Hard Habit to Break (19 page)

She lifted her tear-streaked face and whispered, “We get married, we have babies. That’s what happens next. Nice peaceful boredom—if
you
can manage it.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, honey. You’re too exciting.”

“As long as it’s just me. No more heroics, ever. Promise.”

“I wasn’t the one clawing the guy’s eyes out,” he protested with amusement.

“Promise!”

He sighed. “Promise.”

“Excuse me, folks.”

They both glanced up to find Hank Krenshaw, the editor of the
Hopewell Bugle
smiling at them, a camera in hand. Suddenly there was a bright flash of light.

Matt blinked in confusion at the spots before his eyes.

“I saw the whole thing!” Hank said in an excited voice. “You two are the town heroes! Good thing I’m an old newspaperman and always carry my camera wherever I go. I’m giving this a front-page spread and I’m sending it in to the wire services. I bet we get picked up all over the East Coast, if not the country. I can just see the headlines—Lovers Foil Robbery Attempt!”

Matt stared at Liz in horror.

“We’re public at last!” she gasped, then burst into laughter.

“Town heroes do not pinch other town heroes on their bottoms in public, Matthew Callahan!” Liz said sternly, and shifted in her chair as she sat next to Matt on the makeshift grandstand set up on the town’s common.

“They do if they’re married, Elizabeth Callahan,” he replied with a sexy smile.

She sighed and clasped his offending hand in hers. “Watch the parade, darling.”

“If you insist, love.”

Staring at his handsome profile as he turned back to watch Hopewell’s Labor Day parade, Liz sighed again. Pride and love for him filled her.

She and Matt had been married a week after the robbery, and the only argument had been over whose house they would live in. Finally she’d settled it by reminding him that he’d have to completely repack and unpack
again
if they picked her house. To her amusement, Matt had immediately
insisted they live in his and rent hers furnished. And she was quite content with the decision. She’d always liked her house, but that was really all it had ever been to her—just a house. Matt, though, had bought his with the thought of building a new life for himself. She’d immediately felt at ease with his home’s blending of old and new. Maybe it was because he’d made her see the old Liz within the new one. And once she’d moved in, she’d discovered how easy it was to give up cigarettes. The days were always too busy, and the loving nights provided their own habit-forming drug.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the 4-H club pass by and remembered how the town had insisted that she and Matt be the guests of honor at the holiday festivities for foiling the robbery attempt at the bank almost a month ago. Talk about the robbery still hadn’t died down, she thought. And it probably never would. It turned out there had been a third robber waiting in a car outside. The police had eventually caught him trying to cross the border into Canada. Joe, her boss, had thought the crooks had somehow gotten hold of the Brinks schedule, but the robbers had admitted they’d decided on her bank because it had seemed like easy pickings. She chuckled to herself. Of course the three hadn’t known Hopewell harbored a crazy man who leaped before he thought. Matt had been hailed a hero by the town, the police, and the bank. So had she.

Everyone, though, seemed to ignore the fact that she couldn’t have cared less about the bank at the time, she thought mirthfully. She’d been terrified
only that the second crook would retrieve his gun before someone could stop him and shoot Matt.

Her amusement faded instantly, and she shivered in the warm sunlight. She knew she’d never forget that awful moment for as long as she lived.

“You’re not watching the parade,” Matt said.

“I’ve got something better to watch,” she murmured, leaning toward him. Privately she thought he was much more interesting than the antique cars now passing the reviewing stand.

He chuckled wickedly. “Keep looking at me like that, and we’ll shock the town again right here and now.”

She laughed. “I think they’re unshockable at this point.”

“Probably. First the robbery, then you making a spectacle of yourself—”

“All in the cause of love,” she broke in tartly.

“Then Millie announcing she was allowing the Deerling Foundation to use her farm for underprivileged children.”

Liz tightened her grip on his hand. “I’m so proud of you for that. And what a surprise when Deerling asked you to oversee the project for them!”

Matt grimaced. “Don’t remind me about my being talked into that one. Looks like my retirement’s over.”

“Shame on them, doing that to an old man like you,” Liz murmured.

“Keep it up, and I’ll pinch you again,” he warned her. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The final shock—the new bank ads.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll
ever get used to seeing my face on TV or in magazines.”

Someone in New England Bank’s promotional department had come up with the idea of using the story of the foiled robbery in their ads. She found it very disconcerting to see a picture of herself with a bold caption underneath that read: “Earn interest with someone who will keep your money safe—bank at New England.”

“It’s a great ad, district manager,” Matt said.

Liz grinned at him. “You know that’s not official yet.”

“Well, I’m just glad you got it,” he replied, gazing at her with love and pride.

She smiled back.

Privately she decided she’d never forget her boss’s face when he eventually discovered that Ford Carson had questioned her age only because he wanted Joe’s opinion of the other managers’ reaction to it. The directors had evidently taken his recommendation of her very seriously from the beginning. Funny how that worked out, she thought. All her original reasons for maintaining a good reputation had been quite valid. Yet in the end, even if she had known she all but had the promotion, she still wouldn’t have cared a damn. Loving Matt and being loved by him in return were too precious to lose.

She heard the high school band strike up their opening number, and clutching Matt’s hand, she pointed across the common to the uniformed musicians.

“Here comes your surprise!”

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“Just watch.”

She waited impatiently through the ragged strains of “The Colonel Bogey March” as the band marched around to the reviewing stand. She’d arranged a little surprise for Matt, and now she hoped it would come off the way she’d planned. She tensed as the band reached the stand and swung into another number.

Matt frowned at her. “That sounds familiar, but I can’t quite—”

“It’s ‘My Guy,’ you nut!” she replied, then hummed a few bars along with the band. “I got them to play it for you.”

“You did? What for?”

“Because I love you. You’re my guy, and from now on I’m going to be talking about you to anyone who will listen.”

“Sweetheart, I—”

She leaned over and kissed him, stopping his words. Finally she whispered against his lips, “I hope you like it.”

“I love it,” he whispered back, and deftly stroked her lips with his tongue. “And I love you.”

“Mmm. By the way, being Hopewell’s new philanthropist, you generously pledged the money for fifty-six new band uniforms.”

His head shot up. “Liz!”

Chuckling, she sat back in her chair.

“I love it when you yell at me,” she said.

And the band played on.

Welcome to Loveswept!

We’re delighted to offer you another sizzling e-original next month: From rising romance star Sharon Cullen comes a tale of the fiery passion between a noble naval officer and a female pirate that’s as tempestuous and as unpredictable as the sea.
THE NOTORIOUS LADY ANNE
is Sharon Cullen’s first historical novel and her debut with Loveswept. Sensual and enticing, this is a book you won’t want to miss.

Also upcoming: Patricia Olney’s irresistible
JADE’S GAMBLE
, Linda Cajio’s sinfully sexy
STRICTLY BUSINESS
, and three blazing hot books from Sandra Chastain:
A DREAM TO CLING TO
,
LOVE AND A BLUE-EYED COWBOY
, and
MAC’S ANGELS: MIDNIGHT FANTASY
.

If you love romance … then you’re ready to be
Loveswept
!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: March brings Ruthie Knox’s scorching
ALONG CAME TROUBLE
, and some classic you’ll want to read: Patricia Olney’s moving and funny
STILL MR. AND MRS
., Juliana Garnett’s compelling and sensual
THE BARON
, Jean Stone’s exceptional and heartwarming
FIRST LOVES
, Linda Cajio’s extraordinary
UNFORGETTABLE
, and beloved author Iris Johansen’s brilliant
AN UNEXPECTED SONG
. In April, we’re excited about Megan Frampton’s emotional and powerfully erotic tale
HERO OF MY HEART
, Karen Leabo’s electric
HELL ON WHEELS
, Linda Cajio’s stirring novels,
HE’S SO SHY
and
DESPERATE MEASURES
, and Sandra Chastain’s spellbinding books,
NIGHT DREAMS
and
PENTHOUSE SUITE
. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I promise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come….

Read on for excerpts from more
Loveswept
titles …

Read on for an excerpt from Juliet Rosetti’s

Escape Diaries

Actually I wasn’t prepared at all. I just wanted to go to bed. I was tired and cranky, sweat was puddling between my boobs, and my armpits smelled like sprouting onions. Deodorant cost one ninety-five at the prison canteen, well beyond the means of someone who earned ten cents an hour. Given a choice between M&Ms or Mennen, I’d pick the sweet and live with the stink. Repulsive, yes—but chocolate is what gets you through the day, and no one else smells any better.

If I’d stuck to chocolate, things might have turned out differently. But I had a leftover cough drop from a bout with bronchitis, and when my cellmate, Tina Sanchez, developed a tickly throat, I gave her the cough drop. Just being a pal, right?

Wrong. You’re supposed to return unused medications to the medical director. The staff tracks pharmaceuticals the way the CIA tracks yellow cake in the Middle East. A cellblock officer caught the menthol scent on Tina’s breath and wrote her up for taking a nonprescription drug. Since I was the one who’d dished out the illicit substance, I was written up, too. Along with a bunch of other drug offenders—aspirin pushers, Alka-Seltzer peddlers, and Midol dealers—Tina and I were sentenced to garden detail.

Not exactly the Bataan death march in a suburban peas and petunias plot, but Taycheedah’s gardens are a whole different chunk of real estate. Looking out over them is like gazing at the Great Plains; you wouldn’t be surprised to see buffalo and buzzards roaming around out there.

The first days of September had been sunny and hot, and in the perverse way of growing things, every tomato on six acres had ripened on the same day. Ten thousand of the squishy red things, demanding to be handpicked before thunderstorms swept through and turned them into salsa. We picked. And picked. And picked some more. All morning, all afternoon, and into early evening. When it got to be five o’clock I thought we’d be dismissed for dinner. But no-o.
You do the crime, you do the time:
that was the warden’s motto. The kitchen staff sent out sandwiches and bottles of water and we ate sitting cross-legged in the dirt. Then we hauled ourselves to our feet and went back to work.

My spine was an archipelago of ache, my skin felt scalded, and my teeth were filmed with bugs. The rank, catnippy odor of tomatoes clung to my clothes. I straightened and stretched at the end of my gazillionth row, rubbing my back and anxiously scanning the sky to the west, which had turned the pus-yellow of a fading bruise. The air was thick enough to stir with a spoon. Crickets chirped storm warnings. Lightning flickered in a raft of distant clouds.