had a pretty candy-red corvette, you’d
want to hang out in it as well.”
He brushed her arm. “I do want to go hang out in it.” He winked. “With you.”
She gave him an endearing smile. “Text me when you’re finished.”
Ginny disappeared into the crowd before he could give her a proper good-bye. Torin dropped
into his chair next to his other teammate, Owen, and grabbed a marker to sign the posters arranged
neatly in front of him.
Owen punched Torin in the shoulder. “About time you showed up. My hand is cramping from
signing all these posters. I’m going to take a walk.”
Torin followed Owen’s eyes to a booth where a beautiful woman and her older double, possibly
the woman’s mother, were selling outdoor clothing. “Dude, you think those dimples and your spiky
blonde hair is going to land you that handsome woman?”
Owen responded with a guffaw. “I could always go up, grab her mother by the waist, and lay a
wet kiss on her. You think that might impress the girl?”
“You have a valid point.” Torin shook his head and looked over at Scarlett who was showing
Demitri how to adjust one of her back supports. “Do you think I’ll ever live that one down?”
“Nope. Not in this lifetime.” Owen slapped Torin’s back as he stepped out from behind the table.
“Women remember everything.”

***

Ginny placed the invisible earbud in her ear as she stepped out of the pushy crowd and into an
enclosed stairwell. “Agent 91357 checking in.”
“Voice recognition confirmed,” the computer responded.
Ginny should have checked in last night after she had completed her mission with the Russian, or
this morning. In the back of her mind, maybe she wanted to be fired so people wouldn’t have to
theorize why she’d left. If she quit, they’d say she couldn’t hack it. Getting fired seemed more
respectable somehow.
Why was the agency following Torin? Had they sent an officer to verify Ginny’s status?
“5-7?” Ginny’s supervisor’s voice rang clear. “I’ve been worried.” He paused. “What
happened?”
“The drug had a stronger effect on me than anticipated. I found a safe location to stay until the
sedative wore off. Please verify that Agent 62395 is on location.”
“I will instruct 9-5 to meet you in the west tunnel in three minutes. Do you have the schematics of
the building?”
“Yes.” Ginny’s personal mission to help her sister get into the expo began weeks ago. She’d
reviewed a blueprint of the arena before she even slipped Scarlett’s business card into Torin’s hands.
She turned toward the west tunnel. “On my way.”
When Ginny reached the gray painted door at the entrance to the tunnel, the automatic door
opened, anticipating her. By Torin’s description, she wasn’t surprised to see the agent she had left at
the mansion last night. Ginny had to restrain herself from chiding her fellow officer for blowing her
cover to Torin.
“I have an update,” the agent said. “The Russian is dead, but we were able to retrieve the
information we needed from him before he died.”
Ginny clutched her stomach. Nausea followed. She wasn’t assigned to mark the guy, only gather
intel. “Was it the drug?”
“Partially, pending pathology. They believe he would have died within a few weeks due to natural
causes.” She scrunched her nose. “His lifestyle caught up to him.”
Ginny frowned. “You found the information?”
The agent nodded. “He disclosed the data.”
Ginny’s body tensed in anger. The guy was a miscreant, but no one deserved to be tortured. “The
mission was not to interrogate him,” she spat out, hoping his last few minutes of life hadn’t been
painful.
“Actually.” The agent looked down at the floor and back at Ginny with a steely gaze. “It was.”
“Why wasn’t I told? This was my mission.”
“I can see what you’re feeling.” The agent rested her hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “There was a time
when I felt what you’re feeling now, until I understood what animals these people are.”
There was a calculation to the agent’s voice that chilled Ginny to her bones. She didn’t ever want
to become that calloused.
“So, we should act like animals?” Ginny countered.
“That wasn’t necessary. The drug is known for its persuasive properties.”
And this is where, and why, agents go rogue. But that wouldn’t happen to Ginny, not exactly. She
nodded, turned her back to the agent, and walked away. She would have a sit-down with her superior.
“Wait!” the agent called after Ginny, her pumps clicking across the cement floor to catch up to
Ginny’s stride. “The Russians followed you to Mr. Godfrey’s house last night.”
Ginny froze. Her chest rose and fell with such intensity that her lungs ached. Torin was in danger,
and it was her fault.
“Explain,” Ginny finally said through clenched teeth.
“We didn’t know what affect the drug, even in its lowest dosage would have on you. The idea was
for you to slip the pills into his glass, not both glasses.”
“Two pills.” Ginny held up two fingers as her anger grew. Why had no one told her they’d meant
for both pills to go into the Russian’s glass. “He would have known if I had slipped two pills into his
glass. And if I managed that, he would have known when he woke up that I had drugged him.”
Agent 9-5 simply nodded.
Ginny’s throat went dry. “That was never the actual plan, for him to wake up.” Her fists clenched.
“You knew he’d remember if he woke.” Her eyes widened with the somber realization. “You knew he
wouldn’t survive it.”
The agent remained stoic. “Like I told you, it was confirmed by his doctors before the mission. He
only had a few weeks to live.”
Ginny leaned against the smooth cement wall. She understood the need for snipers to protect her
freedoms, but she didn’t sign up to be a sniper. “I wasn’t recruited to be an assassin.”
“No, but you were recruited to retrieve critical intel, information to save lives. And let’s not
forget, this man never hesitated to pull the trigger.”
Ginny hated to admit it, and even though they had used to her, Agent 9-5 spoke reason.
“When did they stop following me?”
“They trailed you to the restaurant, then back to Mr. Godfrey’s house. They left around 2:00 a.m.
Our guess is they backed off when it became obvious you two were involved, because no agent
would ever date someone of his…celebrity status.” She threw her hands in the air in defeat. “He has
two million followers. No officer would ever allow themselves to be that—”
“Stupid.” Ginny buried her face in her hands.
Agent 9-5 relaxed into the wall next to Ginny. “I was going to say in love, because, let’s face it,
that’s the only way for your brain to have fogged up the way it did.”
“I disagree.” Ginny held up a finger. “I was drugged.”
“Those drugs have been proven to extract the truth, not mentally impair. At any point in time,
were your mental faculties diminished?”
Ginny shook her head. She had her wits about her when she made the decision to pick up Torin.
She understood the risks. She knew what she was doing when she asked him to drive her to his house
instead of hers. Ginny fumed at herself and at the agency for having placed Torin at risk. She had been
led to believe that the drug was merely a sedative. It made sense why they kept that drug top secret,
not even disclosing it to their own agents. If Ginny had been given specific instruction to place both
pills in the Russian’s glass, she would still be in the dark of its true effects and purpose.
The agent continued, “With the minimal amount you could have absorbed, you would have only
felt the effects for a few hours.” She crossed her arms. “We never heard from you today,” she said
with accusation.
Ginny closed her eyes at the onset of a sudden migraine. “What is my recommended course of
action?”
“Ahh,” Agent 9-5 sighed out. “Well, that depends on whether or not you see more of a future with
Mr. Godfrey.” She paused. “Or with people you refuse to call by name to prevent emotional pain.”
To protect the agents’ identity, only the agents’ code numbers were used in phone communications,
even over their secured lines. At the agency headquarters, however, names were used freely. Ginny
was the only agent who, since her friends had died, insisted on calling her fellow agents by their
numbers. The agency understood their agents’ weaknesses. They watched their every move to assure
their agents didn’t go rogue. They’d been aware of Ginny’s move to distance herself from her fellow
agents.
Ginny hated to be psychoanalyzed. She’d dealt with it her entire life. “You sound like my
psychiatrist father.” Ginny relaxed her head back into the unforgiving wall, willing the throbbing
pressure behind her eyes to dissipate.
The agent reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a plastic sleeve. “I have something.” She
handed Ginny a round flat lozenge that resembled an antacid. “It might help. It’s a migraine
meltaway.”
“Thanks.” Ginny popped the pink lozenge into her mouth. “You carry these around in your
pocket?”
“I’ve been an agent for fifteen years longer than you have. What do you think?”
Ginny’s body tensed in reaction to the burning sensation in her sinuses, causing her to suck in a
sharp breath and hold the air in her chest. Eventually, her muscles relaxed into the torridity, allowing
her migraine to dissipate. She studied the agent’s face, something Ginny hadn’t done with a fellow
agent in years, and wondered what pain and knowledge was held in the pleats of her skin. Suddenly,
Agent 9-5 was real, human.
“That meltaway was amazing,” Ginny said. “It actually did melt away my migraine. I need more
of those.”
“Or,” the agent held up an open palm. “You could execute your plan to move your parents to Costa
Rica and retire from the spy business, affording you the opportunity to run away with that handsome
man.”
 “Am I really that transparent?” Ginny puffed out a breath. “I’m that bad of a spy?”
The agent shook her head. “No, I’m that good of a spy.”
“Wait.” Ginny’s brain finally computed that the agent had mentioned to Ginny the possibility of
running away with Torin. “Are you recommending that I leave the agency for a man I just met?”
“No.” The agent’s arms fell to her sides. “But, if I could turn back time, I would say yes to the
man I left behind.” She sighed. “I want you to know you have a choice, a choice I never had.”
Could Ginny really have her storybook ending? This agent seemed to think so.
“Something else has come to our attention,” the agent continued. “Before you run off with Mr.
Godfrey, we need to meet with the team to discuss an encoded message your mother managed to slip
out this morning to Ireland. You may need to speed up your parent’s transfer.”
Ginny snapped her fingers, then pushed herself away from the wall, her mind now sharpened with
determination; that tended to happen when she had a clear mission laced with high stakes. She nodded
to the agent and strode toward the exit door. When she turned back, Agent 9-5 held a smile of
accomplishment.
Ginny smiled back. “What’s your name?”
The agent’s eyes sparkled like an imp. “It’s Candace.”
Ginny let out an amused laugh. “I knew I liked that name for a reason.”
8
T he crowds had finally thinned. Torin’s cheeks ached from smiling for the past four and a half hours.
He didn’t mind the hugs, but he hated how he smelled, like someone took ten different perfumes,
mixed them together, and poured the repugnant fragrance all over his jersey.
He glanced over at Demitri and Scarlett. Once Demitri got the back supports down, he kindly
“volunteered” to help Scarlett demonstrate them, leaving Torin alone at his booth with a few Titan
cheerleaders for the majority of the afternoon. Owen was in and out—mostly out, flirting with the
recreation clothing girl.
Torin wanted to flirt. He pulled out his phone to text Ginny, but then he remembered that he didn’t
have her number. He had programmed his number into her phone. He swore.
A young boy around eight or nine approached just in time to hear Torin cuss. “Mr. Godfrey, sir?”
Torin felt like an idiot when the boy’s mom gave him a disapproving eye. Good thing she wasn’t
on the football field during a tackle. Torin had an angelic mouth next to most of the players.
“Hi there, big guy.” Torin’s face stretched painfully into a smile. “You look like you’re going to
grow up to be a hard hitter someday.” Torin tousled the boy’s moppy hair.
“My mom says I’m not allowed to play football.” The boy looked to his mother who blushed with
embarrassment. “She says I’ll end up stupid.”
Torin laughed. “Well there is some truth to that.” Torin pretended to knock on the boy’s head with
his fist. “You’ve got to protect that noggin’ a yers.”
The boy’s face scrunched in confusion. “Huh?”
“At least that’s what my daddy always told me.”
“You got a daddy?” the boy said with excitement. “My daddy died when I was little.”
When he was little? This kid tugged at Torin’s heart strings. Torin bent down and retrieved a
football from under the table, then looked to the boy’s mother for approval before showing it to the
boy.
“My daddy died too, but he used to throw a ball like this to me every day before he died.”
The boy put his hand on Torin’s forearm to comfort him.
Torin continued. “You have to promise me that if I give you this ball, you’ll throw it with your
momma and friends, and not worry about the scratchy signature I put on it.”
Torin looked to the mother. He didn’t want her hiding it away in a closet or selling it online. She
nodded reluctantly.
“What’s your name, buddy?”
“Caleb.”
Torin signed the ball: To Caleb, the coolest kid ever, Your friend. Torin finished with his chicken
scratch signature.
The boy nearly knocked Torin onto his back as he jumped into his arms, throwing Torin off
balance. “Thanks,” the young man sniffled out, then leaned back and scrunched his face. “You smell
like my grandma.”
“I get that a lot,” Torin laughed out. “Hey, do you want me to show you how to throw it?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Yes, sir.”
“Here’s how you hold the ball,” he said, demonstrating the proper handhold. “Now, you aim the
point on the end like so.” Torin took aim at the back of Demitri’s head and gave the ball a light toss.
Bullseye! Demitri’s head boggled, then turned and scowled at Torin. The boy ran up to Demitri,
picked up the ball, and clutched it into his chest. He waved goodbye to Torin as his mother yanked
him by the arm and pulled him away. Perhaps hitting someone in the back of the head didn’t speak to
her. Torin felt that empty pit in his gut as he lost sight of the boy. What would it be like to teach his
own boy how to throw?
“You best watch your back,” Demitri warned.
Torin strode to Demitri and patted him on the shoulder. “Your turn at the booth.” Demitri looked
as if he’d protest, but Torin held his ground. “Complaining about something?”
With a disgruntled huff, Demitri walked the few feet back to the Titans’ booth. There was a
hierarchy on and off the field and Torin was near the top of that Totem pole. He didn’t normally play
that card, but considering Demitri hadn’t put in his booth time, Torin felt justified in calling him out on
it.
Torin stepped to Scarlett’s side and held one of her back supports in the air. She appeared a bit
down at having lost Demitri’s assistance. “How’d the booth work out for you today?”
Almost immediately, her composure shifted to contentment. “Fabulous.” She turned to him.
“Thanks for sharing your booth with me.” She spoke quicker with every word. “You getting me here
today, and the amazing help from Demitri, has lent me more credibility.” She clutched her hands
together. “And, I talked to a few retailers who are willing to sell my back supports.”
“That’s great.” He pretended to examine a back support. “It’s too bad Ginny couldn’t stay longer.”
He paused. When Scarlett didn’t say anything, he continued. “It seems like she really likes to drive
around Dallas and meet new people.”
Scarlett pulled a plastic tote out from the corner and started to pack in her supports. “Yeah. I’ve
never quite understood why. And why won’t she come live with me?” She tsked her tongue. “I hate
living alone.”
Torin followed Scarlett’s eyes to Demitri, who perked up when she smiled at him. He looked
pathetically sappy. Why was it so schmaltzy when other people got all sentimental? He didn’t look
like that, did he?
“Hey,” Torin said, trying to reign her back into their conversation. “So, Ginny likes to live
alone?”
“Ahh?” Scarlett tapped her fingertips on her display table as she bit at her lower lip and looked
up to the ceiling.
“You look like identical to Ginny when you do that.”
“Do what?” She glanced from side to side.
He saw the differences in them when Scarlett joked or asked a question. She seemed to not have
the same maturity as Ginny. Could be because of age, or more defining experiences? “Not that.” He
wiggled a finger at her. “The other thing.”
She narrowed her eyes as if trying to figure him out. “I know you’re rich and handsome.” She
pointed to his chest. “And Ginny is obviously into you, but she needs someone who’s smart.”
Slightly offended, Torin folded his arms over his chest and stood taller. “Two times two is four.”
He loosened his arms and counted on his fingers. “Right?”
She rolled her eyes at him and continued packing her bin. So, she didn’t always appreciate a joke.
She’d be happy with Demitri. The guy was awesome, but hardly ever cracked jokes. Pretty serious
dude and he would compliment how she was a little flighty.
“I’m kidding,” Torin laughed out. “I graduated in Electrical Engineering from MIT…with
honors.”
She swung her arms around and hugged him. “You pass,” she said like a bubbly cheerleader with
a bob of her head.
“That’s it?” he questioned in disbelief. “Smart guy now and I’m all-of-a-sudden in?”
“For now.” She winked. “Ginny’s a smart one. She was a presidential scholar in college and
graduated at the top of her class in linguistics and violin performance.”
“That’s amazing,” he marveled. “Violin?” He couldn’t wait to ask Ginny about her musical talent.
“Yeah.” Scarlett shrugged. “After she graduated, she joined the military on a whim. At the end of
boot camp, she asked for separation. I guess it wasn’t what she thought it would be.”
“You’re not messing with me, are you?” Torin questioned. “She really went to military boot
camp?” He had so many questions to ask Ginny. He couldn’t wait to get to know every facet of this
amazing woman.
Scarlett used her pointer finger to do a crisscross motion in front of her chest. “Criss cross.”
Torin smiled at Scarlett’s innocence and vivacity; she practically sparkled merriment. He
imagined her clients never doing the exercises she gave them, prolonging their recovery time so they
could continue their treatment with her, not only physically—but emotionally. Just standing next to her
raised his spirits.
Scarlett differed from Ginny in that Ginny seemed like an older soul. Ginny was wise somehow,
in an alchemistic way, her metallic hair chemically mixed with her soul to create the elixir of life.
That was good. He needed to write that down and get his teammate buddy to have his hotshot country
music singer brother sing it to her. Now that would impress the girl.
“Scarlett, do you have something to write with?”
“You feeling poetic?” she questioned flatly, obviously unimpressed.
He furrowed his brow. How did she know? Ginny was an alchemist and Scarlett a telepathist?
“How?” he drew out.
She shook her head. “You went off into this trance.” She waved a hand in the air. “And now
you’re asking for a pen.” She placed her palm on his chest as if he needed schooling. “Poems are
almost always a mistake.” Her eyes grew wide. “A huge mistake.”
“Ah-huh?” Ginny said with attitude. “I may have made a huge mistake…in leaving you two alone
—again.”
Torin threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t touch her.” He swallowed hard.
“Except when you hugged me,” she teased.
“You hugged me,” Torin said in his own defense.
Ginny laughed as she wrapped her arms around him. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
“How cute?” he said, loving the feel of her in his arms again.
“Cute enough to…” She gave him a flirtatious wiggle of her eyebrows and whispered in his ear,
“Say, go on a last-minute trip to Costa Rica tomorrow?”
His excitement spiked so quickly he wanted to shout. Ginny set him on a constant thrill ride that he
hoped would never end. Did she really want to take a trip with him to an exotic location? He asked
her to repeat, “Costa—”
“Secret trip,” she cut him off as she placed a finger over his lips. “Just you and me. Totally
remote. No one would know where we went or when we’re coming back.”
“Except. Ah…I would know,” Scarlett blurted out with a raised hand like a child soliciting her
teacher’s attention at school. “Because I’m standing right next to you, listening.”
“Our secret?” Ginny took her sister’s raised hand and brought it into her chest. Scarlett knew that
they needed to prep the house for their parents.
Scarlett held out her pinky finger. “Mums the word.”
9
T orrential rain pelted the side of the small aircraft as the skies darkened. The landing gear dropped,
causing their seats to shake. Panicked, Ginny grabbed Torin’s hand. He leaned down and kissed her
temple. Warm flutters cascaded from his kiss down the side of her face and across her neck.
She had hoped to make it to the house before the afternoon rains began, but they’d been delayed.
Ginny closed her eyes and said her peace in case the landing gear failed; take-off and landing were
the two things she hated about flying—and small planes.
The flight from Dallas to San Jose gave Ginny time to think about how her life would change if
things progressed with Torin and decided to leave the agency. She would rather be with him than be
an intelligence officer. There were things about it that she would miss. The meeting with her superiors
and fellow agents had gone better than she had anticipated. They praised her for her role in gaining
critical intelligence from the Russian. And, according to recent reports, his employer did not suspect
he’d been interrogated before his death.
Ginny had met privately with her direct superior to discuss her mother’s correspondence with a
fellow rogue IRA member in Ireland. Her supervisor had promised to personally thwart future
communications as well as arrange for Scarlett to have a protection detail until Ginny returned from
her trip.
Torin squeezed Ginny’s hand, bringing her back to what was in front of her, and how it made her
feel; how he made her feel. When she held his hand, she felt no anxiety, no fear for the future, and no
self-doubt. With Torin at her side, she knew she could conquer every challenge life threw at her. She
held firm to his hand with her eyes closed until the plane landed safely.
Ginny’s running shoes sank into the cushiony sand path as they dashed to their waiting car in the
pouring rain. They threw their two small travel bags into the empty seat next to them as they climbed
into the back seat of the SUV. Ginny had reserved the four-wheel drive to get them to their destination
—one of the most remote areas of Costa Rica. Ginny had heard that when the dirt roads got wet and
muddy, four-wheel vehicles were a necessity.
They traveled for another twenty-five minutes through the lush landscape before the SUV turned
off the main road and bumped along another less traveled road for five minutes. By the time they
stopped in front of the white adobe home with a red tiled roof, the rains had subsided.
Ginny had visited this area a few years ago. When she decided to purchase a home for her
parents, she had a mission at home to complete and was unable to get to Costa Rica to check out her
options before she bought. She had to trust the information she was given. The pictures the real estate
agent had provided looked perfect and the neighbors Ginny spoke with had put her in contact with the
right people, including Carla, the woman who would be the caretaker of the home.
Torin pulled out his phone and opened his camera app.
Ginny touched his arm. “Can we do this trip without any social media or photos?” She looked up
at him with the poutiest eyes she could make. “Please?”
She had disabled the location capabilities and installed a few apps on his phone before they had
left the Dallas airport. She’d told him she needed to enter her contact info into his phone, and she did,
but she also gave his phone another level of security without him knowing.
He grabbed their bags and followed her to the house. “No problem.”
 Ginny opened the front door to a line of candles flickering as they lit the way through the house.
Carla had been good to her word.
Torin whistled his approval. “Is someone here?”
“I told Carla we’d be late, so she left our bedrooms ready for us and dinner on the back patio.”
“Nice,” Torin said, dropping their bags and bolting to the back.
Ginny laughed. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” he said, opening the sliding screen door. “Ginny!” he screamed. “You gotta see this.”
She touched his back, causing him to jump slightly. “Right behind you.”
Ginny’s legs weakened when she saw his masculine face lit by the soft glow of the setting sun as
the last rays of sunlight shone on the back of the house. In the light of dusk, his eyes darkened from
their usual light blue to a shimmering ultramarine with multiple hues of blue and green.
“You catching this?” he asked, focused on the seascape.
“I sure hope so,” she cooed out. “Because it is one fine catch.”
Ginny didn’t look away from him, not when he pointed out to the ocean, and not when he
scrunched his brow. He turned his gaze to her. When their eyes met, she knew she had conveyed her
message. She pushed up onto her toes and waited for his lips to warm hers.
His kisses filled her mind with promise and her heart with warmth. They continued to kiss until
the moon rose in the distance. They didn’t stop until they heard soup bubbling and could taste the
flavor of beef stew in the saturated air around them, causing their hunger to turn in a more temporal
direction.

***

Torin dug into the stew. It had an unexpected amount of flavor for a few pieces of beef and an
assortment of winter squashes. “This is so good.”
Ginny smiled at him in a strange way.
“What?” he questioned. “Do I have food on my face?
“That’s your fifth bowl. I’m seriously impressed.”
He shrugged. “I’m a big boy.”
Ginny sighed. “How did your mom ever feed you?”
A pain split his side. He didn’t talk about his momma all that often because it was still too
painful, physically painful. “She was always cookin’ some’m. She’d make this here peach cobbler.”
He whistled. “If my friends done found out she was makin’ her peach cobbler, they’d all be at my
house waitin’ fer it to come otta the oven and smother it with ice cream.” He looked over at her and
caught a naughty grin. “What are ya smilin’ at now?”
“Yer cute accent,” she said in an exaggerated Southern drawl that sounded like something out of
Gone with the Wind.
“Oh, yer gonna git it.” He picked her up out of her chair and carried her over to the infinity pool
that disappeared into the oceanic horizon. “Hold your breath,” he said as she squealed and wiggled to
free herself.
They fell into the cool water like Torin fell for Ginny—hard and fast, not knowing which way was
up or down.
She didn’t seem too upset with his antics, considering she clung to him the moment they surfaced.
He had to bite back his passion as her lips trailed along his neck.
He swam them to the shallow end of the pool and stood, raising her out of the water and setting
her on her feet. “Mind if I take off my shirt?”
She gave that same mischievous look she had given him when she told him he had a cute accent.
She pulled at her shirt.
“What are you doing?” he said, simultaneously confused and exhilarated.
“I was prepared for you this time,” she said, throwing her wet shirt to the side of the pool and
motioning to her swim top.
He laughed. “How did you know I was going to throw you into the pool?”
“I’m clairvoyant.”
“Of course.” He threw up his hands in defeat. “Like your sister.”
“What do you mean, like my sister?” she asked in a doubting way.
He had no choice but to answer her honestly now. “I had this thought.” He waved a hand around.
“It was nothing really and I asked her for a pen.”
“Did she give you a pen?”
“No. She said that poetry was always a mistake.”
“What poetry?” Ginny prodded.
He twisted his lips. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
“What did Scarlett do to you?” she asked in a patronizing tone, then giggled. “Of course I’ll laugh,
but that’s okay.”
He gave her a look of protest. “If I do this, I’m taking my shirt off, so at least I’ll have something
to fall back on.”
He removed his shirt slowly, squeezed it out, then stretched out his chest and arms. He placed his
shirt onto the side of the pool, allowing ample time for Ginny to check him out before he humiliated
himself. He cleared his throat before beginning.
“Ginny.” He reached for her, took one of the brilliant wet curls that tumbled over her creamy
shoulders, brought it to his lips, then kissed it. “You are my alchemist. Your copper curls are the elixir
to my soul. The chemical properties in your breast have mixed with the heat of my passion; they have
defied science to create in you a heart of gold. I leave my heart in your hands. Guild my soul and meld
it with yours. Make me a heart of gold so that we may pass through this life as one.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I would give you my heart…” She flattened her hands to his chest,
then ran her palms over his shoulders, up his neck, and cupped his face. “But you have already stolen
it.” Inch by inch she brought her face closer to his, alternating her gaze between his eyes and his lips.
When their lips touched his élan vital, his spiritual life force, transformed. He smiled through
their kisses. She did have the power of an alchemist. She had changed him somehow. The intense
emotions he held for her were no longer merely some carnal lust, they were an adoration and sincere
dedication to protect and gratify. He was hers until she no longer needed, or wanted, him.
The next five days were pure bliss. Ginny had suggested that they do the trip completely
unplugged. It was filled with runs down the beach, surfing, and some amazing kissing—intermixed
with Ginny chatting in Spanish with several people who came to the house to examine the plants in the
yard, cook them food, or bring them clean laundry.
Torin carried their bags out to the waiting SUV. It was the same driver and vehicle they had when
they first arrived. When he returned to the house, Carla was waiting with open arms. She had been a
top-notch housekeeper and cook all week. The soup was only the beginning. When he and Ginny
didn’t walk into town and eat, she had delicious food prepared. And she kept the house immaculate.
 Carla barely came to his waist when she hugged him. Torin pulled the tip he had prepared for her
from his pocket—five folded hundred-dollar bills—and handed them to her. She said something in
Spanish through soppy tears and motioned for him to lean down.
When he started to bend over, she grabbed his shoulders, pulled him down with force, and gave
him a wet kiss on both cheeks.
Ginny walked in as he stood back up. “I can’t leave you alone with anyone.” She clicked her
tongue. “Can I?” She raised an eyebrow and winked.
Torin pressed his fists into his waist as he gave the house and property a once-over. This had been
one of the best weeks of his life. “Should I buy this place?” He scratched at his week-long facial hair.
Ginny told him she liked him clean-shaven, but she also thought he looked hot with well-trimmed
facial hair. The hot word always won over the like word. “Do you think it’s for sale?”
Carla shot a look at Ginny and asked her something in Spanish. Ginny responded, but her response
didn’t seem to satisfy Carla’s curiosity.
“What did she ask?” Torin questioned as they climbed into the SUV. “She looked over at me like
she felt sorry for me.”
“She asked if you needed some vitamins.” Ginny patted his leg. “Said you looked like you might
be getting sick.”
“I do have a pit in my gut, but I think that’s because we’re headed back to reality.” He turned to
her and placed his hand on her knee. “Do you think this past week could be our future reality?”
“Absolutely,” she said, resting her head into his arm.
He bent over and smelled her hair. He held his breath, keeping her warm vanilla and lavender
scent in his chest for as long as he could, and wishing they didn’t need to return to Texas, to their
separate lives, in their separate homes.
10
T wo days later, Ginny pulled her car off the road and into a field with a sign for ranch event
parking.
Her leg vibrated. She carefully removed the earpiece strapped to her thigh and placed it in her
ear. The slim phone, strapped next to her earpiece, allowed her to communicate with the agency. Her
superior had advised her to be on alert over the next few days.
Ginny’s mother had been up to her old antics again, causing havoc. She had tried, unsuccessfully,
to contact that same associate of hers in Ireland several times over the past week. Ginny’s supervisor
believed that he had thwarted her mother’s communication but warned Ginny that there could be a
time, in the near future, where the US government would need to intercede.
Her mother hadn’t made any direct threats, but her words had been hostile and invited retaliation.
She answered the call. “Agent 91357.”
“Agent,” her supervisor’s voice rang clear. “There are rogue members of the IRA here in Dallas.”
Ginny’s body hardened with anticipation. “What is my mission?” It was a good thing she had her
handgun strapped to the inside of her other thigh.
“We monitored their movements and communications until they arrived in Dallas at o six hundred
this morning.” His voice tensed. “They’ve gone black.” He swore. “We lost them, Ginny. Be careful.”
The call ended. That was the only time her superior had ever called her by name over the closed
channel, which meant he was alerting her that her cover had been compromised, and someone was
listening in.
Ginny’s anger rose, but the sudden sweat on her brow was not from her anger, or the heat. It
resulted from a premonition that something was coming, something she couldn’t control without intel.
She removed the earpiece and reattached it to the strap on her thigh. She hated leaving her car
there on the side of the road, but she had no choice. That’s where the pavement ended. Her little spit-
fire was made for speed, not rocks and mud.
Torin pulled into the parking lot in a massive truck. The sexy smile he gave her could have melted
an ice cap. He jumped out of his truck and gave her a squeeze and a sultry kiss.
“Has it really only been two days since we relaxed on a Costa Rican beach together?” Ginny
asked, pressing her thumb to her car handle to arm the alarm. She needed to shift gears back to fun and
flirty girlfriend.
“I can take my shirt off and we can lay a blanket out right here in the dirt and smooch. It would be
just like we’re back at the beach.”
“Tempting.” She fanned her face to combat the rising heat in her cheeks. “But something tells me it
wouldn’t be the same with dusty winds and exhaust in the air.”
She took his outstretched hand, allowing him to help her into his truck. She hiked her long purple
gown up to her knees and hopped into Torin’s passenger seat. Her formal dress seemed a bit much,
considering she had to park her car in a makeshift parking lot in rural Dallas.
Still, she was happy to be snuggling into Torin again. The first full day away from him, pretending
to drive around Dallas all day as an Uber driver, had been brutal. Not that she hated being an agent.
She hated lying to Torin.
Torin touched her arm. “You okay? You seem a million miles away.”
 “More like, four thousand miles.” She sighed. “Up for another trip?”
“Say when.” He threw a fist in the air, causing her to laugh. “And I’m there.”
“When,” she said with a wink.
He slammed his breaks, causing her body to continue forward and her seatbelt to lock as he
flipped the truck around.
“I’m kidding.” She slapped his arm. “Your friend Cole would kill us if we didn’t show up. And
it’s Scarlett and Demitri’s first date. We need to be there for them in case it goes south.”
“Fine,” he teased. This time he slowed the car at an acceptable rate of deceleration before he
flipped them around. “I think we need to be there for Cole and his caterer as well.”
“His caterer?” Ginny perked up. “I have no problem eating a healthy portion of delicious food
tonight.”
“She’s a great chef. But this event is not only for us to support his program for Down Syndrome
kids, it’s also going to be part of some reality show to promote awareness of his unique equestrian
therapy program.”
Ginny marveled at what great philanthropists Torin and his buddies were. “That’s amazing.”
“Yes, except there’s this rich woman who bought him at an auction. Then finagled her way onto
the reality show.”
It probably wouldn’t be the best thing for a spy to be seen on a reality TV show, but, then again,
no one would suspect her of being a spy if she did. But how does someone get bought at an auction?
Ginny held up a finger. “I think you lost me.”
“Cole likes the caterer, but he’s on this obligatory date tonight with a fame-seeking rich woman.”
Ginny shaped her fingers like a gun and shot him with a side click of her mouth. “Gotcha. I’ll
locate the caterer immediately upon entry. What’s her name?”
He scrunched his eyebrows. “Did you say locate? And entry?”
“Locate?” Her brain must have clicked back into agent mode when she realized she might need to
emotionally protect the caterer. “I think I said look for. What was her name?”
Torin tapped his knee, as if searching his mind for her name. Then he nodded. “Maggie.”
“Maggie as in Margaret?” she questioned, hoping to utilize her linguistic background to profile
Maggie.
“As in Margarita.” He snapped his fingers as if he remembered more. “Margarita Suarez, but I
think only her family and close friends call her Margarita.”
“Okay.” If she had more time and a private space, she could have completed a full background
check on Maggie, but the name Margarita Suarez gave Ginny a good idea of who she was about to
meet.
They pulled up to the building and parked to help Ginny out of the truck, which was a good idea if
she didn’t want to flash the crowd gathered outside the modern-looking barn structure.
She giggled as he grabbed her by the waist, lifted her out of the truck like she was a puff of cotton
candy, and set her gently on the ground.
“Thank you, handsome.”
He kissed her fast and deep, causing her to nearly tip over from lack of oxygen to her brain.
“Anytime, beautiful,” he said in his deep clear voice. “I’ll come find you after I park my truck.”
Ginny shook out her arms to regulate her temperature after that kiss. She made her way through the
crowd into the open-aired room. The assembly hall resembled a refurbished barn with high rafters,
but unlike a barn, huge picture windows spanned its entire length.
She scoped out the room, something she’d been trained to do. She saw no signs of danger, but it
was obvious who was there to support Cole and who was there for their moment of fame.
The room filled quickly. Ginny attributed the rapid influx of people to the rumors that circulated
outside of the amazing food in the main hall. She scanned the perimeter of the room until she located a
woman she believed to be Maggie. The toned woman with dark brown hair and striking blue eyes
wore a red fitted dress. She stood against a far wall, eyeing guests with plates in their hands. Maggie
sported a relieved, yet crestfallen, expression.
Suddenly, Ginny experienced that sixth sense of someone watching her. Amateur. Spies didn’t
search the faces of their targets. Professional intelligence officers used averted, not direct gaze to
prevent their targets from experiencing that sense of being watched, preventing the possibility of
compromising their mission. At least they’d sent an amateur. Whoever this was, they hadn’t had the
experience of marking. Or, this person wasn’t there to take her out. Whatever his training or purpose,
she’d find an opportunity to face him. Something she learned from Torin, the best defense was a good
offense, but he was somewhat preferential to a good offence.
Ginny became hypersensitive to her surroundings. She slipped through the shoulder-to-shoulder
guests, advanced to the bar, and ordered she and Maggie two virgin Margaritas. She would do what
she did best, play the part of a bubbly, fun friend—someone she once was. She planned to make a
lasting impression on Maggie and simultaneously protect herself from her pursuant.
She took the two drinks from the bartender and fought her way across the room to Maggie. Ginny
saw something peaceful in Maggie, like she did Torin. They both lit from the inside—as if they’d
never caused their consciences a day of torment. Ginny, on the other hand, constantly struggled to
appease her conscience. Hopefully, all of that would change, very soon.
“Here’s to second chances,” Maggie said to herself.
Ginny couldn’t have said it better. They must have been on the same wavelength. “Second chances
are the best.”
Maggie blinked her eyes, obviously not expecting her personal thoughts to have been heard by
anyone else.
Ginny handed Maggie the salt-rimmed drink. “Is that what we’re toasting to, second chances?”
“Oh.” Maggie stammered, seemingly uncomfortable with Ginny’s offer. “Thank you, but I didn’t
order a drink.”
Now to become friends. “I heard how you orchestrated this event and crafted the amazing cuisine
from scratch. I thought you could use a drink.”
Maggie’s face brightened.
Ginny held up her glass. “It’s a virgin Margarita. I thought it fitting.” She winked and let out a
light laugh. “When I ordered it, the bartender gave me a get real look and asked, ‘So you want two
lemonades?’”
Maggie’s composure relaxed, and she joined Ginny in her amusement. “I’m Maggie,” she said,
extending a hand out to Ginny.
Ginny took her hand and smiled. “Ginny.”
By Maggie’s coy smile, she looked as if she were questioning Ginny in some way. “What brought
you here tonight, Ginny?”
Love brought her there. Ginny caught Torin’s eye and her heart fluttered as he and Demitri
walked toward them.
Ginny raised her eyebrows. “I think you mean who brought me here.” She pointed with her glass
to the two men walking toward them. “Torin Godrey, that tall glass of sweet tea plays for the Titans.
He’s from Atlanta, Georgia and knows how to treat a lady. He’s with my sister’s date, Demitri.”
 Torin gave Ginny a sultry smile that caused her to tingle all the way down to her toes. “How is
everyone this evening?" he said in his clear, deep voice. He reached Ginny, placed his calming hand
on her lower back, and lit her face on fire as he pressed his soft lips to her cheek.
“Fabulous,” Maggie answered him with a look that said she approved of Ginny’s pick. “Thanks.”
He released Ginny’s back and reached to hug Maggie in the Southern-comfort way Ginny adored.
“Maggie, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Cole’s been talkin’ about you nonstop for
weeks now.”
Maggie’s cheeks flushed. “Oh really?”
Torin clapped his hands together. “Speak of the devil.”
Cole stood in the entrance with a stunning blonde with arms linked together like a happy couple.
Ginny had a sudden urge to slap the man’s face as he posed all smiley for the flash of professional
cameras while Maggie, the woman who loved him, drooped into her dress.
Ginny noticed Maggie tilting over. She pressed her side into Maggie’s to keep her upright. Then
ran her hand down Maggie’s lower arm and grabbed her cold hand. Maggie released a grateful sigh.
Demitri turned to Ginny, apparently unaware of his buddy’s despicable actions. “Ginny, have you
seen Scarlett? I dropped her at the front doors, went to park, and haven’t seen her since.”
Ginny’s blood ran cold. Somehow, Ginny knew; Scarlett had been taken—kidnapped by the
person who had marked Ginny earlier. Her heart thumped against her ribcage as her thin spy phone
vibrated against her thigh. She discreetly slipped her hand through the side slit in her dress, retrieved
her earpiece, and placed it in her right ear.
The man’s voice came hurried. “If you want to see yer sister alive again, come to the place where
you be sweatin’ this mornin’. Sorry to take you from yer airneál. Don’t bacach now, I have an
adharcáilí here who likes yer sister. I won’t be able to keep him off her fer long.”
Ginny spoke quietly—in an even, calm tone. “I’ll bring us a drink.”
She needed to escape this event quickly and save Scarlett. She turned to Torin and Demitri. “I’m
sure Scarlett went in search of the ladies’ room and got lost. Would you two please keep Maggie
company for a minute while I run to the restroom?”
The men nodded as she turned for the exit door and pushed her way through the crowd. She
walked behind the bar, grabbed two bottles of Irish Guinness, and slipped them into her purse.
Luckily, no one noticed her leave. There was too much excitement in the air that had absolutely
nothing to do with her.
Ginny ran to the side of the barn and hopped into a four-wheeler used to transport guests to and
from the grassy parking lot. Before she turned the key, Torin jumped into the seat next to her.
“What are you doing?” he said with concern.
Ginny threw the four-wheeler into drive and pressed down the pedal, spinning gravel and dust
behind them as it picked up speed.
“I’m going to save Scarlett,” she said in a monotone voice, straining to keep her wits. “She’s been
kidnapped.”
Torin threw his head back in laughter. After a few seconds, his demeanor changed to fear. “Have
you called the police?”
Ginny grabbed Torin’s thigh and squeezed to calm herself. “If I call anyone, even my own people,
they’ll kill her. That’s how this works?”
“How what works?” he said in anger.
She didn’t look over at him, fearing she would cave. “How being a spy works.”
“Scarlett’s a spy?” Torin shook his head. “What kind of spy?”
 When they reached the parking lot, Ginny threw the ATV into park and jumped out. “No, Torin.”
She pointed to her chest. “I’m the spy. My mother has ties to the IRA, and I thought I could protect my
sister if I became a spy, but I couldn’t. I didn’t.” The tears burned her eyes, but she couldn’t allow
that. She had to transform the fear and failure into passion, passion to save her sister.
Torin’s eyes widened in horror. His mouth opened but he didn’t speak.
Ginny pulled out her personal phone from her purse and purchased the direct flight she cancelled
and reserved every day in case she found herself and Torin in a situation like this. “I sent a text to
your phone of your flight to Atlanta. It’s departing in two hours.” She bit her lower lip. “I need you to
be on that flight, Torin.” She swallowed back the lump rising in her throat. “Today proves that I’ve
put you, your sister, and your new little niece in serious danger.”
“What are you talking about?” He shook his head violently. “No. That’s not true.”
She pressed her palm into his cheek and stared into his pained eyes. “Please. Do this for me. You
can’t ever contact me again. And I’m going to make it easy on you.”
Torin grabbed Ginny by the wrist as she opened her car door. “I won’t let you do this, Ginny. I’m
not giving up on you and you’re not giving up on us. I’m coming with you to find Scarlett.”
Ginny reached inside her car door, pulled out an electric shocker from under her seat, placed it to
Torin’s forearm, and pressed the button. Torin yelped in pain as he hit the dirt and continued to twist
and tremble. She released her thumb from the activation button.
She swore at herself and kneeled next to him. “I’m sorry, Torin. I love you.” He protested with his
eyes but was still unable to speak. She kissed his lips as one of her tears fell onto his face and rolled
down his neck. “There are thousands of great girls dying to go out with you, but I won’t have you die
to be with me. Go home and find someone wonderful.”
He would hate her after he regained control of his muscles in a minute or two, making it easier to
forget about her and move on. She slid into her driver’s seat and sped away, leaving the only future
she ever wanted writhing in the dust. Those cretins had no idea the fury that was coming their way.
11
Ginny turned into the high school parking lot with her hands gripping the steering wheel so tight her
knuckles had turned a milky white. Her fellow agents would be someplace close, watching. She
hadn’t called them; she didn’t want Scarlett’s captors arming their ammunition. And the agency had
heard her conversation with the Irishman; they would respond how they would. As far as she was
concerned, this was between her and that one sanctimonious man.
Her hands trembled as she unzipped her silky lavender gown. She pulled it off her shoulders and
released it, causing the dress to billow to the wet asphalt, damp and glossy from a recent five-minute
downpour. She felt strong and unrestricted in the black spanks and sport’s tank top she’d worn under
her dress for circumstances such as these—times where she would need to get dirty. Gowns weren’t
meant to fight in, and she was in a fighting mood.
Ginny stepped onto the grassy football field, holding both beer bottles in her left fingers. She
breathed in the sweet scent of the freshly cut grass clippings that stuck to her shoes and caused her to
slip with each hurried step. As she strode across the field toward the bleachers, the stadium lights
flashed on, temporarily blinding her. Amateurs. They just announced themselves to an entire city
block.
She pumped out her chest and paced through the field like a lioness with her eyes on its prey. She
wanted them to know she hadn’t planned on slinking around back to surprise them like they would
have expected. She wanted them to know she planned on confronting them, face to face.
Once she was off the football field, the stadium lights dimmed. The long trek up the bleachers to
stadium box kept Ginny’s mind clear and her heart rate where it needed to be to fight. When she had
run up those same bleachers earlier the other day with Scarlett, she had all the answers to life. Now,
she had one purpose and no answers.
She walked at a steady, even pace until she reached the hallway to the control room. She ran
down the long open hall to allow her time before the captors anticipated her. When she reached the
stadium control room door, she took in a deep breath, and, as she breathed out, she envisioned a
successful outcome with two men sprawled out on the floor.
She then removed her personal phone attached next to her gun on her right thigh strap and made a
video conferencing call. When the phone connected, she suctioned the phone to the bottom of her right
shoe and waited for the door to open.
She imagined the captive as a Jane Doe instead of her sister to calm her racing heart. It didn’t
work. When a pasty man, close to size of a Titans’ offensive linemen, opened the door, it took her
wind and challenged her nerves. No wonder no one noticed him at the ranch. He would have fit right
in amongst the players.
Ginny held out her arm to hand him the mocha colored beer. Out of her peripheral vision, she
caught a glimpse of Scarlett strapped to a wooden folding chair. Several feet from Scarlett’s chair
was a long banquet table with assault rifles and communication devices.
He nodded and took the bottles from her. “Your gun,” he grunted, staring at her thigh.
She winced as he licked his lips, but distraction was part of the game. She wouldn’t play the
bubbly sorority girl because they already knew she was a spy, but she would play the negotiator.
Ginny held her hands up in surrender and bent over slightly, pushing back her right leg to place the
phone from the bottom of her shoe against the cement wall. “I’m going to loosen the straps,” she said
slowly, “so you can take the gun and my phone, okay?”
Another man with the same general look and build, just a little less pasty complexion and
premature balding, stepped out of the shadows and pointed a gun at Scarlett, causing Ginny’s heart to
constrict.
“Let’s talk about what you want with us,” Ginny continued in a calm voice. “I’m only loosening
the straps.”
The pasty man ran his hands up Ginny’s legs, causing every muscle in her body to tense before he
removed the two straps with the gun and phone.
“No touch!” the balding guy yelled to his partner.
Pasty threw his head back in defiance. “Not yet,” he said, shooting Ginny a lustful glare.
That confirmed it. These guys were mere henchmen. Ginny needed to talk to the man who sent
them.
Balding pulled out another folding chair and motioned for Ginny to sit with her back to Scarlett.
Ginny moved with soft, slow motions to avoid displaying dominance. Scarlett’s body appeared to
relax when Ginny kissed the top of her head before sitting with her back to her.
Pasty examined the beer bottles while Balding wrapped Ginny’s ankles together with duct tape.
He continued by wrapping her wrists together in her lap, then wrapping the tape around her center and
the back of the chair. She barely struggled, just enough for them to believe she was uncomfortable and
frightened.
Balding prepared a piece of tape for Ginny’s mouth, like Scarlett wore.
Ginny cleared her throat. “Can that wait until after we talk?”
He grunted. “Talk about what?”
“What you want. And why we’re here.” She paused for affect. “I can’t help you with tape over my
mouth.”
Balding crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, as if screaming at his brain to help him with one
little thought. His face was dark and empty. He looked like he had ignored his own conscience one
too many times. And without any light, he couldn’t access any knowledge. He threw out his arm in a
motion that said what she said didn’t matter. “You’ve already failed,” he said with attitude.
Ginny firmed up her resolve at his comment. The fight never begins until we’ve failed. It is how
we handle that failure that determines if we will ultimately succeed.
Pasty motioned for Balding to join him at the conference table for a beer.
Balding looked hard at Scarlett and Ginny. “He told us to call when we had them.”
“Have a wee seat,” Pasty begged his partner. “We’ll still have them after a Guinness.”
Balding joined his friend at the table as Pasty popped open the bottles. They laughed as white
foam poured out from the top. She had purposefully shaken them on her way up the bleachers to mask
that they had already been opened.
Ginny waited to work on her tape until about five minutes after they had finished off their bottles
and their speech began to slur. She conspicuously flipped up the hem of her spanks where a flat razor
was sewn into the fabric. When she pulled the hem over, the razor tilted out from it’s protective metal
cover with the sharpened end pointed upward.
Within ten seconds, she had cut through the tape between her wrists. Ginny pulled on the easy-
release thread that sewed the razor into place and released the blade. She then brought her hands to
her waist and made a liberating slit. The ankle tape would be the most difficult to hide considering
she couldn’t lean over undetected since the cretins had immobilized her to the back of the chair.
 When the men began to sway, she kicked her ankles to one side and reached her arm down to the
floor, keeping her other hand in her lap. She kept her motions fluid and smooth to avoid their
attention.
Once the tape on her feet was completely cut through, she slowly worked to remove the tape still
stuck to her waist. She reached behind her and cut the tape wrapped around Scarlett’s waist.
Now Ginny’s movements would be fast and precise. She spun around in front of Scarlett and cut
at her hand tape with fervor.
“Hey!” Pasty yelled as he stood, leaning into the table for support. His head did a circular motion
as he stumbled forward.
Ginny placed the razor into Scarlett’s hand and took two running steps before jumping up and
landing on the edge of the table. The guns flew through the air as the table tipped on its side. The men
now needed to go through her to access the guns.
Pasty’s arms flailed as he careered toward her. She firmed her stance, grasped her hands together
and pointed her locked elbow at his gut. When he barreled into her, she shot her elbow straight
through his solar plexus to his back. He fell to the floor in a hump, gasping for air.
Before Balding made it to her, Scarlett was on the floor wrapping duct tape around Pasty’s ankles.
“You okay?” Ginny asked Scarlett.
Scarlett nodded as she feverishly moved to the man’s arms.
“You,” Balding snarled at Ginny. “What did you give me?”
“Just be happy I only had two pills and not four.” Ginny looked to his friend passed out on the
floor.
Her comment seemed to infuriate him even more. He was actually foaming at the mouth. Was that
a normal side effect of those pills?
Unfortunately, he had more control of his body than Pasty did. Ginny widened her stance and bent
into her knees like a wrestler preparing for a match. When he lunged at her, she extended her leg,
sweeping his legs out from under him. Before he could get back up, she kicked him in the groin.
The man whimpered and curled into the fetal position. Judging by his drooping eyelids, she didn’t
have much time to interrogate him.
“Call your boss,” she demanded through clenched teeth, handing him a phone that had been thrown
off the table onto the floor.
He shook his head in refusal.
She placed the phone in his hand and stepped onto his head. “I repeat. Call your boss.”
Within ten seconds, the phone was ringing on the other end.
The line picked up with a, “Tell me.” It sounded like a middle-aged Irishman. No surprise there.
“Tell you what?” Ginny said with ire. “That I have your men sprawled on the floor, whimpering?
Or that I plan to come and hunt you down if you ever touch my family again?”
“Ginny.” he said in a mocking tone. “Can I offer you a job?”
“I have an offer for you, mob boss. My offer is that you never use anyone to get to me and I won’t
kill you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“That’s a consequence,” Ginny said with resolution. “And that’s a promise. If you fear that
consequence, then feel threatened.”
“Where are my men?”
“Here, writhing on the floor, willing to tell us everything we ask them.”
He made a snarling sound. “What do you want?”
 Those were sweet words. “You know what I want.”
“Then we have an arrangement. But I will expect to never hear from your mother again.”
“And allow me to reiterate our arrangement. If you have future issues with my mother, I will
expect you to go directly to her. If you touch anyone I love to get to me or my mother, I will come for
you.” She paused. “And when I come, there will be no negotiation. I will mark you indirectly. You
will never know what hit you.”
“It seems we have an arrangement. And my offer still stands if you’d like more promising
employment.”
“You and I? Are finished. You won’t be hearing from me ever again. And I expect the same from
you.” Ginny ended the call and sank to the floor next to Scarlett who was still feverishly wrapping
tape around Balding’s hands.
“Scarlett, how thick are you going with that tape?” Ginny laughed out.
“Twenty layers and counting,” she said with satisfaction.
Ginny put her arms around Scarlett and rested her head on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Scarlett.”
“You saved me, Ginny.” Scarlett reached up and cradled Ginny’s head. “If anyone needs to
apologize, it’s Mom.”
Her phone! Ginny ran over to the phone she had pushed against the wall with her foot. She turned
the phone around to a video conference with her mom and dad.
“Did you get all that?” Ginny asked.
Her mother was completely gray at fifty-eight but her green eyes were as sharp as a hawk. “I am
so proud of you, girls! You are definitely from my stock.” She looked over at her husband. “Warriors,
through and through.” She clasped her hands together. “What a future!”
That had back fired. Ginny opened her mouth to speak but her father began, “No, dear.” he said
sternly to his wife. “These girls will never have to go through anything like that again. And if I so
much as hear you think in Irish, I’ll send you back to Ireland myself, and you’ll lose us for good.”
Ginny’s father had never made her prouder than at that moment. Her mother, on the other hand,
crossed her arms with a huff. Ginny rubbed her face with the realization that no matter what Ginny did
to convince her mother, and no matter what happened to her children, she would never change. She
would never be the affectionate mother Ginny had always longed for. The only thing Ginny could do
was decide what kind of mother she herself would be someday.
The secret knock broke their happy family reunion.
“It’s time to move.” Ginny nodded to her father. “Everything’s ready.”
She ended the call as Candace and the rest of their team walked through the door.
Candace motioned around the room. “You didn’t need us.”
“I knew you were close by.” Ginny gave a blink of her eyes and nod of appreciation. “Thanks for
letting me handle that one on my own.” Ginny’s sight went to the two miscreants passed out on the
floor. “What do you want to do with those guys?”
“We’ll see what they know, then ship their trash back to Ireland. My guess is, they’ll get a more
severe punishment there than here.”
“Sounds fitting.” Ginny agreed and wrapped her arms around Scarlett. “Ready for a trip home to
pack up the folks?”
Candace touched Ginny’s arm and spoke quietly. “What about Torin?”
Ginny shook her head and released a discouraged sigh. “It’s not gonna work.”
Having Candance mention his name brought a flash of guilt, mixed with melancholy. After that
stunt she pulled in the parking lot, he would never want her now. Even if she did think it could
possibly work out between them, which it couldn’t, she wouldn’t subject him to a life of looking over
his shoulder.
“Sorry.” Candance shifted her gaze to the men on the floor. “We’ll clean up here.” She tilted her
head to the door. “You two head out.”
Ginny and Scarlett didn’t speak until they reached the edge of the school parking lot.
“Scarlett?” Ginny began, her conscience wreaking havoc in her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I
was an intelligence officer.”
“The real question is…” Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “Can I start signing that song.” She danced
as she belted out, “Secret A-gent woman, secret A-gent woman.”
Ginny put her arm around Scarlett’s shoulders. “How can you crack jokes right now? You could
have been killed.”
Scarlett became serious. “I was terrified at first—you know, when they escorted me out of the
party. But then, almost immediately, I heard them speaking to you.” She stopped a few feet from
Ginny’s car. Steam rose from the black asphalt, lending Scarlett a spritely appearance. “I knew you’d
save me. I had that intuition that comes to twins like us.”
“We’re not twins,” Ginny said flatly as they got into her car.
“But you want to be,” Scarlett winked, settling into the passenger seat and stretching her arms
behind her head like she didn’t have a care in the world.
A phone rang in the car’s center console, causing Ginny to tense. She never kept a working phone
in there. She did have one or two extras ready to slip a sim card into, but, like she never kept the
ammo with her guns, she never kept the sim cards and phone’s together.
“That’s where I left that this morning after our breakfast at the café.” Scarlett opened the console
to her blinking phone. “Oh,” she whined, giving Ginny that look like she didn’t know what to do. “It’s
Demitri.”

***

THIRTY MINUTES EARLIER

Torin gasped, sucking in a mouthful of dirt as he came to. His body ended up in a funky, contorted
fetal position.
He scrambled into a seated position and scooted to the nearest car. He leaned against the hot
metal surface while he hacked up his left lung. Did he still have that lung? There were a few body
parts he couldn’t feel, some very important body parts. He sat there for a minute, drenched in his own
sweat, collecting his wits—trying to understand what had just happened and how that little device
Ginny held in her hand could have caused him so much pain, like his body had been repeatedly
slammed by ten of the biggest guys in the league.
He searched his pockets for his phone. It wasn’t on him. Off in the distance, a ray of lightning shot
across the night sky, followed by crashing thunder.
Someday he and Ginny would laugh about this. He limped to the four-wheeler. But not today.
Today, he was in serious pain, and today, he needed to help Ginny find her sister. He pulled himself
up and into the ATV, then reached to turn on the engine. No key.
Ginny had thought of everything to prevent him from catching up to her. He cautiously stepped
back out of the ATV, avoiding those muscles still not responding. As he began his trek back to the
farm house, the skies let loose, drenching him in a steely rain that turned the dust under his feet to
sticky sludge. He laughed that you have got to be kidding me laugh and trudged on.
When he arrived at the farm house twenty minutes later, the rain had stopped but he looked like he
had stepped out of the stagnant pond on the ranch property, and, if his nose was working properly, he
smelled like the redolent stagnant water as well. He made his way to the barn where he found a ranch
hand scratching his head.
“Hey,” Torin said.
The teenage boy turned and whistled, looking Torin up and down. “You okay?”
“Not really. Could I use your phone?”
The boy slowly took a phone out of his back pocket and hesitantly held it in the air.
“Actually,” Torin said, looking down at his muddy hands. “Could you dial a number for me?”
The boy nodded. Torin gave him the number and the boy placed the call on speaker. When Demitri
came on the phone, Torin quickly instructed him to meet him in the barn.
Demitri plowed through the barn door less than half a minute later. “Dude, I finally got ahold
of…” He stopped abruptly and threw his hands in the air. “What happened to you?”
“Scarlett?” Torin said with hope.
“Yeah.” Demitri scratched the back of his head. “You okay?”
“No. Not really,” Torin responded. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
“Yeah. Why are you worried about her when you look like someone ran you over with a trailer
then threw you in with the pigs?”
Was he being punked? “I thought she was—”
“Kidnapped!” Cole interjected as he breathlessly entered the barn. “Scarlett was kidnapped.” He
turned to Demitri. “When I heard you were looking for Scarlett for over an hour and hadn’t seen her
since you dropped her at the front, I checked my video surveillance and these two guys came up on
both sides of her, grabbed her by the arms and put her into a white van.” He pulled out his phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Dude, no. Hang up.” Demitri shook his head. “I just talked to her and she’s fine. I guess there
was some family emergency that she and her sister had to run home for. Maybe those guys were
picking her up.”
“Home?” Torin questioned. “Do you know where they went?”
“No,” Demitri responded. “But I’ll find out.”
The farmhand stomped into the barn. “Sorry to bug, but has anyone seen the four-wheeler? People
are asking for me to take them to their cars and I can’t find it.”
“Oh,” Demitri said, holding up a finger. “Scarlett told me the key to the ATV and Torin’s phone
are sitting on the wooden gate at the ranch’s entrance.”
“The key, but not the ATV?” Cole questioned.
Torin rubbed his face in his hands. “I need a shower.”
12
T he condo seemed empty; it was empty, and hot. Air conditioning didn’t exist in Steamboat Springs,
at least not in the condos built in the ‘70s—like Ginny’s family’s. Today the temperature was
supposed to hit in the nineties.
Ginny sank back into her dad’s old recliner and scanned the dark living room, paneled in walnut-
stained wood. Even at mid-afternoon, when the sun infiltrated every inch of the sky, their condo was
still dark, dull, and gloomy like her childhood had been. Scarlett had been the sunshine that broke
through the tenebrous clouds to bring Ginny hope.
She picked up a worn bible from off the coffee table and rubbed the leather cover. When things
were especially bad at home, she and Scarlett would snuggle together in bed with the covers over
their heads. One would hold a flashlight while the other read from the bible. It was the only thing that
brought them any real peace. Their favorite passages were in Psalms; they even memorized most of
the king’s songs and poetry.
Ginny walked down the hall and placed her childhood bible in a box headed to Dallas with her.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d be in Dallas, but she needed to tie up some loose ends with the
agency. She wanted a slower life. After getting a taste of a healthy relationship, she longed for that
normalcy, that affection, that connection. Her body ached just thinking about Torin. She shook her
hands out to avert her focus on something she could control.
The condo was set to go on the market in a week. She wouldn’t miss it, at all, but she was glad
she had come back to make her peace with her mother and this town, with every painful memory it
had imprisoned her mind with. Had imprisoned. She had finally been set free.
She wiped the beads of sweat from off her forehead with the back of her hand. She needed to cool
off. She went to the storage closet and grabbed an inflatable tube. She hadn’t packed her swimsuit, but
Torin had taught her that swimsuits were optional items; any fabric would do. Her light-weight fabric
romper would dry quickly.
When she arrived at her favorite place to put in at the river, by the fishing pond, she had that
feeling of being watched—but not in an eerie way, like she had a week ago when she fought with the
Irishmen. She did wish she had her gun though, but guns and water didn’t mix; neither did phones and
water, even though her phone was touted as waterproof. She strapped her phone to her upper arm and
climbed into the cool slow moving water.
She floated along calmly for over three hours with dozens of other river passengers hoping to get
some relief from the blistering heat. She allowed the vitamin D from the sun to lift and lighten her
spirit. A few people on the water preferred the grassier way of relaxing. Did they not understand how
incredibly nasty they smelled when they smoked that stuff? Ginny had had to hold her breath on
several occasions.
Three hours turned out to be a little too much downtime without someone to share it with. She
would have invited Scarlett, but her sister had run downtown to pick up some of those touristy
souvenirs for her friends.
When her stomach gave a hearty grumble, Ginny made the decision to come out of the river next to
her favorite sushi restaurant. Perhaps Scarlett would join her for their last riverside meal before they
drove home the next day.
 Ginny dropped her tube next to the restaurant and called her sister. No answer. She sent her a text
letting her know where she’d be, then parked herself on an outdoor table overlooking the river. At
five o’clock, Ginny had practically the entire restaurant to herself. Maybe she would miss this place.
When her waiter placed the Rhinestone Cowboy Roll onto her table, her mouth watered. She
imagined they called it that because of the multicolored roe sprinkled on top that resembled round
sparkly rhinestones. She quickly snatched up a piece and moaned as her taste buds marveled at the
explosion of flavors.
“Congratulations, Ginny!” Holly, the Caucasian Rastafarian waitress who normally waited on
Ginny, came to her table and threw her arms around her neck. She smelled like the smokers on the
river, like burnt leaves, hay, and chicken droppings mixed together.
Ginny didn’t want to be rude, but she had no idea what Holly was referring to. “Thanks,” she
said, taking another bite of sushi. “But…what are we celebrating again?”
Holly changed the patio television from the sport’s channel to the five o’clock local news.
Ginny’s heart dropped when a video of Torin and Scarlett smooching at the sportsman’s expo
flickered across the screen. Her throat dried up, causing her to cough. She held up a finger. “Can I get
a glass of water, please?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Holly looked at her with concern. “And I’ll turn up the volume.”
Ginny wanted to shout No! but she didn’t want to make the situation any more awkward or painful
than it already was. Holly obviously thought it was Ginny, not Scarlett, Torin was kissing in that
video.
Ginny snatched up the largest slice of sushi with her chopsticks and shoved it in her mouth. She
would comfort-eat the hurt away.
Suddenly, the newscaster’s voice boomed. “You heard it here first, folks. It has been confirmed
that our very own Ginny Young is engaged to NFL star Torin Godfrey.”
Ginny sucked in a quick, panicked breath. Unfortunately, she still had a large piece of sushi in her
mouth that she hadn’t fully chewed or swallowed. She gasped for air as she simultaneously attempted
to expel the lump of sticky rice with a cough. She stood and threw herself into the end of the log fence
that protected the restaurant patron’s from falling into the river below. With the help of the blunt force
to her abdomen, she was able to cough the rice out.
Ginny turned around to face her table and a happy Holly bouncing toward her, unaware that her
customer had nearly choked to death.
Holly waved her hands in the air with excitement. “You didn’t tell me he was coming here?”
Ginny’s brows knit together as she sipped her cool water, loving how it soothed her irritated
throat. “Who?”
“Your fiancé, of course,” Torin said as he strode across the patio like he owned all of Texas.
“How did you find me?” Ginny’s head grew light and dizzy. “And why?” she asked him.
“Something you said to me that first time we kissed. ‘You can run and hide but I will always find
you’.” He held his hands out to her. “And because I love you, Ginny.”
She shook her head and took a step back, even though what she really wanted to do was feel his
arms around her and taste his lips. “This is a mistake. I won’t allow you to get hurt.”
He shrugged as he advanced to her. “Who says I’m going to get hurt.” He lifted his arm and
flexed. “If they show me their guns, then I’ll show them mine.” He shrugged. “And if that doesn’t
work, I’ll have you protect me. I hear you’re quite good at that.”
“You need to leave,” she protested. “People want me dead.”
“A little thing like people wanting to kill us, and you tasering me, isn’t going to keep me away.”
 The guilt grew in her gut. “Yeah.” She scrunched up her nose. “I’m really sorry about zapping
you.”
“It’s okay,” he said, now inches away from her, causing her thighs to quiver.
She swallowed. “No. It’s not okay. I didn’t know what else to do. I needed to get to Scarlett
quick.”
“Really,” he reaffirmed as he slid his hand down her arm and took her hand.
She released a sigh of relief as his touch, the physical connection between them, quieted her every
misgiving.
Torin continued, “I’m serious.” His eyes held hers. “Now I have points saved up for when I mess
up, like when I forget our anniversary…or drop the baby on his head.”
“Baby?” Her head spun. “Anniversary?” If she hadn’t been leaning into his chest, she would have
fallen over.
He took her by the hand and led her to a bench overlooking the river. He went down onto one knee
in front of her and held out his arm with his pinky finger extended. “Ginny Young, I have told the
world that I plan to love you for all eternity, but there’s a problem.”
She blinked her eyes as her tears warmed her cheeks. “What’s that?”
“I didn’t lie about loving you for eternity, but I did lie when I told the world we were engaged. I
am here on my knees.” He pointed to the ground. “Begging you to keep a promise you made to me.”
Ginny tilted her head to the side and looked into his clear blue eyes, the kindest eyes she’d ever
known. “What promise?”
His entire face lit into a smile. “You promised to make an honest man of me.” He looked at his
hand with the outstretched pinky finger. “Will you keep that promise to me and be my wife?”
“Yes!” she yelled, linking her pinky finger with his. “I promise.”
She brought their linked hands into her chest as she pressed her forehead to his.
“Can I kiss you now?” he whispered.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because we have an audience.”
Ginny had been so immersed in her dizzying joy that she hadn’t noticed the crowd surround them.
Scarlett stood front and center, holding Demitri’s hand with Cole and Maggie at their sides. She had
no clue who the rest of the people were, but it didn’t matter, she would live and breathe for Torin
now; from now until eternity.
“Is that a yes?” His eyes begged. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Now and forever.”
As their lips met, her world was finally as it should be, filled with hope and promise.

The End

***

Maggie’s story
Excerpt from Texas Titan Romance:
The Forbidden Groom
The blaring tones woke Maggie from her restless sleep. She sprang out of bed, fully clothed, and
sprinted for the pole. Her brain scrambled to process the emergency notification broadcast over the
intercom as she jumped forward, wrapping one arm and an opposing leg around the cool metal bar.
Her socks hit the apparatus bay floor in an instant. It took her less than a minute from the time she first
heard the tones for her to be suited up and in the engine with her fanny pack and medical bag. She
looked over at Kyle with a nod and the engine started to move.
“Did I hear that correctly?” Maggie adjusted the volume on her radio. “A submerged car in
Jordanelle reservoir?”
Her captain nodded. “Never seen that before.”
“But the road is so far from the water.” She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “How could that
have happened?”
Kyle, their fearless engineer, cranked up the siren as he approached a streetlight. “Sounds like the
car went in from a campsite near the water’s edge.”
She threw her hands in the air. “I know it’s spring, chronologically speaking, but it’s still cold
here in the mountains. Who camps in freezing weather?” She didn’t understand these crazy
outdoorsmen in Utah. California made much more sense.
Kyle managed the countless bends and curves of the narrow road as he wound around the
reservoir with expertise.
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “How many times have you been on this road, Kyle?”
“We kept a boat here when I was a kid.” He shrugged. “We were here most of the—” Kyle’s
voice broke as they pulled into the campsite and their lights shone on a couple standing at the water’s
edge. The frantic woman pounded on a man’s chest and motioned to the lake. Their clothes hung from
their bodies like the chains of Jacob Marley in Dicken’s A Christmas Carol, and their eyes held a
despair similar to what one would imagine a haunting ghost to have.
The crew bounced from the engine.
“What happened?” the captain asked.
The woman fell to her knees. “She was cold and crying, so my husband put her in the car and
turned on the engine. We were packing up when…” She looked to the water.
“She’s been down there for at least half an hour.” The man pulled at his hair. “We’ve been trying
to get her out.”
Maggie could make out the car’s shape. The top of the roof sat around two or three feet under the
water’s surface. The doors would most likely be locked. Maggie grabbed the rescue axe just as a
patrol car stopped at her side and an officer emerged.
The officer held his hand out to Maggie. “We’ve got rescue divers, Heavy Crew, and helicopter
on their way.”
“Good,” Maggie said in defiance as she ran to the water and dove in.
A thousand pins penetrated her skin, constricting her chest and causing her nerves to falter.
Maggie was raised swimming in the cool northern California ocean. This is nothing, she told herself
in an effort to calm her racing heart. The full moon provided limited light once she reached down past
two feet. The absence of light blinded her. She returned to the surface, took in a deep inhale, then
immediately plunged deeper, feeling her way through the water until her hand hit something hard.
She pushed herself deeper as she ran her hand down to a door handle. She pulled with all her
strength on the handle as she pushed off the door with her feet for sufficient resistance to break the
glass with the axe in her other hand. Her hands ached from the cold as she struck the window with
force. The glass held firm. In anger and frustration, she struck again and again.
 She swam to the surface, breathed in another long breath, and dove back down. She altered her
position slightly and released the axe with waning strength but increased determination.
A soft ting echoed through the water as glass shards fractured and floated around her. Maggie
pulled herself in through the window frame, reaching forward until her hands located a body. She
thought to open the car door from the inside but didn’t have more than a few seconds of oxygen
remaining in her lungs. She willed her body not to breathe in the water as she pushed the little girl’s
body out the window and then followed.
When Maggie reached the water’s surface, she immediately pushed the young girl’s head out of
the water. The girl was stick-thin and looked to be around seven or eight. Maggie’s legs and free arm
treaded the water at a rapid pace to keep them both above the surface. She blew two breaths in the
girl’s mouth before a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her toward land.
“Thanks, Kyle,” she said once she regained her breath.
He gave her a stern look as they climbed onto the bank and laid the girl onto her side to expel any
water, then repositioned her onto her back where one of the paramedics was ready to continue mouth-
to-mouth. “Sometimes you forget we’re a team.”
“Sorry.” Maggie raised her eyes to the medical helicopter as it landed. “I just thought that you
might try and stop me.” She challenged him with a look. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“She’s not responding,” the paramedic said after performing chest compressions. “We need to call
her.”
“Let me try,” Maggie voiced with determination, motioning for the paramedic to step aside. “I can
bring her back.”
Maggie continued with the chest compression until Kyle touched her shoulder.
“It’s time,” Kyle said in a heavy voice. “We need to hand her over.”

***

Three hours later, Maggie slammed her yellow Jeep into park and glanced at her phone before
pocketing it. No new emails. The results from her DNA swab should be in today. Her body tensed
from the cold as she jumped out into the frigid air. Her yellow slicker boots hit the pavement with a
crunch. If she wore her spring boots then maybe Mother Nature would act accordingly. No luck, still
icy. Late April often meant spring blossoms, but in Park City, Utah, Jack Frost still utilized his
tomfoolery to produce a thin layer of morning ice to tease and torment.
As a firefighter, Maggie loathed icy roads. Slick roads meant accidents and accidents meant
death. She grabbed the cloth grocery sack out of the back seat and rested her shoulder against her
Jeep’s cool metal frame. She breathed in the fresh mountain air, filling her lungs to complete capacity,
and then some. She appreciated air more than ever today. The moisture from her breath clung to the
water particles in the air as she slowly exhaled.
She needed to pound some pans together and feel the warmth of Pineapple’s smile.
Maggie took one last steadying breath before making her way through the parking lot to the
Polynesian restaurant’s glass door. She ran her hand along the ribbed lanyard around her neck,
glancing down before tinkering with the keys to find the one to the restaurant.
On her mornings off, she had full reign of Pineapple’s kitchen to explore the world of culinary
delights as she pleased, often creating a French meal for Pineapple before his workday began. Today,
she’d make the two of them French onion soup—the perfect comfort food. Then she’d help Pineapple
prepare for the lunch rush before sneaking home to take a nap. Her body craved sleep, but her mind
habitually tormented her the moment her head hit the pillow.
Culinary therapy would clear her mind and release her tension before she returned home to her
solitary studio apartment. She had researched equestrian therapy when she realized how traumatic
responding to horrific accidents could be, but anything involving a horse was super expensive.
Horses spoke to a part of Maggie, and brought her a type of joy that no one else ever had—but she
couldn’t afford a horse, so she stuck with cooking lessons instead, something Dax, a firefighter from
the other shift, told her had helped him through his PTSD.
Maggie wiggled the key into the keyhole. A soft warm breeze tickled Maggie’s ear, causing her
mind to fly back to a balmy summer afternoon in Healdsburg, California. Rosco shakes his head,
causing the dust from his mane to produce a fog-like affect in the waning afternoon sunlight. I
relax the reins as I lean forward in my saddle and wrap my arms around his neck. My cheek
brushes the bristly, burnt-red hair of his mane, causing a warmth to erupt in my chest.
Rapid, high-pitched beeping from the alarm panel woke Maggie from her happy thoughts. She
stepped over to the pad and disarmed it. She missed Rosco. If only she could find an authentic,
assiduous cowboy.
She shook her head at her naiveté. She had come to Park City after the Sonoma Valley fires
decimated Vernay Vineyard where she and her family had worked for over a decade. Tori Terrence
had offered for Maggie to come stay with her family in Park City. Tori’s late husband had been a
cowboy and Tori was convinced that if Maggie had her eyes set on a cowboy then all she had to do
was come live with her for a few months, but it didn’t prove that easy.
At first, the intimate charm of the small mountain town saturated Maggie’s soul; everything was
more romantic when new and unfamiliar. Once a rough-n-tumble miner’s town, Park City was now
elegant and refined; a little too refined for Maggie’s taste.
Having been a firefighter here for over a year, nearly every street held a dark memory for her, and
last night one more horrific memory was added to her repertoire of nightmares.
Maggie walked through the dining area with firefighter t-shirts from around the world adorning
the walls and brightly painted wooden tables and chairs. She smiled to herself at how Pineapple’s
invoked a sentiment of reliving one’s childhood, with primary colors splattered across the furniture
and the scent of sweet bread hanging in the air. She skipped into the kitchen, her feet growing lighter
with each step deeper into the restaurant.
She set the oven to preheat then carried her bag to the center of the room to the long metal counter
and began offloading her groceries onto the shiny surface.
Would she give up her career? She loved so many things about firefighting. She earned good
money, enough to be completely independent. Her male co-workers were amazing; they treated her
like one of the guys, which was all right with her. Her fellow firefighters were attractive, but most of
them had girlfriends or wives. Thankfully, they behaved like gentlemen.
It should have perhaps offended her that none of her single co-workers had asked her out, but how
could she blame them? She’d never been accused of being overly feminine. She never wore make-up
and always kept her long, straight black hair pulled up through a baseball cap or set in a messy bun on
top of her head. Growing up, the neighborhood boys accepted her as one of their own.
And she was tough. By the time she turned fifteen, even with her petite frame, she could carry
close to what the adult men in the fields and vineyards could. Now, at twenty-four, her strength
enabled her to snag a job as a firefighter. Hiking up a mountain with a hundred pounds of gear was not
for the faint of heart.
Maggie would have settled for a ripped firefighter, but she was better suited for a farm boy or a
rancher who could appreciate her work ethic and strength. It was time to expand her search.
“Dallas, Texas, you’re looking better by the minute!” she exclaimed as she organized her
ingredients.
She rotated a Vidalia onion in the air to examine it. It resembled an alien space saucer, flat and
aerodynamic. “You are beautiful.” The flatter the sweeter, as the onion mantra went.
As Maggie turned to hang the empty grocery sack on the wall hook behind her, the back door
slammed shut. No one should be in here. Pineapple never comes in this early. Ever since Dax’s
girlfriend was attacked by her serial killing stalker a few months back, Maggie had been on edge. The
stalker was currently in jail awaiting trial, but what if Maggie had her own stalker?
She stumbled, grabbing the hook for balance as she took in a sharp breath. She ducked down onto
her hands and knees and scrambled to the drawer beneath her soup ingredients. Her fingers fumbled
through the drawer until she held firm to the handle of a butcher knife.
Heavy steps neared, causing Maggie’s breath to quicken and her heart to pump chilled blood
through her pulsating veins.
“Margarita!” Pineapple’s voice echoed through the kitchen.
Maggie sat up, rested the knife in her lap, and gave a dramatic exhale. “You scared the daylights
out of me,” she scolded, returning the knife to the drawer as she stood.
Pineapple’s round, expressive face held a look of concern. “Sorry, Mags. You okay?” He was the
only person she allowed to call her Margarita or Mags.
Pineapple was the restaurant owner and a firefighter on the other shift. He’d taken Maggie under
his wing when she started working with Park City Fire. What’s more, when he discovered she was in
culinary school on her days off to give her mind a rest from the trauma, he placed a key to his
restaurant in her hand. If anyone had earned a ticket through the pearly gates, it was Pineapple.
“I’ve never seen you in this early.” Maggie tucked her shirttail into her jeans and pulled up the
socks inside her slicker boots. She was a mess after that scare, not to mention her lack of sleep.
“What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “I heard what happened last night and wanted to check on you.”
She gave him a tender smile as she wrapped her arms around his thick, soft center. “Thanks.” She
buried her face in his cotton shirt and breathed in his sweet, citrusy scent.
His large palms held the back of her shoulders in a protective way. “Want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head, but the words spewed from her mouth, “I couldn’t revive the little girl. I was
able to emotionally distance myself at first…but then her mother appeared.” Maggie’s tears absorbed
into Pineapple’s cotton shirt. “I never want to see the face of another mother when she realizes her
child is dying. There are no words for that expression—and no way to purge my mind of her agony.”
Maggie took in a deep, shaky breath. “My job was to save that little girl. I failed.” Her voice trailed
off to nowhere.
He patted her back. “Your job is to respond quickly to an emergency and do everything in your
power to save lives. Did you do that?”
She rubbed her nose and forehead into Pineapple’s drenched shirt as she nodded. She appreciated
Pineapple’s effort to quiet her soul. He held her for another minute until she relaxed her grip on him
and placed a hand over her heart. “Responding to horrific accidents is affecting me more than I
thought possible.”
Pineapple motioned to the front of the restaurant. “Let’s sit down.” He led her to a table by the
front window with a view of the snowcapped mountain and pulled out her chair.
“Thanks,” she sniffed out as she slumped into her chair.
Pineapple cupped his hands over hers across the table. “What can I do to help?”
She bit her lower lip as her eyes studied the bright blue swirls on the tabletop. “I wish I knew.”
“I’ve never seen you this down before. Do you want something warm to drink?”
She rubbed her irritated eyes. “Warm is what I need.” She squeezed his hand. “And lots of sun.
I’ve been offered…” She hesitated. She didn’t want to give herself, or anyone else, false hope—but
she didn’t want to keep it from him either. She lifted her chin. “I was offered a trial position in
Dallas, Texas as the caterer for an event planner with the possibility of taking over her business in the
future. I leave in two weeks and I’ll be there for only a few days while I’m off the clock here. If
everything goes well, I’ll commute for a bit, then move there permanently.”
Pineapple wrinkled his forehead. “Dallas?” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop thoughtfully
before his face broke into a full smile and he slapped an open palm down onto the table. “That’s
great! I have a cousin who plays football there.”
“Football?” She lifted an eyebrow and gave him a teasing smile. “Can he still read after all those
hits to his head?”
“I sure hope so.” Pineapple shook his head as the room filled with his contagious laughter.
Maggie loved listening to his cheery exuberance.
“He’s super talented. Some football players sweat it week to week, hoping their team won’t cut
‘em. But not Cole—he’s someone to be reckoned with on the football field, not to mention he’s
wicked smart.”
“Sounds like a great guy.” She gave a slow bat of her lashes.
“I could set you two up,” he said with eagerness.
Her eyes widened. “No. No.” She shook her head and waved her hands in front of her chest,
enacting the universal slow down symbol. “That’s not what I meant. Something tells me we wouldn’t
match up well. I’d be extremely content with a simple rancher.” She straightened her spine to show
her determination. “That’s my idea of happiness.”
“Cole might surprise you,” he said with a wink.
She stood. “Well, I’m going to surprise you with a delectable soup.”
He followed her to the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”
“Peel the onions.” She handed him four onions.
“Yeah, you might want to forget about Cole,” he laughed out. “With all these onions, no one is
going to come near either of us.”
Maggie shook her head with amusement. “Don’t knock it. I’m French, remember?” Her mood had
definitely improved. “And all the better. There’s no one I’d rather spend the morning with than you.”
She bumped his side with her hip.
“We’re making French onion soup?” Pineapple questioned with disappointment.
“Why the long face?”
“I was hoping you’d make me Mexican food one of these day.”
“Oh, that.” She waved a hand dismissively in the air. “You know I can’t cook Mexican food. I ate
it as a kid, but never learned how to cook it. I experienced a little bit of the Mexican culture growing
up, but my parents were adamant that I lead a more…” she looked to the ceiling for the right word.
“Promising life than they did as migrant workers. I guess they didn’t want me working in the
vineyards forever. They understood what it felt like to be put down and discriminated against and
didn’t want me to experience the same thing, so they sent me to the schools with more affluent kids. I
did my best to fit in. My fair complexion and blue eyes must have helped with that, but I always felt
different. Like I didn’t quite fit the mold.”
“Where did your crystal blue eyes come from?”
“Even though my dad is partially Mexican, most of his ancestors came from France. We’re still
not sure where my dad and brothers got their height, they’re both over six feet, but I’m guessing that’s
where I got my blue eyes.” She arranged the beef bones, carrots, beef scraps, and onion slices into the
roasting dish for the beef broth. “I think.” She shrugged as she drizzled olive oil over the broth
ingredients. “According to my dad, that’s what his grandmother had told him. My dad’s stories are
engaging. Unfortunately, you never know exactly how much of his stories are fact versus fiction. He
tends to embellish. His stories could be ninety percent fiction and ten percent truth—or ninety percent
truth and ten percent fiction. But I want to know my heritage for sure, so I did that…” She waved a
carrot in the air. “DNA swab.”
“Isn’t Cinco de Mayo a celebration of when Mexico kicked the oppressive French out of their
country?”
She raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Mexico won the battle against Napoleon and the French
scurried off with their tails between their legs.” She tipped an imaginary hat to Pineapple. “You know
your stuff. I guess my great-great-great-grandparents decided to stay in Mexico rather than head back
to France with Napoleon. I chose French culinary classes to learn more about my French heritage, or
at least experience their culinary delights.” She licked her lips. “And I must say, the French sure know
how to indulge in the most glorious way.”
“When do you get those DNA results back?”
Maggie placed the roasting pan into the heated oven and grabbed her phone from her pocket.
“Today,” she trilled with excitement.
As she opened her email app, she did a little nervous patter of her feet as if she were a little girl
who needed to use the restroom. Her inbox contained three new messages, but her eyes only focused
on the one with the subject line, Ethnicity estimate and DNA matches. She placed her phone on the
counter, face up, and took in a deep breath.
She rubbed her palms together feverishly. “Here goes nothin’.” She tapped her screen to open the
email. Her eyes flew through the percentages but narrowed when her brain caught up with her sight.
She crossed her arms with a grunt. “What?” her voice squeaked.

Continue reading the Forbidden Groom Here

***

Thank you for reading The Storybook Groom! If you enjoyed this book, explore Sarah Gay’s other
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Sarah Gay Library
About the Author
Raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and Atlanta, Georgia, Sarah currently calls the northern Utah
mountains, and the southern Utah red rocks, home. She graduated in Human Development from
Brigham Young University and spent several years working as a Human Resource Professional. Her
human resource skills are now utilized managing a workforce of four young children. When Sarah’s
team is being trained off campus, she dedicates her time to writing inspirational stories.
She would love to hear from you and can be contacted at sarah@sarahgay.com. To register for
new releases, promotions, and free recipes, sign up for her newsletter at
http://www.sarahgay.com/register/.
Message From The Author
If you enjoyed The Storybook Groom, please consider posting a review on Amazon. Also, please
watch for upcoming Texas Titan books by Cami Checketts, Taylor Hart, Jennifer Youngblood, and
Lucy McConnell.
The Texas Titans is a fictional NFL team based on interviews of ex-NFL players and is not meant
to resemble any NFL team or player. Any resemblance to NFL teams or players is purely
coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Sarah Gay

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