Sunny Says (21 page)

“Dammit, Sunny, what are you
doing out there?”

She glared at him. “Would you
please stop saying, ‘Dammit, Sunny.’ My first name is not dammit. You need to
watch your language. You have an absolutely foul mouth.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sunny, my precious,
my love, what in the hell are you doing out there?”

“I’m sitting here being
miserable. Go away.”

He kicked off his loafers and
climbed out on the ledge with her. He sat down close to her and swung his legs
over the edge.

“Be careful,” she said. “You’re
going to fall off and break your neck.”

“Naw. I’m resilient. I’d
probably bounce.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She wasn’t
laughing. In fact, he saw that her lashes were clumped with moisture and that
there were salty tear streaks on her cheeks. Pain pierced his gut, and he grew
angry with Stan all over again. “Sweetheart, forget what Stan Verick said. He’s
a nasty-minded bastard who’s got rocks for brains. He’s not worth being
miserable over. He doesn’t even know about you. He was just shooting off his
mouth.”

She wiped her nose with the back
of her hand. He fished his handkerchief from his rear pocket and held it to her
nose. “Blow.”

She made a big honking noise. “Thanks.”
She sighed and clutched her knees tightly to her chest. “It’s not just what he
said.” She fluttered her hand. “It’s everything.”

“But, honey, you were so happy.
You were thrilled about the job offer in
Washington
. It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—” Her face screwed up
and tears started rolling again.

It nearly killed him to see her
cry. He scooted closer and lifted her face. “But what, love?”

“But you’re going to Tel Aviv,
and I’ll probably never see you again,” she wailed, the tears coming faster.

He wanted to take her into his
arms, but they would probably fall off the damned ledge if he tried. “I’m not
going to Tel Aviv.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re not?”

“Nope.” He reached into the
pocket of his pink shirt, pulled out a small velvet box, and opened it. “I
meant to pick a more romantic spot to do this, but will you marry me?”

Her eyes grew even wider. “But,
Kale, how can we get married?”

“The usual way. You buy a pretty
dress, and I’ll buy you some flowers. How about we book one of the Miradores
for the ceremony? We’ll find a preacher and—”

“No, no. How can we get married
if I’m going to be in
Washington
and you’re going to be Lord knows where most of the
time? No matter what Estella says, I don’t think that’s much of a marriage. I—”

He put his finger over her lips.
“Love, I’m not going to be ‘Lord knows where.’ My globe-trotting days are over.
I’m going to be wherever you are. If you want to stay here, we’ll stay here. If
you want to take the job in
Washington
, I’ll go with you. Just give me a couple of weeks to
hire a new anchor for KRIP. After our honeymoon—how does
Greece
sound?—we can find a nice little town house in
Georgetown
and—”

“What would you do in
Washington
?
For a job, I mean.”

He laughed. “I’m not exactly
destitute. Ravinia left Foster and me enough money to last four lifetimes. And
I’ve been thinking that I might write a book. I have an editor friend who’s
been hounding me about the idea for a couple of years.”

“But I thought you loved being a
foreign correspondent.”

“I thought so, too, until I had
a chance to get away from it. I’ve had my fill of the cesspools of the earth. I’ve
resigned. You’ve opened a whole new world for me, Sunny Larkin, and I’m not
about to let go of it. I love you, sweetheart. Will you marry me?”

The sunlight came back into her
eyes, and her dimples deepened with a dazzling smile. “I will.” She held out
her hand.

When he slipped the diamond
solitaire on her finger, the stone seemed to wink at them in the bright daylight.

“Dammit, Sunny, let’s get off
this ledge,” he said. “I want to kiss you properly.”

She laughed. “Some things never
change. But I love you anyway.”

They climbed inside to find a
dozen pairs of eyes staring at them.

“We’re engaged,” Kale announced
with a grin.

A beaming Hulon led the
applause.

Before the group could descend
on them, Kale dragged Sunny to her small office and firmly shut the door. “Now
I want to kiss my fiancee.”

“Kale, are you very sure that
this is what you want?”

“To kiss you? Damned sure.”

“No, I mean are you sure you
want to resign from your job?”

“Positive. I faxed my
resignation first thing this morning. I would have done it sooner, but, as you
recall, things have been a little hectic around here.”

She looked puzzled. “Then why
did your boss call today?”

“Because Stan is a stubborn old
coot who doesn’t understand about love and marriage. But, for me, the choice
between going back to my old life and having you was no contest.”

She frowned. “I don’t want you
to make a decision because of me that you’ll regret one day. Maybe we could
work out some other arrangement.”

He shook his head. “Sweetheart,
I’m burned out. I have been for a couple of years, but I didn’t have the sense
to recognize it. You made me aware of what a damned mess I was in. I’d
forgotten how to laugh, how to feel, until I met you. I can walk away with no
regrets. And the idea of writing a book appeals to me. I can write anywhere, so
we’ll move where your opportunity is. With me around to find your car keys and
give you baths, you’re going to be the best damned reporter
Washington
,
D.C.
, has ever
seen. You’ll wow ‘em.”

Eyes shining and that fantastic
smile turned on high, she stood on tiptoes and offered her lips. He kissed her
with all the love that was in him.

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed SUNNY SAYS. I
loved writing and researching this story and revisiting those memories as I
updated it recently. If you liked this ebook, I would appreciate your going to
the site where you purchased it and writing a review. It should only take a few
minutes and would mean the world to me as an author.

Also, if you liked Sunny and
Kale’s story, I think you might like the next book in the STRUCK BY LIGHTNING
series. It’s one of the few stories of the more that thirty books I’ve written
which is set primarily in a place other than Texas (but still in the U.S.).
HOT
STREAK
starts in
New Orleans
with our heroine Amy Jordan meeting the hero, Neil
Larkin, Sunny’s older brother. (You’ll recall that he was also under that tree
when it was struck by lightning.) An excerpt follows below.

*    *    *

The pane squeaked as Amy Jordan
wiped a little spot in the condensation to peek out the bakery window that
fronted
Jackson Square
.

He was still there.

An extremely handsome man from
what she could tell, he’d been sitting on that bench almost all day, staring
into space, looking totally dejected and forlorn. Nicely dressed in a
conservative suit and tie, he had a small suitcase at his feet and a raincoat
folded atop the garment bag lying on the bench beside him.

He hadn’t moved since she
spotted him around
noon
, not even to don his raincoat when the damp, overcast
day turned to drizzle, and it was now six-thirty and almost closing time. With
the growing dusk and messy weather, the artists and street vendors had packed
up and gone home for the day, and the nightlife was not yet in full swing. As
crazy as the natives and tourists were, nobody else was sitting in the rain.

Amy had been curious about him
earlier, but now she started to worry. Her sister Rachel, who owned the bakery,
would have told her to blow it off and mind her own business. After all, Rachel
always said, half the nut cases in the United States eventually made their way
to New Orleans and Jackson Square—those who didn’t stay in California. But
Rachel was a cynic, and Amy didn’t have a cynical bone in her body.

In fact Rachel—and a few other
people she could name offhand—had accused her of being hopelessly naive and
gullible enough to buy swamp land from every snake oil salesman that came down
the pike. That wasn’t true. One couldn’t spend two years as a social worker in
a children’s hospital and four years in
Dallas
’s inner city and remain naive. Burned-out,
soul-shattered? Yes. Naive? No. Nor was she gullible. Not exactly. She was
simply tenderhearted and a natural born nurturer. And if being so had gotten
her into trouble a time or two . . . well, several times, that was a price she
willingly paid for caring.

And she did care. Deeply. Excruciatingly.

That’s why she dithered over the
man on the bench.

His blond hair had darkened from
the drizzle, and his clothes were getting soaked. Amy was sure that something
must be seriously wrong. He might be ill. Or have amnesia and be lost. October’s
first cool front was sweeping through the city and bringing more rain. Of
course it wasn’t supposed to get below sixty degrees, but still, he could get
pneumonia if he sat out there all night. She couldn’t just let him stay there
all alone in the rain, could she?

Certainly not.

She grabbed her umbrella from
behind the counter, and the bell above the door tinkled as she went outside.
Strains of a lonely blues song from Pop’s Place drifted across the square and
under the dripping canopy, the melancholy sax overlaying the sodden air with a
bone-deep sadness that seemed to match the droop of the man’s shoulders.

Unfurling the umbrella that
looked liked a giant red poppy, she held it above her head and tiptoed through
the shallow puddles. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to get close enough to shelter
him with the red petals and still respect his space. “Excuse me.”

He turned his head slightly and
glanced up at her with eyes that took her breath away. Blue as the shallows of
the
Caribbean
, they seemed to draw her into depths that rivaled an
ocean abyss. But something other than the beauty of his eyes struck her. Pain. Shock.
Sorrow. She had seen enough of it, experienced enough of it to identify it.
Gut-wrenching misery bled from his eyes, seeped from his pores, and slithered
into her heart as if by osmosis. She had to consciously throw up barriers
against his pain.

“May I help you in some way?”
she asked.

He shook his head and looked
away.

“How about a cup of coffee? You
need to get out of this rain. It’s going to get worse.” She touched his shoulder.
“You’re going to catch cold.”

“I don’t give a damn,” he
mumbled.

“Now is that any way to talk? Of
course you care. Or you will when you start coughing and going through a box of
tissues a day. At least come inside the bakery for a minute and have a cup of
coffee.” She gave him her warmest smile and tugged on his coat sleeve.

He shrugged, stood, and started
for the bakery, leaving his belongings behind. Holding the umbrella handle
between her chin and shoulder, Amy quickly scooped up his things and hurried
after him.

When he opened the door and
noticed her struggling with his baggage, he mumbled, “Sorry,” then took his
things and tossed them on the floor just inside the door.

“No problem.” She smiled again,
let down the umbrella and shook it, then bustled into the bakery that was
fragrant with yeasty aromas and warm from the wood-burning brick oven. “Plain
coffee or cafe au lait?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He glanced
around the bakery absently as if trying to get his bearings.

“Well, of course it matters. Do
you want cream or not?”

“Not.”

“Then plain coffee it is. Take
off your coat so that it’ll dry out. As you can see, you have your choice of
places to sit,” she said, gesturing to the chairs around the four marble
ice-cream tables up front. “Things are a little slow right now.”

As if to mock her words, three
customers came in the door. She waited on the first, and while two and three
perused the goods, she quickly poured a cup of coffee for the man and set it on
the table in front of him.

“There you go,” she said. “Drink
up. I’ll be back in a shake with a refill.”

After she’d rung up the final
sale, she filled a tray with a basket of assorted rolls and pastries, a second
mug, and an insulated carafe of coffee. When she started toward the man, she
was struck again by the aura of desolation surrounding him. Strangely, she
sensed that such feelings were ordinarily foreign to him. This guy was no wimp.