All That Remains. Janice Johnson Kay
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Suddenly his arms closed around her
Alec groaned, or maybe Wren did. She splayed her hands on his chest. His head bent and he was kissing her. Not sweetly and gently, but so desperately she could probably tell he’d bottled up all his hunger.
He was kissing Wren.
What in hell was he thinking?
He wasn’t thinking. Couldn’t. This felt too good. Too right.
He cradled the back of her head so that he could angle it to please him. The other hand gripped her hips and pulled her tight against him.
He wanted her. That was all his mind could wrap itself around. Wanting.
But he couldn’t have her. He knew that, too. He pulled away before he got so deep he wouldn’t be able to.
She blinked several times in succession and took a step back. His hands dropped to his sides. He saw her swallow.
“You kissed me.”
Dear Reader,
There’s something irresistible about stories where nature traps the hero and heroine together to work out a relationship, survive and battle emotions they never expected to feel. In All That Remains, the intimacy is even greater, given that poor Wren is in labor and Alec must deliver her baby in the most primitive of circumstances. Makes you cringe, doesn’t it? Is there ever a moment in our lives when we feel more vulnerable than when we’re giving birth? Bad enough to have a doctor and nurses seeing all, but how about having to depend on a man who is a complete stranger? And, maybe worse yet, a really attractive one? Yep, irresistible.
I like it even better when those two people stuck with each other and no one else are both emotionally damaged. My daughters always wince when I enthusiastically tell them about any new plot. I’m told I really love to torture people. And I do! But my goal, always, is to write about the resilience I believe we all have, the ability to rise to challenges, to heal, to put someone else first. We never see so much heroism as during wide-spread devastation, like the flood in this book. People surprise each other…and themselves. What better time for love to complicate lives?
Happy reading!
Janice Kay Johnson
P.S.—I enjoy hearing from readers. Please contact me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Toronto, ON M3B 3K9, Canada.
All That Remains
Janice Kay Johnson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The author of more than sixty books for children and adults, Janice Kay Johnson writes Harlequin Superromance novels about love and family—about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have on us throughout life. Her 2007 novel Snowbound won a RITA® Award from Romance Writers of America for Best Contemporary Series Romance. A former librarian, Janice raised two daughters in a small rural town north of Seattle, Washington. She loves to read and is an active volunteer and board member for Purrfect Pals, a no-kill cat shelter.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
GRIPPING THE STEERING WHEEL with white-knuckled hands, Wren Fraser struggled to see the narrow country road ahead through sheets of rain. She’d lived in Seattle, for goodness’ sake, and had never seen rain come down like this. The road was winding, the yellow line down the middle her only salvation. There seemed to be no shoulders wide enough for her to pull over safely, and she didn’t dare stop where she was; if another car came along, it would slam right into her. She couldn’t see ten feet ahead, which meant an oncoming driver wouldn’t be able to, either.
Shifting in her seat, Wren tried to ease the pain gripping her lower back. She’d been in the car too long, that was all, and her tension wasn’t helping. She needed desperately to get out and stretch, but even if she spotted a driveway she could pull into, stepping out to get drenched in cold rain wasn’t very appealing. She didn’t have rain gear. In fact, she had only one small suitcase. Given her state of pregnancy, she’d been afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle more getting on and off the light rail train back in Seattle as well as through airports in Seattle and St. Louis.
Her baby was moving restlessly, kicking, stirred no doubt by her anxiety. The seat belt felt uncomfortably tight over her pregnant belly, but releasing and refastening it wasn’t an option with her hands locked onto the steering wheel.
“We’ll be okay,” she murmured. “I promise, Cupcake. It’s just rain. Before we know it, we’ll be snug in a wonderful farmhouse, with a fire burning. And even if I’ve missed dinner, I’ll bet Molly will warm a bowl of soup for me. And then we’ll both be warm.”
The pain in her back had temporarily eased, but baby wasn’t reassured. Wren’s entire distended belly gave a disconcerting lurch and the pressure on her bladder increased. Oh, great, now she had to pee.
Wren had no idea whether she was lost or still following the route MapQuest had laid out for her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to see a crossroad if one appeared, or street signs; the numbers on the few mailboxes she’d spotted were unreadable through the rain. However desperate she was, she’d probably been foolish not to find somewhere to hole up until she could talk to Molly. Unfortunately, turning back to the last motel she’d seen, an hour ago, was no longer an option. When she fled Seattle yesterday morning, she’d had only one focus: getting to Molly’s.
The Ozark country was supposed to be beautiful. In November it was too late for fall colors, of course—what trees she’d seen through the rain had been skeletal—but Molly had rhapsodized about the quiet rivers and stark gray bluffs, the rounded mountains covered with gum trees and oaks and hickories, the winding green valleys and occasional farmhouses.
Wren had crossed a river a while back, but it didn’t look that quiet to her. The water had been running high and turgid. No wonder, with this downpour. She’d been glad that the road climbed to meander along the rim of the valley. Now it was dropping again, perhaps to meet the same river.
Please, please, let me be close.
She didn’t have a cell phone, not since James had convinced her that she didn’t need one. Even if she’d had one—who would she call?
Oh, Molly, please be home. Please be glad to see me.
Wren wished she’d met the man her best friend from college had married. Molly had wanted her to be the maid of honor, but James couldn’t get away that weekend and he’d hated the idea of her going without him….
Wren shuddered at the memory of how stupid she’d been.
She made herself think again about Molly’s husband. Samuel. If Molly loved him, he must be okay. He wouldn’t turn Wren away. She didn’t need that much from them. The house had extra bedrooms, Molly had said it did. If they could give her even a few weeks of respite, she’d figure something