Valentine's Day

Sophie Malloy floated toward the light. The unbearable pain, the urgent voices, the clang and beep of machines disappeared as she rose higher and higher. Freed from the mortal prison of her body, she laughed and spun, and zoomed toward the female figure waiting for her.

"Wait." The gentle voice stilled Sophie's joyful ephemeral dance. "Before you move into the next realm, I must ask one question. Is there anything you had wished to accomplish in your earthly life?"

Her life had been one filled with joy. She'd had money and love, and most important, had been surrounded by wonderful people. "I was blessed with a good life."

"There is nothing?"

Sophie harbored one wish, one that had never been fulfilled. "I wanted to meet my soulmate," she admitted. Thoughts of her brother and her sister drifted into her mind. They would miss her. And their lives...so busy, yet so empty. "Can I give my last wish to others?"

"It is allowed."

"I want my brother and my sister to find their soulmates."

"Your wish is granted. You will be allowed to guide your siblings in their quests for true love for one mortal year."

Grace Talbot adjusted her sitting position in the straightback metal chair, silently cursing the manufacturers of such an uncomfortable device. The chair reflected the office's lobby: spare elegance. Mr. Cal Malloy appeared to have spent a lot of money on the latest in interior design with white walls, low lighting, brass statues, and paintings of brown squiggles.

She hated it. She'd already re-decorated the whole office in her mind's eye, adding comfy chairs, lace doilies, Tiffany lamps...she clutched the file folder on her lap in sudden despair. Was the inhospitable lobby a reflection of the man who owned it? What if her pleas fell on deaf ears?

She'd lose everything.

Grace glanced at the busy receptionist. The woman had turned away to answer the phone. Grace slipped a candy heart out of the small box in her purse and looked at the words. "Be sweet." Yeah, right. She popped one into her mouth and savored the chalky sweetness. She instantly felt better.

"Mr. Malloy will see you now," said the receptionist.

The announcement startled her; the candy lodged in her throat. She spluttered, coughed, and tried to choke it down. Finally, she was able to swallow it. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. "Uh, thank you." Grace rose on shaky legs and walked to the half-circle marble barrier. She peered over its edge at the dark-haired woman arranging papers. "Where do I go?"

"Mr. Malloy said he would meet you here."

"Oh."

"Ms. Talbot?"

She jumped at the nearness of the deep male voice and turned to stare at the man who leaned against the desk. When she saw the amusement dancing in his green eyes, she flushed to the roots of her hair.

"You wanted to see me?" His broad shoulders bunched under the tailored jacket as he crossed his arms.

His casual question shredded her courage. She swallowed the knot of fear in clogging her throat, straightened her shoulders, and waved the folder at him.

"Mr. Malloy. You're a...scalawag."

Twentynine Palms
Mojave Desert, California
Wednesday, January 16, 1991

One last chance to keep her promise. Rose mentally crossed her fingers and dialed the final number on her list.

One ring.

Two.

"Hello."

"Hi, Sue. This is Rose. I know it's your day off, but I was wondering-"

Lightning flashed, and thunder shook the shelves of the Stop&Shop. Static crackled over the line. "Rose? You still there?"

"Yeah, that was just the storm." Rose switched the receiver to her other ear. "I was wondering if you can work tonight's shift. A flash flood washed out the road to Will's house. He can't make it in to relieve me, and I promised the kids I'd go home early."

Sue's sigh carried over the bad connection. "Sorry. I'd love the extra hours, but I told Rick I'd go to the game with him tonight. You know how he is about basketball."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks anyway. See you tomorrow." Resisting the urge to slam the receiver, Rose broke the connection. All her employees had plans for the evening. She'd have to break her promise to the kids. Again.

Another flash and simultaneous boom. The windows rattled, and the fluorescent lights flickered and died.

Dark silence settled over the store. Rose peered through the gloom. "Peter? Amy? Are you all right?"

From the end of the soda-pop aisle, she heard Peter's voice. "Vroooom!" Rose could just make out her five-year-old zooming toward her, arms extended, a blond airplane.

He banked in front of the counter. "Mom, did you see that lightning? Like a bomb, huh? Boom!" His grin flashed in his shadowed face before he tore back down the aisle.

The lights sprang to life, and the ever present hum of the coolers resumed. Over the radio's static, Willie Nelson warned mothers about cowboys. Rose saw Peter race past his sister, Amy. Chubby thumb planted firmly in her mouth, Amy ignored both her brother and the storm. She sat staring at the new fruit drink display, her eyes as round and blue as the dancing blueberries on the bottle of Berry Bonanza. While Rose watched, Amy took her thumb out of her mouth and reached for the bottom row of bottles. "Amy, no!" Rose darted around the counter and ran toward her.

The bottles above the toddler shivered, and Rose threw herself over her daughter. The display teetered and collapsed, pummeling her back with quart-sized hail.

Peter dropped his arms. "Mom, are you all right?"

Rose swallowed a groan, sat back, and winced. "I'm fine, honey."

His sun-bleached eyebrows pulled together over his snub nose, and he glared at his sister. "You don't grab the bottom one, dummy."

"No name calling!" Rose snapped.

The toddler's face puckered, and her chin began to tremble. She wound her hot, chubby arms around her mother's neck and started to wail.

"Oh, honey, it's all right." Rose gave her daughter a hug and nuzzled soft, brown curls that still smelled of last night's shampoo. She let her daughter cry a minute, then gently pulled back. After shaking bubbles into a bottle of Rhymon Lymon to distract away the tears, she turned back to the mess.

Like bits of a shattered rainbow, quarts of punch littered the market's floor. None were broken. Rose pushed the brown wisps that had escaped her ponytail off her face and sighed. "Thank goodness for plastic."

Thunder rumbled, and the automatic door dinged. A tall man strode into the store. Rain darkened the shoulders of his tan uniform. His lips were pressed into a disapproving line. He glanced at the bottles on the floor, at the kids and at Rose. His lips relaxed. His eyebrows tilted. "Earthquake?"

Rose felt her face settle into its work mask, polite, but not encouraging. "No. Two year-old."

He grinned. Startlingly white teeth, straight with a slight gap between the front two, seemed to light his whole face. He winked at Amy. "I knew it was some kind of natural disaster."

Rose liked his voice. It was smooth and deep, with the slow, gentle rhythm of the South. She wondered if he'd recently transferred to Twentynine Palms. There was a lot of activity on the Marine corps base since Iraq had invaded Kuwait, a lot of new faces in the Stop&Shop. Most of the marines were young, but the man in the doorway looked five or six years older than she was. He might even be thirty.

He side-stepped a bottle of Citrus Sizzler and wove a path through the fruit-flavored obstacle course. Wishing she'd worn pants to work instead of her shortest skirt, Rose tugged at the hem and pushed herself off the floor. She hadn't realized how close he'd come until her shoulder brushed against his chest on the way up. Stumbling back, she craned her neck and studied his features. His eyes were gray, not brown as she'd first thought, nearly silver and ringed in charcoal. His nose was straight and slightly flared, his smiling lips, generous and well-shaped. Water trickled down his cheeks. Underneath the scent of wet cotton and ozone, she smelled hot engines and spicy after-shave.

Rose jerked her gaze down to the stripes on his arm. "Can I help you with something, Sergeant?"

"Call me Jack." His smile dimmed, and his voice lost some of its underlying warmth. "The manager around?"

"You're looking at her."

"Were you here Friday night?"

His expression didn't change, but something made her hesitate before answering. "Yes."

The gray eyes narrowed. "Ma'am, I believe you sold liquor to three of my underage men. I'm afraid if it happens again I'll have to report you to the local police."

Heat rushed to Rose's cheeks. "Now wait a minute."

He stepped forward and seemed to grow until he filled the aisle. "I train new recruits, mostly minors. Maybe you're used to turning a blind eye to underage drinking, but I'm not. Next time I catch you selling liquor to them, I'll have your license revoked."

Trying to hold her temper in check, Rose took a deep breath. "I'd never-"

He drew a Stop&Shop bag out of his back pocket. "I found this around the bottle."

She planted her hands on her hips. "It had Coke in it when they left here. I remember your men. One looks about fifteen, short and blond, right?"

He nodded warily.

"The others are taller, a skinny black kid and a head with acne scars?" She waited for a second nod. "They came in around eight. The blonde tried to use fake ID."

"They told me-"

"I don't care what they said." She forgot her children were listening and let her voice rise with her indignation. "I never, ever, sell liquor to kids."

Peter ran up to the marine, spun, and kicked at his kneecap. "Leave my Mom alone."

The man danced aside. "Whoa."

Amy started to cry.

Harmon Junction, Minnesota
June 2000

"Harmon Junction is looking for brides, my foot," Summer Sanders muttered as she thought about the astonishing ad in the newspaper she'd tucked beneath her car seat.

For the hundredth time, she contemplated the unpleasant reason she was driving across the country-to track down her runaway sister. Heaviness settled in her chest as she realized she might be too late to stop her from making a big mistake.

After completing a two-month long modeling assignment in New York, Paris and Italy, Summer had arrived home to an empty apartment. On her pillow, she'd discovered a letter from Autumn, along with the newspaper ad.

Autumn used to daydream, and spoke often of getting married and having babies, but to a complete stranger? Summer couldn't fathom it. But then, she couldn't contemplate marrying and having kids in the first place. She had goals to achieve and no room in her life for a husband and kids.

Though she admitted there was nothing wrong with dreams, as long as a woman didn't take them too seriously.

And wouldn't you know it? The air-traffic controllers decided to strike, with this looming personal disaster on her horizon, hence the reason why she was driving across the country instead of flying.

She exited the highway onto the country road she'd been watching for, then drove a few more miles. She took a left turn onto another road simply named Main Street. There wasn't another vehicle in sight. Trees lined either side of the road and the ground was cloaked in bushes in shades of greens and yellows. Up ahead, a faded green sign with white lettering made her straighten in her seat. Her heart raced, excitement kicking in when she realized she'd reached her destination.

Her hand shook as she dug inside her purse for a cigarette, the one vice in her otherwise untainted life. After she lit it and took a satisfying drag, she glanced up into the rear-view mirror and groaned audibly. A tan-colored police car, rack of lights flashing, came up fast on her tail.

"Damn!" With the palm of her hand, she struck the steering wheel before pulling over to the side of the road and reading the sign, 'Welcome to Harmon Junction, Minnesota.'

Some welcome.

A cop was hot on her butt, probably hoping to make his daily quota of speeding tickets. "Population five hundred-forty?" she said as she read the sign. That many people lived in her condo-complex in Los Angeles.

As she waited for the officer, she took another drag on her cigarette. Unfortunately, this would be her third speeding violation in a year. She grimaced at the thought of her insurance rates escalating. She could blame her bad habits on the pressures of her modeling career but knew that was a poor excuse. Simply put, she'd always been in a hurry.

Glancing in her mirror again, she saw the officer step out of his car. She clenched the steering wheel at the view of the hunk walking up behind her. He appeared to be about her height of five-ten, possibly an inch or two taller. But, due to his well-developed physique, he appeared much larger.

He walked with an ambling, 'I've got all day' sort of gait, a notepad in his hand and a gun settled comfortably on his right hip. His powerful shoulders and biceps rippled beneath a tan colored, short-sleeve shirt as he strode toward her. The shirt did justice to his fabulous pecs, or, maybe it was the other way around; his fabulous pecs did wonders for the shirt.

Once he'd reached her car he turned sideways and swept a cursory look from one end of the silver Porsche convertible to the other. At that moment, she wished his eyes weren't concealed behind sunglasses. Eyes spoke volumes about a person.

He wore a trooper-style hat angled low on his forehead. But his wide-stance, loose-limbed casual demeanor didn't fool her. She had yet to meet the man who didn't covet a Porsche.

"Is there a problem, Officer?" she said, plastering on her most innocent expression.

Lips pressed together, he made a twisting motion with the fingers on his right hand. She looked at him, baffled, until she suddenly understood his gesture and flicked off the radio.

He gave her a noncommittal little smile. "Now that we can hear each other, mind telling me what's the hurry, lady?"

Summer's first thought was that any D.J. would envy his low, melodious voice. Then his words sank in and she grinned at the typical one-liner. The guy had a sense of humor. But her mirth subsided when he removed his sunglasses, tucked them into his breast pocket, then narrowed his dark eyes on her.

She took another long drag on her cigarette and tried formulating a reply that would hopefully convince him not to give her a speeding ticket. Smoke drifted up toward his face. He continued staring at her with those fantastic brown eyes until he coughed and waved his hand in the air to disperse the haze.

"Sorry," she murmured, smashing the cigarette into the ashtray. She gave him one of her famous cover-girl smiles. "That line came from some movie, didn't it?"

He raised his brow. "Excuse me?"

"'What's the hurry, lady?'" She thought a moment, then added, "Or, an even better one might be-"

"Your license, ma'am," he interrupted. "I clocked you moving fifty-five in a forty mile an hour zone."

He took off his hat and swiped sweat from his brow. Summer caught her breath at the sight of his hair. It was blue-black, long and silky and tied back in a ponytail. Somehow, the idea of a cop with shoulder-length hair seemed more than a bit contrary.

The name on his badge, Sheriff Nathaniel Whitefeather, and his bold facial features, led her to believe he must be Native American. As she admired his high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and fine chiseled lips, she decided he was one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen.

Her gaze moved to his unadorned left hand. Could he be one of the bachelors of Harmon Junction searching for a wife? In her opinion, he'd never find one if he issued every woman a speeding ticket upon entering town. He stood in silence, his eyes riveted on her, waiting patiently for her license.

She rummaged inside for her billfold, pulled out her license and handed it to him.

While he looked at it, he said, "What's your reason for visiting Harmon Junction?"

"I'm looking for my sister who came here about six weeks ago. Her name is Autumn Sanders."

His head snapped up and he regarded her steadily. "Autumn is an unusual name. Even more unusual is the fact we do happen to have a woman here who answers to it, but her last name is Michaels."

Summer frowned. "That's not her." She gasped and darted a quick look at him. "Unless she got married!"

Forest Ranger Kelly Jackson cursed as she skidded down the forested hill after tumbling movie star Zack Archer.

If the man broke a body part, the production company backing his latest movie was sure to blame her. They'd probably take the entire production budget of his upcoming movie out of her salary, which meant she could kiss good-bye any dreams of a new truck, a home of her own, or the comfortable retirement that should come at the end of long career.

"This isn't my fault," she shouted, sliding toward where the star had come to a stop against a stump.

The only responses were Zack Archer's screams and the angry buzz of ground hornets swarming up around him as he scrambled to his feet.

"Dang it!" She whipped a spray can of wasp stopper from her backpack and blitzed the swarm, dropping them in midair.

But the star still ran, flapping his arms like some giant bird trying to get airborne-one of those long legged sorts-being that Zack Archer had a longer inseam than most movie stars. A truly man-size action hero...whom she, a mere female, had just saved from a swarm of angry hornets. The fans of his action-adventure movies should see him now.

Lance Harrison looked through the large picture window of Aunt Penelope's Home Help Agency and frowned. Located on a side street in a dilapidated building, it was nonetheless clean and cheerful. That was, if one went in for tie-dye and beads.

The receptionist stood in the center of the room and seemed to be having some sort of fit. Jiggling her nicely curved derriere to and fro, she threw her hands in the air. Long red curls bounced on her shoulders as she moved. Flattening his hand on the plate glass window, he felt the vibrations on the glass and realized she was dancing. This was no way to run a business, but he didn't have time to be picky.

Leaning closer, he listened to "Respect" blaring from a boom box sitting on the receptionist's desk. Inappropriate or not, he had no other choice. In order to make it in time to pick up his mother before they ejected her from Shady Acres Rehab Center, this sexy hippy chick was his only hope. It couldn't have happened at a worse time because he was hosting a party tonight after becoming Assistant District Attorney for the parish of New Orleans. At this late date, he couldn't cancel it. He'd just have to grit his teeth and somehow get through the evening unscathed.

The scantily clad woman sang along off-key. Her dress was too short and made of some soft fabric that clung to her figure. When she spun around, he couldn't help noticing how nicely she filled the dress out in front too. Her eyes a sparkling green, she reminded him of an elf-a sexy, highly improper elf.

Aunt Penelope had better brush her staff up on office etiquette if she wanted to stay in business. He couldn't have his mother dealing with a bunch of flakes.

Chapter 1

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