All of My Love (11 page)

More happy screaming and laughter. In the background, he heard Brandon’s laughter.

“Thank you, Faith, for leaving them in our old bedroom.” Stella leaned closer to Paul. “They made the difference.”

“I’m so happy,” Faith cried.

“So are we, thanks to you and whoever cooked up this plan to get us back together,” Paul said. “I know the house is for us and we’d like to buy it, and invite everyone for a Mother’s Day dinner.”

“Sierra can help with the title transfer,” Brandon said. “Mrs. McBride, I’ll help with the food.”

“Thanks, Brandon,” Stella said.

“Oh, Daddy, Mama. I can’t wait to call Duncan and Cameron. You’ll probably get more phone calls tonight,” she told them.

“No problem,” her father said. “By the way, your mother and I plan to sightsee tomorrow and just hang out. More than likely we’re going to eat breakfast later, if that’s all right?”

“We’ll see you when we see you. I love you, Daddy and Mama. You’ve just given me the best gift in the world. This will be the best Mother’s Day ever. ’Night,” Faith said.

“’Night, baby.”

“’Night, sweetheart.”

Paul hung up the phone and stared at the tears in Stella’s eyes. He kissed away each one. “Faith was right. This is the new beginning of the rest of our lives together.”

“A new beginning.” Stella leaned in to kiss him just as the phone rang again. Both laughed. Paul reached for the phone, a wide grin on his face. He had the woman he loved, his children, and his grandson. He had everything. The past was behind them: their future ahead of them.

This time, neither would forget what was important—their love. They had their second chance and they were holding onto it with both hands.

EPILOGUE

Paul and Stella were married Sunday afternoon on Mother’s Day on the patio of their remodeled home. Faith and Brandon had turned the backyard into a lush paradise filled with sweetly scented red roses and towering potted plants. Their sons, Duncan and Cameron, were the best men; Faith and Ruth were matrons of honor. Their grandson, Joshua, was the ring bearer. The bride wore a simple ecru-colored knee-length dress; the groom wore dress slacks and a white shirt.

During the dinner reception, Faith had to step in to settle a slight disagreement between Brandon and Henri—whether the honey-glazed ham prepared by Henri or the pecan-roasted turkey prepared by Brandon, should be served first. They went out at the same time to the guests.

The wedding gifts ranged from fishing gear to household items. Their daughters-in-law, Caitlin and Raven, kept a list as each present was opened.

Late that night when Stella entered their bedroom there was a single red rose on her pillow, and a box of gourmet chocolates. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the flower and turned to her husband. “You remembered.”

Paul’s hands tenderly palmed her face. “I remember every sweet moment with you.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes because in his she saw only love. The past was truly behind them. “I remember as well.” She placed the flower on the bed and reached for the buttons of his shirt. Love had triumphed over pain and heartache. She was never going to stop being grateful or stop letting him know how much she loved him in return. “Let’s go to bed and make more memories.”

“My pleasure.”

“Mine as well.” As their lips and bodies touched, she knew it would always be that way between them. She’d come home where she belonged. Nothing would ever make her forget again how blessed and loved she was. With Paul’s love and forgiveness she had the best Mother’s Day gift in the world.

And it would only get better.

Read on for an excerpt from

ALL THAT I NEED

by Francis Ray

Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

Fallon Nicole Marshall had always considered herself cool under pressure. After all, she was a well-respected travel writer for some of the top magazines in the country. She routinely dealt with tight deadlines, demanding editors, computer glitches and uncooperative people. She’d baked in 107 degrees and frozen in 6 below to get a story and just the right photographs. She had the patience of Job and the tenacity of a terrier. Nothing—if you didn’t consider her need for two cups of coffee each morning—got the best of her anymore. She’d been there, done that.

Or so she’d mistakenly thought.

Slowing down on the highway, Fallon put on her signal and turned her rental onto the paved road three miles out of Santa Fe. Her slim fingers flexed on the steering wheel of the late model Taurus. She was only marginally pleased that they weren’t damp with perspiration. She might be a bit nervous about obtaining information for her next story, but at least she wasn’t showing her frayed nerves about meeting Lance Saxton again.

It was perfectly understandable that she felt apprehensive—after all, she had been, well, rather abrupt to Lance Saxton two weeks ago when they’d first met. She’d practically accused him of being a thief and walked away from him in self-righteous indignation. Although he had to share some of the blame for that crack about “not handling their financial responsibilities correctly,” she had to take her share as well.

She freely admitted that since her mother was swindled by the unscrupulous owner of an auction house, and Lance owned an auction house, she had judged quickly and harshly.

And she’d been wrong.

She hadn’t discovered her mistake until recently.

Now she needed Lance Saxton to gain access to the Yates’ home for the article she planned to write. He might toss her out; then again, he might not. There was only one way to find out.

Moments later the red barrel roof of a house came into view; then as she rounded a curve, she saw the sprawling Yates house. She slowed and came to a complete stop. It was simply beautiful with the afternoon sun shining on the roof and the adobe exterior. She could easily imagine coming home from work or a trip and catching the first glimpse of the house. She didn’t even live there and yet she felt a sort of calming peace. One day she’d have a house, a family, but for now she enjoyed her job. She loved to travel and was paid well to visit and write about some of the most exciting places in the world.

The last thought had her squaring her shoulders. She was good at what she did. Nothing had ever stopped her in the past, and she wouldn’t allow Lance Saxton to be the first.

Putting the car into motion, she continued down the mile-long road and parked on the circular driveway in front of the massive red double doors, reasoning if Lance threw her out, she wouldn’t have far to go to her car. Getting out, she again studied the sprawling two-story house.

The home was originally built in the 1920s by oil mogul Thaddeus Yates. He liked the Southwest and chose Santa Fe as his base when he wanted to relax and get away from Lubbock, Texas. After his death, his only child and daughter, Colleen, expanded the six-thousand-square-foot home another five thousand square feet to include a loggia and pool house. Her son did more renovation on the house plus extensive landscaping, turning the usually parched grounds of the area into a verdant paradise with lush green grass and a rainbow hue of flowers.

Fallon realized she was stalling, and with good reason. She wasn’t looking forward to ringing the doorbell and meeting Lance Saxton again. She didn’t mind admitting she was wrong so much as she didn’t like the idea of making that admission to a man she had a mild attraction to. She’d like to think he’d caught her at a weak moment, but that would be a lie. She traveled so much she didn’t have time for a relationship, and she valued herself too much to have meaningless affairs.

Yet her girlie antenna had zinged the instant she looked into Lance’s midnight black eyes. He had the “Y” yummy factor in spades. At least six-feet-four in sinful jeans and a white polo that delineated hard muscles, she was almost fantasizing about the naughty things he could whisper in her ear—until she learned what he did for a living. And went as cold as an iceberg on the man.

Sighing, Fallon removed her camera from the case, looped the strap around her neck, and grabbed her notebook. Standing there wouldn’t get the job done. Closing the car door, she followed the paved path to the wide double doors, all the time telling herself that this was a story like all the hundreds, probably thousands, she’d written in the past.

Fallon realized she was stalling. Again. She hadn’t called for an appointment. She honestly hadn’t known what to say.
Hey, I’m sorry I accused you of being a thief, but I have this great idea for a story and two editors are interested so let’s forget about our first meeting
. If the positions were reversed, she would have thrown him out. She had a bit of a temper—which had gotten her into this mess.

Blowing out a breath, Fallon rang the doorbell.

*   *   *

In the small library of the Yates house that Lance Saxton had taken for his office, he slowly lifted his head when he heard the doorbell. He’d been waiting for the sound since Richard called that morning to tell him that Fallon had asked if he would be there. To Richard’s “Don’t blow your second chance,” Lance had said nothing.

Since Lance didn’t have any other appointments and he wasn’t expecting any deliveries, he reasoned it was Fallon Marshall. His hand flexed on the pen in his hand. It didn’t take much to visualize the stunning woman with long curly hair, bedroom brown eyes, model cheekbones and lips to drive a man crazy. For some reason—perhaps because Richard was in such a great mood and Lance could tell his cousin was finally interested in a woman—the moment they’d met, Lance had found himself attracted to Fallon.

It was the first time in months he’d had more than a passing interest in a woman. He’d honestly thought he had written women off except for the occasional ones he took to bed. It was purely physical for both of them; easily had and easier forgotten.

The chime came again. This was the housekeeper’s half-day off. The people he’d hired to help catalog the house’s contents for the auction had driven into town for a late lunch. There was no one there but him. If he didn’t answer, she’d leave and he wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting his long-ago promise of steering clear of women he couldn’t easily walk away from. Yet he found himself coming to his feet and leaving the study. Fallon was just a woman.

Opening the front door, he had to revise his earlier thought about Fallon. She was stunning in a raspberry knit top and white walking shorts. Her eyes were just as captivating as before, her mouth just as tempting. His hand clamped on the door knob as they continued to stare at each other. He wouldn’t be the first to speak. She had called him a thief.

“Hello, Lance. I guess you’re surprised to see me.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Fallon ran her tongue over lips he’d dreamed about before saying, “I’m not sure if you remember or not, but I’m a travel writer.”

Since his mouth was dry, he simply nodded. Fallon was too much of a temptation. As soon as possible, he was sending her on her way.

“I read about this place and the auction you’re having. I came up with the idea for an article.” She glanced around the yard. “This house might not be on the historical society’s register, but it has a lot of history that will be lost once the auction is over. I’d like to preserve that.”

“By doing a story,” he said, unable to keep the derision out of his voice. Another person who wanted to profit from the misfortune of others. And she’d thought
him
heartless.

Her eyes narrowed briefly, then she shifted back to him, inadvertently making her breasts in the knit top jut forward. Lance gritted his teeth and opened his mouth to tell her goodbye, but she finally spoke.

“Not just a story. I want to bring the history of the house and the people who lived here to life. I also want to let readers know that it’s all right not to plan every second of a vacation. Wonderful opportunities like this auction might present itself. I’ve done a bit of research on the house already.”

“Don’t you think that was a bit premature?” he asked, glad his voice was normal even if his heart rate wasn’t.

“Yes, but knowledge is never wasted.” She stepped back and looked up at the window overhead. “Do you know that some of the timber in this house came from Yates’ grandparents’ property in Louisiana? He was a bit of a sentimentalist.” She sent Lance a quick grin. “The stained glass in the window overhead is from Paris and the chandelier in the living room is Waterford. They’re his wife’s selections.”

“Women like the finer things.” He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Her brow arched. “So do men. Thaddeus spared no expense to build this house. It took three years. His daughter expanded it even more. From the little I was able to find, she doted on her son and wanted the house to last for generations. It’s a shame that her dreams died with him.” Fallon gave him her full attention, her expression so heartrending he had to lock his knees to keep from reaching out to comfort her. “It would be wonderful if that didn’t happen, if the family history could be preserved, and be the impetus for other family dreams and legacies.”

His gaze narrowed on her. So, she wasn’t just beautiful and brassy. It was rare to meet someone not in the business who really understood the value and importance of beloved furniture and accessories being a legacy.

Even at thirty-six, there were times when he thought of his own mortality. He never planned to marry. What would he leave behind? Who would mourn him? The answers weren’t comforting, so he continued to study Fallon. Unlike most people, his direct stare didn’t make her fidget.

He’d been devastatingly wrong about women before, but something told him that Fallon was telling the truth. This was more than a story to her. Watching her hair dance in the breeze, her steady gaze, he came to a decision.

Stepping back inside, he watched her eyes widen, her mouth open. He realized she thought he was going to shut the door in her face. It annoyed the hell out of him that she believed he was that rude. “Come in.”