Her Last Best Fling. Candace Havens
the newspaper business, one had to move a lot. There was constant downsizing and she had to go where the jobs were. That was how she’d landed in Boston—until the fiasco that was her almost-fiancé throwing their comfortable life into the proverbial toilet.
Harley nudged her.
“I promise as soon as the fence guy gets done, you are moving in with me. If this rain would stop, they could finish.” This was the first pet she’d ever adopted. The old girl had one green and one blue eye. The sorrow in them tore at Macy’s heart. She was an orphan, too, and she’d bonded with the dog ever since she’d caught her trying to get back home the first time.
Her great-uncle Todd, who had been Macy’s only remaining relative, had willed her the town’s newspaper. For months she’d been trying to sell it with no luck. When she walked in on her ex and his meaningless plaything, she decided moving to a small locale wasn’t such a bad idea. Along with the paper, her uncle had left her a beautiful house overlooking White’s Lake. She’d decided to put an eight-foot fence along two of the four-acres of the property so Harley would have a place to roam.
“Great Danes need a lot of space.” She smiled and scratched the dog’s ears.
“Hey, I thought you went to the party,” said Josh from the door as he slipped booties over his shoes for sanitary purposes. He was the local veterinarian who donated his services to the shelter.
“I was on my way, but Miss Harley got out again. I caught up with her on the highway.”
Josh tickled the dog under her chin, his fingers poking through the cage. It was a large eight-by-eight-foot space, but it wasn’t big enough for the hundred-and-seventy-five-pound dog.
“Nice knot with the wiring there. Do you sail?” He pointed to the impenetrable knot she’d devised to keep Harley in.
She shrugged. “Something I picked up from my dad. In the summer we’d go sailing.” Those weeks were some of the happiest of her life. Her parents were journalists, so it was in her blood, but it meant they traveled the far ends of the earth, leaving Macy at home.
“So are you heading over to the hero party?”
Feeling as if she’d stood in a rainstorm for an hour, which she did, she decided she’d be better off going home. “No, I’m heading back to my place to change.”
She noticed Josh wasn’t meeting her eyes. He did everything he could not to look at her.
She glanced down. Her white blouse was completely sheer and she was cold.
Great. Wonderful. Lovely.
“Well, Cecil is up at the front, so I guess I’ll be going,” she said as she made a quick exit.
Josh was a nice guy. They’d even tried to date once. But discovered there was absolutely no chemistry, which was probably why he was doing his best not to look at her nipples protruding through the sheer fabric of her shirt and nude-colored bra.
Unless she wanted to be the fodder for more town gossip, there would be no party in her future.
The lovely scent of wet dog pervaded her senses as she made the short drive home.
Five minutes later, she turned on the fireplace in the main family area. The front of the place had a Gothic Revival exterior. The back was full of windows. She loved the water. Living near it made her feel close to her dad.
After constantly chasing the next big story, the pace of Tranquil Waters nearly killed her at first. But she’d grown accustomed to the quiet. Her whole life she’d heard Texans were incredibly kind, and they were— However, the ones here didn’t trust outsiders, especially Yankees, of which she was one, having spent most of her formative years in the Northeast.
A hot shower was in order. Then she’d bundle up and see what Mrs. Links, the housekeeper who worried that Macy was wasting away, left in the fridge for dinner. The housekeeper came in three times a week, even though Macy was perfectly capable of cleaning up after herself.
Mrs. Links was another part of her strange inheritance from Uncle Todd. He’d provided for her weekly allowance until the time she no longer needed employment.
Macy didn’t have the heart to ask the nearly seventy-five-year-old woman when that might be. For someone who made a living by asking the tough questions, Macy had a soft spot when it came to animals and her elders.
As the warm water sluiced across Macy’s body, her mind drifted to the marine. Those biceps under her hands were of a man who wasn’t afraid of hard labor. Marines had to stay fit, and she had a feeling he’d have washboard abs, as well.
Men with great abs were her weakness.
You swore off men.
The smell of his fresh, masculine scent. Those hard muscles, the warm smile, even after all he’d been through.
The blood thrummed through her body.
She hadn’t been with a man in what felt like forever. That was all. He was hot, and any other woman would feel the same way after looking into those sweet chocolate-brown eyes.
Turning down the water’s temperature to cool her body, she wondered how long she’d be able to resist the marine.
2
VIOLENT THOUGHTS CROSSED Blake’s mind as Mr. Clooney’s rooster crowed, waking half the town—so much for the extra rest. Shoving the pillow over his head, he closed his eyes and willed himself back to the dream about the woman in the red heels. The rooster crowed again.
“I’ll kill that bird some day,” he growled as he rolled out of bed. Too many years in the military had him up, showered and sipping coffee ten minutes later.
His mother had taped a note to the fridge that said, “Muffins are in the warming drawer. Love, Mom.”
At five in the morning, she’d probably already been at the feed store for at least an hour. She liked to get the paperwork done before the place opened. Even though she didn’t need to be there anymore, she’d insisted on keeping the books and visiting with customers when they came in. She’d built the business from the ground up while his father traveled the world with the military. She believed in having roots and wasn’t much for leaving the town she’d been born in. Their relationship worked, because when they were together, they treated each other as if no one else existed in the world. Well, except for Blake and his brother.
Their parents made certain their boys had an idyllic childhood in the town centered between two lakes. They lived on the edge of town, which had exactly four stoplights, a couple of grocery stores and various shops on the rectangle, as they liked to call it. When the town was first built, there was no real plan. When they finally decided they needed a courthouse it was built in the heart of the rectangle of shops and businesses.
But Tranquil Waters had changed while he was deployed. He remembered laughing about the letters from his mom talking about how the town council had decided that they could have a Dairy Queen and a McDonald’s on the same side of the highway.
They also—thanks to the lakes and artists and writers who populated the town—had a good tourist industry year-round. It was almost Halloween and he hadn’t seen a house yet that hadn’t been decorated. There were several haunted B and B’s and even a large corn maze on the Carins’ pumpkin farm.
Everything seemed so simple in a small town. It didn’t take a CIA spook to find out that the woman he’d run into on the highway was the new publisher of the town newspaper.
“That Yankee girl just doesn’t understand our ways,” complained Mrs. Lawton. “She reported that old Mr. Gunther was thrown in jail Saturday night. Well, everyone knows he’s spent every weekend in that jail cell for the last twenty years. Ever since his sweetheart of a wife, Pearl, passed—God rest her soul—he’s just been longing for her. Poor man. What he needs is a new woman, a younger one to keep his mind off his troubles.”
While