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Red At Night
Katie McGarry
Stella and Jonah are total opposites.She's the girl with purple hair from the wrong part of town. He hangs with the cool crowd. Until a car accident leaves him haunted by guilt, and Jonah starts spending time at Stella's favourite refuge…the local cemetery.Stella knows she should keep her distance—after all, she spent her girlhood being bullied by Jonah's friends. Once he's sorted out his tangled emotions, Jonah won't have time for her anymore. Too bad she's already fallen for him….
More Than Words:
Bestselling authors and real-life heroines
Every year, Harlequin’s More Than Words award is given to three real-life heroines, women whose courage and vision have helped change people’s lives for the better. Once again, three bestselling Harlequin authors have written stories inspired by these remarkable women.
In Red at Night, Stella and Jonah are total opposites. She’s the girl with purple hair from the wrong part of town. He’s a high school senior who hangs with the cool crowd. Until a car accident leaves him haunted by guilt, and Jonah starts spending time at Stella’s favorite refuge...the local cemetery.
Stella knows she should keep her distance—after all, she spent her girlhood being bullied by Jonah’s friends. Once he’s sorted out his tangled emotions, Jonah won’t have time for her anymore. Too bad she’s already fallen for him....
Look for all three ebooks inspired by real-life heroines: Red at Night by Katie McGarry, You Are Here by Liz Fichera and The Gift of a Good Start by Earl Sewell. Visit the Harlequin More Than Words website, at www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com (http://www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com), or your favorite ebook retailer to download these free novellas today.
Red at Night
More Than Words
Katie McGarry
Dear Reader,
For a decade, Harlequin has been a leader in supporting and bringing awareness to women’s charitable efforts. Through Harlequin More Than Words we have had the opportunity to celebrate and encourage women who are actively working to improve their communities. Each year we honor three women who have made extraordinary differences in the lives of others, and a donation of $45,000 is divided equally among their charitable causes.
We are also pleased to spotlight the current Harlequin More Than Words recipients by enlisting three talented Harlequin authors who have written fictional stories inspired by these remarkable women and the charities they support. All three ebooks—Katie McGarry’s Red at Night, Liz Fichera’s You Are Here and Earl Sewell’s The Gift of a Good Start—are free to download at HarlequinMoreThanWords.com (http://www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com) and other e-tailers.
In addition, More Than Words: Acts of Kindness brings together three of the most popular More Than Words stories by three bestselling authors for the first time. Whispers of the Heart by Brenda Jackson, It’s Not About the Dress by Stephanie Bond and The Princess Shoes by Maureen Child will be available at Harlequin.com (http://www.Harlequin.com) or on the shelves of your favorite bookstore in March 2014.
All six of these stories are beautiful tributes to current and past Harlequin More Than Words recipients, and we hope they will inspire the real-life heroine in you.
For more information on how you can get involved, please visit our website at HarlequinMoreThanWords.com (http://www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com).
Together we can build strong communities!
Sincerely,
Loriana Sacilotto
Executive Vice President, Editorial
Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Goodie Two Shoes Foundation
Name: Nikki Berti
Hometown: Las Vegas, Nevada
Recipient’s Related Charity: Goodie Two Shoes Foundation (GTSF)
Website: www.GoodieTwoShoes.org (http://www.GoodieTwoShoes.org)
How Nikki inspires others:
Growing up with a small-town, middle-class background, Nikki Berti had never been exposed to real poverty until she and her husband, Tony—then an NFL player with the San Diego Chargers—participated in a program run by his team that enabled children in need to choose their own shoes from a retail store. The couple was so moved by the experience that, following Tony’s retirement, they decided to set up a similar but more extensive program in Las Vegas.
Today, Goodie Two Shoes Foundation outfits ten thousand children every year in southern Nevada. Two to three times a month, GTSF brings in seventy volunteers to assist 400 children in need in selecting any pair of shoes they want (all brand-new, boxed and tagged) from a huge mobile shoe store on wheels. Allowing children to choose from a large selection prevents any stigmatization.
Nikki stresses the impact that choosing new shoes can have on a child. Owning a new pair of properly fitting shoes can boost a child’s self-esteem immeasurably by reducing instances of being bullied and by enabling participation in physical education. Nikki believes that with greater self-confidence, kids make positive choices in other areas of their lives, such as school attendance and homework.
As the only nonprofit model of its kind in the United States, GTSF is unique in the service it provides to children in need. While understanding the importance of maintaining its high standards as a regional organization, Nikki also foresees a day when GTSF could help children all over the country.
About the Author
Katie McGarry was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands, and she remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings and reality television and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan. She is also the author of Pushing the Limits, Dare You To, Crash Into You, Take Me On and the novella Crossing the Line.
Katie loves to hear from her readers. Contact her via her website, www.katielmcgarry.com (http://www.katielmcgarry.com), follow her on Twitter, @KatieMcGarry (https://twitter.com/KatieMcGarry), or become a fan on Facebook and Goodreads.
Dedication
For Nikki Berti and the Goodie Two Shoes Foundation. Thank you for your generosity and for making such a profound impact on the lives of so many children.
To God—Galatians 5:13–14
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u609da07e-9de8-5aba-9d3c-57cfc98e0fbe)
Chapter 2 (#ub0b59fa0-c738-55c9-a03d-e6534f150241)
Chapter 3 (#ua0806d90-4bd7-5213-8f3a-6bc0ef8ae6f1)
Chapter 4 (#u8e7da03f-11bf-5a56-8ca5-225d123291ae)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Stella
I like cemeteries. They’re quiet, well-groomed, and overall possibly the safest place in the city. I can talk all I want, and the company doesn’t talk back. At least for now. Someday, as Joss often reminds me, the pathetic remains of my sanity will crack and she’ll find me conversing with crows while I try to convince her that the dead souls that inhabit the black-feathered bodies are real and are warning us of an impending apocalypse.
For kicks, I like to flutter my eyelashes and tell her it’s really the blue jays she needs to worry about.
I brush the dried leaves off the grave marker. It’s one of the cheaper ones, made of gray stone and buried flat against the ground. If it weren’t for people like me, these spots would be overwhelmed with grass, scattered brush and dust. They’d become, like me, forgotten.
“Do you think she wanted more?” I fall back onto my bottom and wrap my arms around my bare knees, as my jean cutoffs were “cut off” a little too short, thanks to Joss. She’s all about skin and believes everyone else should be, too.
The boy six spots down from me is still absorbed in the fairly new grave, his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s got to be roasting in his jeans and dark blue T-shirt. The September sun can be brutal to those who are unprepared. It’s how I found Lydia. Thanks to the towering tree, her stone has shade.
“I said, do you think she wanted more?” I repeat. It’s the third time he’s been here this past week. The tenth time in a month. That type of behavior signals serious grief issues, and that’s not healthy. And on the selfish side, he’s cramping my alone time. “Her name was Lydia. She was twenty-four when she died and she has a flat grave marker. Did she like understated or was this chosen for her?”
He’s sluggish turning his head. Sort of like he’s in one of those action flicks that thinks it’s emo and cool to slo-mo the flying bullets. “What?”
“I like Lydia’s grave. Actually, I just like Lydia. Year after year, dandelions pop up around her marker, even when they spray for weeds. I believe it means she was sweet.”
No response, but he’s still gaping at me. It could be because of my violet hair and not because he’s questioning his reality. There’s not a person on the planet who doesn’t look at another human in a cemetery and wonder for a split second: Is that a ghost?
I normally don’t talk to the newbies. They usually visit in the first two weeks after the burial and then drop off the face of the planet. The seriously grieving continue to visit once or twice a month, but they eventually also move on. Then you have men like Rick who visit daily, waiting until he can be buried alongside the woman he loves.
This kid is my age—high school, maybe lower college. It’s hard to tell with the curved-in lid of his baseball cap hiding a good portion of his face. The black Charger he drives says he’s bankrolled, so he’s either already on the way or is currently college material. Overall, too young to be mourning like Rick.
But then again, I shouldn’t judge. That is, after all, my pet peeve.
There’s a slight chance that this guy could be a freak like me who doesn’t know a person buried here and, if so, it’d be nice to finally have a kindred spirit. I get tired of being alone. “My grandma used to pick dandelions and rub them under my chin and if my skin turned yellow it meant I was nice.”
On the other side of the cemetery, an industrial mower springs to life and happily hums. I pick the largest dandelion of the bunch and hold it out to him. “Come here.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Because if you don’t you’re going to go home and be ticked because you should have.”
It’s a clear day. Bright blue sky with an occasional fluffy cloud. He takes a particular interest in one that resembles a duck. Obviously he’s going to need more coaxing. “We’re surrounded by a couple hundred dead people. Think there’s someone here who left regret-free? Take a risk and come here. Or are you scared the dandelion will tell on you?”
“Tell what?” He angles himself in my direction now, and I like what I see of his sweet build. He readjusts his baseball cap to expose freshly cut light brown hair, and there’s a sharp ache in my chest when I meet his blue eyes.
I know him. Rather, I know his friends. I also know what he’s going to say about me at school tomorrow and that once he recognizes me he’ll be out of here like a hearse after a funeral.
But his eyes possess the same sadness as old man Rick’s and I have a choice: I can be like this kid and his friends or I can be better...I can be more. That decision is often why I’m here, and if Lydia’s taught me anything it’s that life can be short.
Inhaling deeply, I twirl the flower in my hand, knowing tomorrow I’ll regret this. “Come here and find out.”
Jonah
The keys in my pocket dig into my skin as I grip them. I should go. Leave. I’ve got no business being here, but no matter how I try to continue forward I end up going backward and returning to this grave.
I glance down at James Cohen. Which is it, dude? Would you have gone home or would you have taken a chance and talked to the crazy girl?
“The dandelion is calling your name. Can’t you hear it?” She rests her wrists on her bent knees and flicks the yellow weed back and forth in her hand like a pendulum, then switches her tone. “Hey you, guy over there...come here.”
Her mock dandelion voice is seductive. “You know you want to.”
Because I have no idea how to say no to a talking flower, I walk over and drop to the ground next to her in the shade and I swear the temperature drops twenty degrees. “You look familiar.”
“No, I don’t.”
She has chin-length purple hair that curls in. A fake red rose barrette pulls up one side of her hair and something nags at me like a bad memory stuck in déjà vu mode. I’ve seen her before, only I can’t figure out where. “Yeah, I know you.”
“No, you don’t.” She moves her jaw, exposing her neck. “Put your chin up so I can see if you’re nice.”
“Are you saying we’ve never met?”
“I’m saying put your chin up. Do you make everything complicated or is it just with strangers in cemeteries?”
She’s a petite thing. Very feminine in a white tank and cut-off jeans, but she possesses a commanding presence, bordering on hypnotic. Why I’m doing this, I don’t know, yet I lift my jaw and jerk when she tickles my skin with the flower. She lowers it then pinches her lips.
“Well?” I ask.
