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![]() Valentine Valley #4 March 2014 ISBN 978-0-06-224253-2 Order from ![]() Order from Barnes and Noble Order from Books-a-Million Order from Amazon Order the Ebook Order from Indie Bound Order from iBooks Order from Kobo Order from Google Play |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A Promise At Bluebell Hill by Emma Cane ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Welcome to Valentine Valley, where romance blooms and love captivates even the most guarded of hearts... From
the moment Secret Service agent Travis Beaumont strides into the town
and through the door of Monica Shaw's flower shop, she feels a sizzle
of attraction. After years of putting everyone else's needs first,
Monica is ready to grab hold of life. If she can just persuade the
ultimate protector to let his own walls down for once...
The President's son is getting married in Valentine Valley, and Travis should be avoiding all distractions...not fantasizing about a forthright, sexy-as-hell florist. Especially when she's keeping secrets that could jeopardize his assignment. But just this once, Travis is tempted to put down the rulebook and follow his heart--right to Monica's door. Roses are red, violets are blue, and in Valentine Valley, love will always find you. ~~~~~ Reviews: "Charming characters, a solid plot and a fun narrative are the highlights of this story." RT Book Reviews Magazine "A feel-good, charming romance." Harlequin Junkie "I loved the writing and the well-developed characters and I am glad to have found out that such a place as Valentine Valley exists." Fire and Ice "The Valentine Valley series is one of the best kept secrets out there." Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews "This series is a lot of fun and it just keeps getting better." The Many Faces of Romance "The story provides laughs, tears and romance. The Widows are a hoot." Sarah Says Read Romance "I adored reading this book. She is an amazing writer and I cannot wait to read more." Night Owl Reviews ~~~~~ Excerpt! (The
following is the property of the author and Avon Books, and cannot be copied or
reprinted without permission.)
(Story setup: Flower shop owner Monica Shaw watches Travis Beaumont, a handsome stranger new to Valentine Valley, check out her flower shop and other shops on Main Street. She introduces herself, he says he’s only here on business, but she thinks he’s hiding something. He asks her for a place “his men” can hang out, and she suggests Tony’s Tavern.) Would Travis show up tonight at Tony’s Tavern? Would
Monica? She would. She decided to go to Tony’s hoping that
any embarrassment she might end up suffering would have limited exposure. In her little apartment above the flower shop, she
dressed carefully, a white, sleeveless, drape-necked top that showed off her
lean arms and hugged in all the right places, above deep pink jeans and high
heels. She wore dangly earrings and dangly bracelets, making her feel feminine
and sultry, ready to flirt and dance and have a good time. She drove to Tony’s,
even though she could have walked the seven blocks—but in heels? She thought
not. The tavern looked like a dive bar from the outside,
but the regulars liked that because it kept most of the tourists away. Inside,
there were flat screen TVs on the wall between mounted animal heads and neon
beer signs. She walked through the front of the tavern, down the long bar,
where customer after customer turned his head to look at her as she passed. She
knew or recognized most of them. Even Tony De Luca did a double take as he
poured a drink behind the bar, eyebrows raised. A single dad, Tony had been a
few years ahead of her in school. He hung out with the Thalberg men and still
played hockey and baseball on their rec teams, so she knew him pretty well. She
gave him a broad smile, lifting her chin and shaking her curls, feeling sassy.
It had been too long since she’d put her sexy on. She didn’t see any strangers, so she kept going into
the back room, where a pool table was spotlighted in the center, tables and
chairs scattered along the walls, a jukebox shining from one corner. She saw Travis Beaumont almost at once, standing with
a group of men near the pool table. He was wearing the same navy blue polo
shirt but had changed into jeans. No sunglasses, either. She could look at
those handsome high cheekbones, as sharp as if someone had sculpted them, all
night long. She felt a little shiver of desire. It had been a while since a man
made her feel that way. He spotted her, and an even more aggressive awareness
shot through her, and she felt trapped in his gaze, impassive though it was.
What did he keep hidden beneath all that control? She shivered, realizing that
she wanted to find out. Though he didn’t smile, he raised his beer to her in
a little salute. She smiled back, then noticed his friends—or should she say
“his men”? There were four guys and a woman, all dressed casually, but they, too,
wore the same watchful expressions, even when they were smiling at something
one of them said. They all eyed her, and it wasn’t sexual in any way. It was
like they took her apart with their gazes, then looked away after determining
that she was harmless. Maybe they were bodyguards; she’d seen a few of those
during her days skiing the hills of Aspen. Or soldiers—that seemed more precise. They had the
same vibe as Adam Desantis, Brooke’s fiancé, who’d just gotten out of the
Marines a couple years ago. They appeared like people who’d seen more of the
world, dealt with its ugliness, and had it change them. She couldn’t even take
offense at the way they studied her because when the next guy came through the
door, they did the same thing to him. One of Travis’s colleagues gave her a closer look, a
black guy with a shaved head and biceps that bulged beneath a tight Henley. He
smiled at her, and she smiled back, even as he said something to Travis. She
didn’t know what Travis said, but the man gave a slightly disappointed nod and
turned back to watch the pool match. Had Travis dissuaded his interest? That was
unexpected. As the man himself came toward her, she settled her
hip on a stool next to a long shelf built into the wall at bar height. Bowls of
popcorn were scattered down the length, along with empty glasses and bottles of
beer. Raising her voice to be heard over the country music,
she said, “Nice seeing you again, Travis.” “Same to you, Miss Shaw.” “You can call me Monica, you know. I won’t bite.” He didn’t crack a smile although she thought the
corner of his mouth might have twitched. Ah, there was someone human under
there. “Monica, may I order you a drink?” “That’s better. I’ll take whatever beer you’re
having.” He arched a brow, then caught the eye of Nicole, the
waitress in tight jean shorts and a low-cut top, passing through with a newly
empty tray. After he raised his bottle of beer, she gave him a big smile,
nodded, and moved back into the main barroom. “Those must be your ‘men,’” she said, gesturing with
her chin toward the pool table. “It’s very obvious they all work with you—for
you?” He nodded. “Ah, so you’re the boss. Actually, you feel like the
captain. I think you were in the military. You all act like a platoon or
something.” He nodded again. “I was a Marine.” She felt like she’d scored a point in an imaginary
game. “One of my best friends is engaged to a former Marine. You don’t exactly
remind me of him because he’s always been a lot more easygoing, but
there’s…something about the two of you.” He didn’t say anything, so she chattered on. “Are all the rest ex-military?” “Not all.” As Nicole brought her a beer, she gave Monica a smile
and an arched eyebrow that was the same as a thumbs-up. Hiding her grin, Monica took a sip and studied Travis.
“You’re making me treat you like a surprise gift, one I have to unwrap to see
what the truth is.” He arched a brow, then she felt herself blushing. “Damn, that came out wrong,” she admitted. “You’re a
mystery, Travis Beaumont, and that’s hard to resist in this small town.” “Can I ask you a question?” “Sure. I’d appreciate being distracted from my
embarrassment.” He didn’t smile, but she thought those incredible
eyes might actually have twinkled. “I saw signs in various windows today. There’s an
archaeological dig nearby? One they’re threatening to close down and build
over?” “Yeah. Did you hear about the big archaeological find
outside Snowmass Village a couple years ago? Dozens of mastodons? They’re
calling it Snowmastodon.” She quirked a brow. “Get it?” He nodded, and, again, she was hoping for a smile,
but she was disappointed. Maybe his smile would be too powerfully handsome for
her, a mere mortal, to bear. But all kidding aside, everyone should smile more,
even if only to make themselves feel better. She smiled a lot while she worked,
but then again, she was dealing with beautiful flowers and customers who were
happy to give them as gifts or decorate their homes. She wondered what Travis
really dealt with on the job. Maybe he didn’t have much of a reason to smile,
and that was sad. “Anyway,” she continued, “they were bulldozing an
expansion of the reservoir in Snowmass Village and unearthed thousands of
mammoth bones: mastodons, an Ice Age bison, and lots of others, the biggest
mastodon find in the world. The museum in Denver will be doing years of
preservation and research. But they had to close the site up after seven weeks
of searching, and it’s all capped with clay and back underwater. Well, a few
months ago, we found our own little archaeological site when the Renaissance
Spa, south of the Silver Creek Ranch, started working on its expansion. The spa
is saying they have to start building again, so their indoor pool can be done
before winter. The scientists are claiming they’re not being given enough time
to investigate. The public is on mammoth overload—some people are even asking
why they should bother digging here for one little mammoth after the huge find
in Snowmass? But it’s our history, you know?” “Sounds like you’re on the side of science,” he said,
reaching past her to grab some popcorn. She could smell his citrusy aftershave, and it made
her a little dizzy. She briefly closed her eyes, both amused and exasperated
with herself. “Yeah, these mountains have always needed protection. They’re
dotted with old silver-mining holes. Think of all the forests that have been
cut down, and now the government is leasing way too much protected wilderness
for natural-gas exploration.” She leaned closer. “Shh, you didn’t hear me say
that. My dad is an engineer for a natural-gas company.” “My lips are sealed.” And that, of course, made her look at his lips, and
she had the strangest momentary sensation that he was looking at hers. Then he
glanced back at his friends—to get himself under control? Remind himself of his
position? She didn’t think he needed to be reminded of that too often. He
seemed to take whatever he did very seriously. She was dying to ask about his
job again, but he’d already rebuffed her today. She’d play it cool. Clearing her throat, she said, “So there’s a local
group of environmentalists trying to keep people interested in the dig, and if
enough are interested, maybe the spa will delay its new pool a couple more
weeks.” “I hope it turns out for the best.” She sighed, already knowing that her dear friends,
the widows, were involved. Three old ladies, activists all, lived at the
Widows’ Boardinghouse. They worked part-time for Emily while actively directing
the Valentine Valley Preservation Fund, which offered grants for new and
renovating businesses. They used their committee to make sure they were in on
all the happenings in Valentine—and they created their own “happenings,” too.
They’d already started work on their plans to highlight the plight of
Valentine’s mammoth. He sipped his beer and looked around the growing
crowd in the poolroom. His friend, he of the bulging muscles, seemed to take
that as permission to approach. “Travis, we’re goin’ to play some darts,” the man
said, a Southern drawl making his deep voice musical. “You and your friend up
for it?” He turned and flashed her a gleaming white grin. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Monica Shaw.” His hand encompassed hers in a warm grip. “Royce
Ames. Good to meet you.” “I’m up for darts,” she said. “I’ve never played a
real game, just shot at the board. You guys can show me, right?” Nodding, Royce pulled her toward the dartboard in the
corner. She glanced over her shoulder at Travis and tossed her head toward the
corner, welcoming him to join them. He shook his head, and she gave a little
shrug as she turned back to Royce. That was too bad because she thought Travis
needed to find something fun to focus on instead of examining the room as if
for enemy combatants. It seemed he wanted his “team” to relax but not so much
himself. Royce and two of his friends taught her a game, and
they were much more easygoing than their “leader.” Royce had a naughty sense of
humor, and it was obvious he was interested in her. But there was something
about Travis, the way he stood alone, shoulders back, in command, that captured
her attention and concern. The Royces of the world didn’t need help to let off
steam, but the Travises sure did. “Would you like to dance?” Royce asked after a second
game of darts was over. He’d put aside his beer unfinished, as if he weren’t
allowed to touch it anymore. Stranger and stranger. But it was an up-tempo song that she was already
tapping her toes to. “Sure.” She moved her hips to the music, and though she made
a show of having a good time with Royce, she could feel Travis watching her. It
made her feel overheated, sexily self-conscious, and even more curious about
her mysterious ex-Marine. After a second dance, Royce looked over head, then
grimaced. “Time to go. Have to work in the mornin’.” He must have gotten some kind of signal from Travis. “What do you do?” she asked innocently, as the song
ended. He grinned. “Can’t say right now. I’m under orders.” “You’re all making me too curious.” Royce shrugged good-naturedly. Why couldn’t she like
someone this easygoing? But no, she had to be drawn to the mysterious, intense
loner whose idea of fun seemed to be watching others having it. But she knew
herself well—his behavior was the very reason she was interested and curious.
It was obvious he needed to let loose once in a while. Travis approached. “Are you staying, Monica?” Royce waved good-bye to her and returned to his
coworkers. She smiled up at Travis. “I have to work in the
morning, too, so I’ll head home.” “Let me walk you to your car.” “Because Valentine Valley is such a scary place after
dark?” “Because I’m a polite kind of guy.” She could feel her smile fade as she briefly studied
him. Usually, this was when even a polite guy tried to kiss her, but she didn’t
worry that was going to happen with Travis. She nodded, grabbed the sweater
she’d left on her stool, and preceded him through the bar, leaving his friends
behind to put on their jackets and settle up their bills. Outside, the May evening was already brisk, into the
fifties and dropping steadily, so she slid her arms into her sweater. “I parked around back—even more reason for a big man
to escort me,” she teased. Again, he gave her that faint lip quirk that might
have been the very beginnings of a smile. Why did he hide himself behind
impassivity? |
Copyright © Emma Cane |