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Drive Me Wild
Elizabeth Harbison
THE ONE WHO GOT AWAYFor Grace Bowes, going home again felt like facing disaster. While the town wondered how the golden girl had wound up a struggling single mom, Grace had to find a job–fast! Worse, her first interview ever was with none other than Luke Stewart, the man who once made her heart beat madly–before she married someone else. He was the lover who still made her wonder: What if…?"What if" wasn't an option for Luke. Until Grace walked into his world once more, looking every inch the beauty she always was. Suddenly, the brooding bachelor felt an ache to finish what they started so long ago. Not a bad proposition for a man with nothing to lose. Nothing, that is, except his heart….
“What were you afraid of, Grace?”
She swallowed hard. It was her chance to tell him about the way she’d once felt about him and the way she’d felt when they’d just gone their separate ways after that one incredible night.
“Of winding up alone and lonely,” she said. “I think maybe I blew my one big chance. I took door number one instead of having the courage to wait for the big prize.”
“We’re just different, you and I.”
“Yes. We are. It’s a good thing we never got together. Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t?” Her chest tightened.
“Who knows what would have happened if things had gone differently?”
She forced a laugh. “Yeah, maybe we would have gotten married and had two-point-four kids.”
“Yeah…maybe.” He put a hand out and touched her cheek. “I’ve got to go now.”
He turned and began walking away.
Grace watched, feeling oddly bereft.
Then he stopped.
And came back to her…
Dear Reader,
June is busting out all over with this month’s exciting lineup!
First up is Annette Broadrick’s But Not For Me. We asked Annette what kinds of stories she loved, and she admitted that a heroine in love with her boss has always been one of her favorites. In this romance, a reserved administrative assistant falls for her sexy boss, but leaves her position when she receives threatening letters. Well, this boss has another way to keep his beautiful assistant by his side—marry her right away!
Royal Protocol by Christine Flynn is the next installment of the CROWN AND GLORY series. Here, a lovely lady-in-waiting teaches an admiral a thing or two about chemistry. Together, they try to rescue royalty, but end up rescuing each other. And you can never get enough of Susan Mallery’s DESERT ROGUES series. In The Prince & the Pregnant Princess, a headstrong woman finds out she’s pregnant with a seductive sheik’s child. How long will it take before she succumbs to his charms and his promise of happily ever after?
In The Last Wilder, the fiery conclusion of Janis Reams Hudson’s WILDERS OF WYATT COUNTY, a willful heroine on a secret quest winds up in a small town and locks horns with the handsome local sheriff. Cheryl St. John’s Nick All Night tells the story of a down-on-her-luck woman who returns home and gets a second chance at love with her very distracting next-door neighbor. In Elizabeth Harbison’s Drive Me Wild, a schoolbus-driving mom struggles to make ends meet, but finds happiness with a former flame who just happens to be her employer!
It’s time to enjoy those lazy days of summer. So, grab a seat by the pool and don’t forget to bring your stack of emotional tales of love, life and family from Silhouette Special Edition!
Sincerely,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
Drive Me Wild
Elizabeth Harbison
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to Meg Ruley who, upon hearing that I had to drive the bus for my daughter’s school, saw the humor I thought was distinctly lacking in the situation and said, “You have to write it!”
Heartfelt things to Ray Plummer of Butler Montessori School in Darnestown, Maryland, who managed to keep a straight face while teaching me everything I needed to know to pass the CDL test and get on the road.
ELIZABETH HARBISON
has been an avid reader for as long as she can remember. After devouring the Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden series in grade school, she moved on to the suspense of Mary Stewart, Dorothy Eden and Daphne du Maurier, just to name a few. From there it was a natural progression to writing, although early efforts have been securely hidden away in the back of a closet.
After authoring three cookbooks, Elizabeth turned her hand to writing romances and hasn’t looked back. Her second book for Silhouette Romance, Wife without a Past, was a 1998 finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA
Award in the “Best Traditional Romance” category.
Elizabeth lives in Maryland with her husband, John, daughter Mary Paige, and son Jack, as well as two dogs, Bailey and Zuzu. She loves to hear from readers, and you can write to her c/o Box 1636, Germantown, MD 20875.
Rules of the Road for Bus-Driving Single Moms
1. If you’re working for an old flame who has only gotten sexier over the years, fasten your seat belt. It’s bound to be a bumpy ride.
2. When a gorgeous man kisses you, it can be hard to put on the brakes, even when he’s your boss. Observe the speed limit, lest you lose control.
3. Keep a map with you and try to remember to stay on your course, even when other routes look tempting.
4. It’s probably safest to leave the lights on at night.
5. If your bus won’t start, don’t be alone with your boss while he fixes it, lest someone’s engine overheats.
6. Hand signals are always helpful when merging.
7. Back seat driving can be fun.
8. Be warned: Yielding to temptation is almost sure to end in gridlock.
9. If the road ahead is closed, enjoy the detour…. You never know where it might lead.
10. Be sure to check your rearview mirror frequently—you may be surprised by what you see there!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“You ever had to eat a locust?”
For a moment, Grace Bowes—standing in the blazing-hot sun looking for a mailbox that should have been on the corner of Main and Sycamore but wasn’t—didn’t think the question was directed at her. But when it was repeated with more vehemence, she looked toward the speaker and saw a bent old man perched on a bench in front of the Blue Moon Bay Pharmacy, staring at her so expectantly she couldn’t help but laugh.
“No, I haven’t.” She’d never been one to believe in omens, but when the seventeen-year locusts returned to her hometown the same month she—after a fifteen-year absence—did, she had to rethink her position. On several things. “But I haven’t ruled it out.”
The man laughed heartily, revealing a mouth full of holes plus one or two brown stubs of teeth. “Smart girl.” He thumped a gnarled finger against his temple.
“Have you?” She noticed he had a battered hat at his feet with a handwritten sign that said Thank You in an uncertain hand, and an old dented and rusted Partridge Family lunch box by his side. She immediately regretted asking. Maybe that lunch box was full of locusts right now.
“Had to, during the war. Would’ve starved otherwise.” He looked her over with a sharp blue eye. “What war are you fighting?”
Divorce. Betrayal. Single motherhood. The modern job market as it related to a woman whose only real job had consisted of working as a secretary for her father, the local judge, ten hours a week one summer. A lot of wars. “I’m just looking for a mailbox. I thought there was one on this corner.” She had to mail a car payment on a car that was the main asset she’d won in the divorce after her husband, Michael, had left her a note on the bathroom counter, saying he was sorry but their life together hadn’t worked out and he’d found someone else.
“Used to be one right there.” The old man gestured, then shook his head as if something very sad had happened. “Not there anymore.”
“No, it’s not.” Grace glanced at her watch. In ten minutes she had an appointment at the Bayside Jobs employment agency. First she had to mail this payment, hoping to avoid at least one early-morning call mispronouncing her name and threatening unspeakable actions if she didn’t get the car payment in on time. Along with winning the car, she’d won the car payment, thanks to Michael’s savvy at hiding his financial assets.
Michael Bowes. He’d been the golden boy of Blue Moon Bay, Maryland, the captain of the football team and homecoming king to Grace’s homecoming queen. He’d gone to college in the north and she’d followed a year later. Four years after that, they were married and Michael, then a commercial real-estate developer, had ridden a ride of prosperity right into a lovely upper-middle-class lifestyle. When the bottom had dropped out of that market, he didn’t bother to mention to Grace that they were living on credit cards and line of credit advances and a host of bad gambles.
By the time he left—no doubt because thugs with stub noses and barrel chests were threatening to break his kneecaps—he’d accrued hundreds of thousands of dollars in liability. He and Grace had had to sell the house and her jewelry and even her clothes. Her yard sales were legendary. And exhausting. When it was all over, she had nothing except bad memories of a man who had once seemed like the Catch of Blue Moon Bay.
She wasn’t sorry the marriage was over. Often she’d felt as if in their life together they’d lacked understanding of each other, and even real interest in each other. Perhaps if Michael hadn’t made the first move, she would have suggested it herself after Jimmy was grown. She’d never know, because Michael had beaten her to the punch.
So she’d packed up their ten-year-old son, Jimmy, and moved back to her hometown to live with her widowed mother in the house she’d grown up in. It was only for a year, she told herself. She’d save enough money to move back north, so Jimmy could be near his friends again, in the town that was his home. And she could be far away from this claustrophobic hamlet.
In the meantime, she’d just get a job here in Blue Moon Bay. Granted, at thirty-three, she should be heading her own household, not lying on the same bed she had as a teenager, counting the same fading roses on the wallpaper, but here she was. She was lucky to have the benefit of her mother’s generosity.
With any luck it would keep her from having to eat locusts.
“You have something to mail?” the old man asked, holding out a shaking hand.
Grace automatically pulled her purse in closer to her body. Too many years in the city. “No, thanks. I was just trying to orient myself.”
“Used to be a mailbox there.” He dissolved into a long, sputtering cough. “Gone now.”
She tried to smile and took out one of the only two dollars she had in her purse. “Thanks so much for your help,” she said, dropping the bill into the hat. She noticed there were only three pennies and a nickel in there and, with a pang of pity for the old man, dropped her other dollar in too. “I really appreciate it.”
“God bless you,” he called as Grace walked away and rounded the corner. “And God bless your family too.”
“I hope so,” she whispered.
She looked at her watch again and quickened her pace, hurrying down the shaded street that ran parallel to the old boardwalk a block up. In fifteen years, almost nothing had changed. The salty smell of the ocean still hung in the air and mingled with sweet taffy and caramel corn, though whether the smell was actually there or just a memory, Grace couldn’t say, since it was early May and most of the shops hadn’t opened for the season yet. The pavement was littered here and there with the familiar old Hasher’s French Fries bags, malt vinegar stains dotting the same logo they’d had for at least three decades. It was one of the only landmarks left, now that the once-charming holiday town had fallen in favor of the more exciting Ocean City forty-five minutes away.
Still, a few dings and whistles of arcade games echoed through narrow alleyways full of shops that only opened during the summer when the tourists came to the beach. Grace fought a feeling of melancholy. Around every kite shop, T-shirt shop, and junk-food joint were ghostly memories of bike spills, melting ice cream on muggy summer nights and first kisses in the shadows of doorways and brightly striped awnings.
She stopped at the address she’d written for Bayside Jobs and looked around. It took her a moment to realize 32 Maple Street was the tiny space that used to sell funnel cakes and, for a couple of years in the seventies, had been a head shop.
She paused outside the door and pulled the fabric of her blouse away from her damp underarms. It was a little tight, she’d noticed, thanks to her Oreo therapy, but it would probably be okay as long as she didn’t raise her arms and split the back. If she stood straight, it looked fine. She hoped.
With a quick breath, she heaved the old glass door open and stepped into the cool, dark, mercifully locust-free office. It still carried the faintest whiff of grease, sugar and marijuana.
An unpleasantly familiar stout woman looked up from the desk a few feet in front of her. “Grace Perigon,” she said flatly, her face pink under her now-white hair.
“Ms. Lindon?” Grace gasped, recognizing the voice that addressed her by her maiden name. Ms. Lindon—she’d always emphasized the Ms., leading to rampant speculation among the students about her sexuality—had been the meanest home ec teacher on the east coast, maybe even the meanest in the whole United States.
Students had called her “the Egg Beater” because she’d always seemed hostile, even when baking a cake.
Grace felt the blood drain from her face and pool in the toes of her new discount-store pumps. “I have an appointment.”
“I don’t have any appointment down here for you.”
“You’re in charge here?” Grace glanced around to make sure, once again, that she’d opened the correct door and not, say, an acupuncturist’s or a martial arts studio. “Bayside Jobs?”
Ms. Lindon’s brow lowered further than was aesthetically pleasing. “I am Bayside Jobs.”
That was it. Grace was done for. Except that she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of being done for. She walked slowly toward the large metal desk. The air conditioner hissed in the corner. “Then I must have an appointment with you,” Grace said, in as warm a voice as she could muster.
For a moment, she toyed with the idea of running back outside to take her chances with the locusts.
The older woman took out a vinyl-covered appointment book and studied it intently. “I don’t see you here.”
“Oh.” This was as very bad start. “When I called, I used my married name. I’ll still be using it now, even though we’ve gotten divorced.”
