скачать книгу бесплатно
Rebel with a Heart
Carol Arens
Trace Ballentine, investigative journalist, has gone undercover to expose the corruption at a remote South Dakota hospital. But when his long-lost sweetheart appears out of nowhere – beautiful, vulnerable and with two adorable children in tow - he can’t risk blowing his cover.Lilleth Preston finds bumbling librarian Clark Clarkly curiously attractive… and strangely familiar.Is there more to the mysterious, bookish Clark than meets the eye? But she has secrets of her own, and revealing the truth could put both Trace and Lilleth in grave danger…
“There’s something about you.” Her eyes held him. “I can’t explain it, but you make me feel like … like I’ve been waiting for you forever.”
Had she waited? He had no right to expect her to have. He had no right to ask.
“Have you been?”
“I don’t know.” Her brow crinkled. “What is it that people wait for, Clark?”
He crushed her mouth with a kiss.
He whispered, “Lilleth …” in her ear. He kissed her again, this time slowly savouring her.
“Well,” she murmured at last, when he allowed her a breath. “You’ve just made it clear to me that in some ways I am still a virgin.” She curled her fingers into his shirt. “Come with me into the bedroom, Clark.”
AUTHOR NOTE
Are you like I am? Does your heart beat a little faster for a mysterious hero?
When I was eight years old I sat in front of the television set and fell madly, completely in love with Zorro/Don Diego. The humour of the Don made me laugh, but when the dashing protector emerged I melted. I carried that torch for a few years and, to be honest, there’s still a bit of the flame left.
Who can resist the lure of Superman/Clark Kent? Or Batman/Bruce Wayne? For me, the hero in disguise is an irresistible character.
For the longest time I’ve wanted to create one of my own. I hope you enjoy reading about Trace Ballentine/Clark Clarkly, and that just maybe your heart will beat a little faster.
Three cheers for heroes in disguise!
Best wishes and happy reading.
Rebel with a Heart
Carol Arens
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
While in the third grade CAROL ARENS had a teacher who noted that she ought to spend less time daydreaming and looking out of the window and more time on her sums. Today, Carol spends as little time on sums as possible. Daydreaming plots and characters is still far more interesting to her.
As a young girl she read books by the dozen. She dreamed that one day she would write a book of her own. A few years later Carol set her sights on a new dream. She wanted to be the mother of four children. She was blessed with a son, then three daughters. While raising them she never forgot her goal of becoming a writer. When her last child went to high school she purchased a big old clunky word processor and began to type out a story.
She joined Romance Writers of America, where she met generous authors who taught her the craft of writing a romance novel. With the knowledge she gained she sold her first book and saw her life-long dream come true.
Today, Carol lives with her real-life hero husband, Rick, in Southern California, where she was born and raised. She feels blessed to be doing what she loves, with all her children and a growing number of perfect and delightful grandchildren living only a few miles from her front door.
When she is not writing, reading or playing with her grandchildren, Carol loves making trips to the local nursery. She delights in scanning the rows of flowers, envisaging which pretty plants will best brighten her garden.
She enjoys hearing from readers, and invites you to contact her at carolsarens@yahoo.com
Previous novels by the same author:
RENEGADE MOST WANTED
REBEL WITH A CAUSE
A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE
(part of Christmas Cowboy Kisses anthology)
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
To my daughter, Jennifer Lynne, because sometimes life takes a turn and grants you a miracle.
Contents
Chapter One (#u3fecb218-2316-5127-80c3-b223c98d851b)
Chapter Two (#u4acd1a50-918f-5fc6-9fb2-e82c76e0fcc0)
Chapter Three (#u25dccd24-c1fb-5273-8555-df780180837f)
Chapter Four (#u6ff02e7f-3149-5a20-903b-3cb6734b9a63)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Riverwalk, South Dakota November, 1879
A splinter jutting from the boardwalk pierced Trace Ballentine’s trousers. He cursed his luck. He growled at fate. How could it be possible that he was facing one of the most pivotal moments of his life with a piece of wood stabbing his rump?
Admittedly, he hadn’t slipped by accident, but he hadn’t intended to take a woman down with him, either. Still, here the lady was, sprawled across his lap in front of the ticket counter at the train depot, with the contents of her valise scattered near and far. Undergarments and shoes, ribbons and hatpins littered the boardwalk, mostly crushed under the stack of books he had been carrying.
He snatched his shattered spectacles from under his knee and plopped them on his nose.
Even through a spiderweb of broken glass he knew this woman. Even after sixteen years of foggy memory and change he recognized his one true love.
“Why, you big...” She seemed to be searching for the nastiest word in her vocabulary.
“Oaf?” he supplied.
“Dolt.”
The accusation didn’t sting; she’d called him worse dozens of times in playfulness. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t wounded to his soul.
Lilleth Grace Preston stared straight into his eyes without knowing who he was.
In every fantasy he’d ever had of their miraculous reunion they had showered tears and kisses all over each other.
He had vowed to love her forever, and damned if he hadn’t. He’d cherished her memory since he was fourteen years old, yet not a twitch of her eyebrow or a blink of her lashes revealed that she recalled him.
To be fair, how could he have expected her to? The last time they had been together he had been gangly, whereas now he was tall and filled out. Over the years his hair had darkened from blond to brown. These days he wore a beard, trimmed short and neat. Back then he had barely sprouted peach fuzz.
He was nothing like the boy he had been, while she looked very much the same. With her red curls, snapping blue eyes and mouth that went from a grimace to a smile in a flash, he’d have known her even if he hadn’t been cursed with a mind that remembered nearly everything.
“Kindly remove your person from under me, Mr....?” She arched one brow.
It’s me. It’s Trace.
“Clark,” he declared. He wrinkled his brow, then added a hiccup.
“Mr. Clark, your—”
“Clarkly, that is. Mr. Clark Clarkly, at your service, miss.”
“Mr. Clark Clarkly, kindly remove your knee from my bustle.”
“Your...? Oh, my word, I beg your pardon.” He straightened his leg and reached for her hand, desperate for just one touch, even if that touch was through a leather glove.
She allowed him to help her to her feet. He then made a show of being a buffoon by attempting to straighten her skirt.
Curse it, he was a buffoon, and he didn’t even have to act a part. Of all the disguises he could have chosen for this assignment, why did it have to be Clark Clarkly?
Had he ever dreamed that he might run into Lilleth Preston he’d have made himself a lawman or a cowboy. Anyone but good old Clarkly, the bungling, bookish librarian.
But Trace was good and stuck now. Most of the citizens of Riverwalk had made the acquaintance of Clarkly—run into him, quite literally. He couldn’t change identities midassignment. Too much was at stake. The innocent inmates at the Hanispree Mental Hospital depended on Clarkly.
He ought to thank his lucky stars that Lilleth hadn’t recognized him. It broke his heart, but it was for the best.
Hot damn, he was stuck in a muddle of his own making with no way out. There was nothing for it but to dive in headfirst.
Lilleth slapped his hand where it attempted to straighten that fascinating, if tweaked, little bustle behind her skirt.
“Mr. Clarkly! Have you no shame?”
Good girl, Lils, he thought, you still hold your own against anyone.
“Why...yes. Usually, that is. Miss, you pack quite a wallop.” He shook his slapped hand, then stooped to gather her belongings from under his books.
She would think he was an idiot for plucking up her lacy, pink-ribboned corset, but that was as close to intimacy as he was likely ever to get with her.
Lilleth crouched beside him, her hand already in motion to deliver another swat. He shoved the garment at her, but not before he noticed that it smelled like roses.
“Don’t you lay a finger on those bloomers.” Lilleth leveled a glare at him, snatched up her belongings and stuffed them into her valise. She snapped it closed, then stood up.
November wind, blowing in the promise of the first snow, swirled the hem of Lilleth’s skirt. Her toe tapped the boardwalk with the one-two-three-pause, one-two-three-pause rhythm that he remembered. She was struggling with her temper.
He gathered up his books and, in true Clark style, layered them in alphabetical order. He’d intended her to notice that, and she had. She rolled her eyes and sighed.
“It has been a pleasure, truly.” He offered his hand. “I’m sorry about the little knock-you-down. My deepest apologies, and welcome to Riverwalk.”
Most women wouldn’t accept his apology, given that he’d been clumsy upon stupid upon rude, but he left his hand extended just in case.
Lilleth stared at his face for a long time, studying, weighing, judging.
“I’m ever so sorry, Miss...?”
“Well, accidents do happen, after all.” She shook his hand. The smile that had haunted his dreams pardoned him. “I’m Lilly Gordon.”
Gordon? Married? No! Sixteen years ago she had taken his hand, pressed it to her twelve-year-old heart and vowed to marry him and only him.
“Hey, Ma, Mary’s getting hungry.”
A boy, no more than ten years old, walked up to Lilly Gordon carrying a baby.
“Cold, too,” the boy added, frowning and shooting Clark an assessing look.
The baby didn’t appear to be hungry or cold. In fact, it was bundled against the chill so that only a pair of blue eyes—Lils’s eyes—and a pert little nose peeked out.
Trace admired the boy for stepping up. Some big galoot had just knocked his mother down.
“Make Mr. Clarkly’s acquaintance, Jess.” Lilleth took the baby from the boy’s arms. “Then we’ll be on our way. There’s the hotel, just up ahead.”
“A pleasure to meet you, young man,” he said. And it was, too, now that the shock was wearing off. He extended his hand.
The boy cocked his head, studied his face as his mother had done, and then, like her, made up his mind in an instant. He shook Clark’s hand.
“Well, good day, then, Mr. Clarkly,” Lilleth said.
