Bride by the Book (Crimson Romance) (26 page)

He regarded her doubtfully.

“Have some faith,” she said, loving him all the more for his worry. “I wouldn’t have left if everything hadn’t been in good shape.”

He focused on her, grinning. “You might have. I can be awfully irresistible.”

Angie attacked him, breathless with laughter. They rolled off the sofa and onto the floor, laughing joyously. The action wreaked havoc on Angie’s little blue suit, but she didn’t care. Some things were more important than clothes, even clothes that were a part of her secretarial wardrobe.

Garner succeeded at last in rolling Angie to her back and pinning her hands above her head. He stared into her eyes. “Angie, I love you. You made me glad to be alive again. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be happy.”

“So had I,” she whispered. “I used to feel so old.”

“You aren’t going back to Palo Alto, I don’t care what happens. Your knight in shining armor has spoken.” He let go of her hands and wrapped her in his arms. “Kiss me, sweetheart.”

Angie joyfully wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. She gave him entrance into her mouth and savored being inside his. She’d never experienced intimacy like the kiss they exchanged.

“Why on earth did you wear an outfit like this?” Garner struggled to peel her blue jacket off. “You knew I’d want to take it off you first thing.”

“How could I know that?” Angie shivered at the feel of his hands on her through the thin silk of her ecru blouse. She arched her neck, encouraging him to unbutton the blouse. “For all I knew, you might have wanted me to come back to work and get a letter out immediately.”

“Oh, I do want you to come back to work immediately.” Garner unbuttoned her blouse with fingers that shook with eagerness. “But today, we’re taking the day off to celebrate our engagement.”

“Are we engaged?” Angie felt breathless, as if she’d been running a marathon.

“I asked you to marry me, and you accepted. Of course, we’re engaged. We’ll be married as soon as we can get a license. It’s henceforth my duty to see to it that you get the proper sleep,” he kissed her eyelids, “the proper exercise,” he reached down and slipped her shoes off her feet, “and the proper food.” He kissed her, nipping lightly at her full, lower lip and massaging her throat with his long fingers.

Her eyes opened, even though she felt dazed with pleasure. “And it’s my duty to see that your office runs smoothly. I never saw an office that needed me more than yours does.”

“You’re right about that.” He kissed her throat. “My office needs you almost as much as I need you.”

“How can I turn down the chance to make such a difference in the world?” Angie asked, and opened herself to the man she loved. “Like I always say, doing things by the book can be so rewarding.”

The real reward was Garner’s love, and Angie never intended to lose it. At last, she had her new life back, along with a lifetime position as Garner’s wife and secretary.

Angie looked forward to a life filled with joy and laughter, not to mention a whole series of new and even more exciting challenges.

Kathryn Brocato is a lifelong reader and writer of romance who lives with her husband, dogs, and chickens in Southeast Texas. Learn more about her at
www.kathrynbrocato.com
, and visit her Facebook page at
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kathryn-Brocato-Author/130436237088005
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Suckered again
, Leonie thought. Why did she even try?

She didn’t know why she tried to evade her sister’s requests. Probably it had something to do with her desire to assert her independence—for all the good it did. Leonie always resisted, and she always wound up doing what Zara wanted in the end. No doubt, her spinelessness had something to do with younger-sister syndrome.

That was why she stood in the big open living room of Zara’s lakeside cabin amid a batch of suitcases carried in for her by two nondescript government agents, dressed as airport shuttle drivers. Then they saluted her as if she were some kind of important official, and swiftly left.

Her current job: Pretend to be Zara.

She had done it before, but never for longer than a few hours. However, this particular job involved a hefty paycheck, which Leonie admitted she needed, and one month of impersonating her sister in an area where no one knew Zara, except by sight. She had been assured the job was perfectly safe, merely a precaution in the unlikely case hostile entities checked on Zara’s whereabouts.

“All I can say is, this had better be as safe as they promised,” she grumbled.

Leonie studied the suitcases, interested in spite of knowing she’d probably be heartily bored within a week. Experience told her she wouldn’t care for most of the clothing inside. Zara’s taste in almost everything was totally different from hers. Still, she’d have fun being a secret agent who looked like a Barbie doll for a month.

“I’m a pushover,” she told the scruffy collie at her side. “That’s all there is to it. A marshmallow-filled pushover.”

Butch shoved his long muzzle into her palm.

“A broke pushover, too, which is the only reason I’m doing this.” She brooded a moment. “You’d think I’d know better by now. Roddy Hillister should have taught me a lesson.”

For a moment, Leonie toyed with the thought that this might be the perfect opportunity to have a vacation romance. She had always dreamed of a lover who would be hers for a lifetime, but sometimes a woman had to take what she could get. Maybe she could use playing Zara for a month to her advantage and make one of the many men always chasing her sister happy.

“Then Zara can deal with the repercussions,” she told the collie. “That would teach her.”

The collie’s tail waved gently, as if in commiseration. He had spent the previous evening visiting the vet and the groomer and had metamorphosed from a matted ball of fur into a recognizable collie despite his moth-eaten appearance.

The vet surmised the dog was about two years old and healthy, although severely neglected. He thought Butch had survived on his own by foraging through garbage cans until Leonie acquired him. Even though a groomer had spent three hours trying to untangle the dog’s coat, Butch still resembled a ragged orange-and-white blanket.

“It’s too bad I don’t have a job already lined up.” She scratched gently behind the dog’s ears. “You may have to get a night job guarding warehouses to support us when this is over.” Leonie bent to pick up one of the suitcases. “We may as well get unpacked. We have a
vacation
to enjoy, courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

An entire month. Leonie couldn’t get over it. Zara, who was an agent for an unnamed branch of the U.S. Government, showed no compunction about interrupting Leonie’s quiet life as a high school health and physical education teacher and demanding that she serve her country.

“If I had wanted to serve my country,” Leonie grumbled, glaring into the suitcase open on the bed, “I’d have joined the army. Just look at this stuff. I’ll look like a bimbo.”

She held up a silver party dress that would fit like a second skin. It was so short, Leonie wondered why anyone bothered to call it a dress. Leonie would hide in the restroom all evening if she dared to wear what looked to her like a silver camisole in public, but Zara would be a knockout in it.

Nonetheless, that was what Zara—and the United States—wanted Leonie to do. Her job for the next month or so was to visit every place Zara would if she was vacationing at an Arkansas lakeside cabin, and knock all observers’ eyes out.

Leonie smiled. She might as well enjoy this to the fullest. When she returned to teaching, perhaps she’d have memories of this once-in-a-lifetime vacation that would last her for years.

“Not that anybody who really knows her would believe for one minute that I’m Zara,” she told Butch as she hung the silver camisole in the closet. “Only Zara can carry off looking like a movie star and have a great time doing it.”

She assessed herself in the dresser mirror. Zara looked back at her.

Inside of one day, Leonie’s ash-blond hair was lightened to a spectacular silver blonde, her eyebrows reduced to a thin, well-brushed line, and her skin, from head to toe, artificially tanned with an expensive lotion. Leonie’s blue eyes were actually a shade or two darker than Zara’s, but people rarely noticed that small difference amidst all the glamour Zara, or Leonie dressed as Zara, projected.

The two sisters looked so much alike, anyone would have thought they were twins, although Leonie was actually two years younger. Zara was brassy and outgoing, the sister who had her shoulder-length, ash-blond hair dyed platinum, and dressed like a movie star. Leonie, on the other hand, preferred to practice her baseball swing or kick a soccer ball around while wearing loose-fitting, sturdy jeans and T-shirts she picked for their serviceability.

Even during childhood, everything Zara did was perfect, unlike Leonie who was a walking disaster: her science project got eaten by her new puppy; and her first bra underwent an elastic collapse when she was walking down the aisle to the family pew at church.

Zara was a cheerleader and was elected homecoming queen. She graduated near the top of her class though she rarely opened a book. Leonie, however, felt lucky to graduate and had to work for all her grades. She excelled in sports and track and was well liked, but nobody considered her popular. Even the boys Leonie dated really longed to date Zara.

Once Leonie tried getting a tan and bleaching her hair, only to find everyone mistook her for Zara. Moreover, she discovered she didn’t like the attention she attracted. She lacked her sister’s gift for repartee and was incapable of turning a man down without hurting his feelings forever. Thus, after two days, Leonie returned her hair to its original color and deep-sixed her contract with the tanning salon. Not even moving to Houston had helped because Zara visited regularly and met most of Leonie’s dates.

This time, things would be different. This time, she
was
Zara—for an entire month, and by golly, she was going to enjoy it.

Leonie studied her reflection in the mirror. She was supposed to be noticeable, so that nameless individuals involved in anti-American activities would assume Zara was vacationing at her lakeside cabin rather than tracking and sabotaging their operations.

Great
, Leonie thought. Attracting the attention of people who hated Americans and wanted to kill them was just the sort of thing she preferred to avoid. For that reason alone, she deserved every bit of fun she could derive from this “vacation.”

However, there was no way she could stand Zara’s taste in clothes for hours at a time, so she smuggled along a tiny selection from her own wardrobe. Leonie opened a paper sack that held two pairs of well-worn jeans and several of her favorite T-shirts. Around the cabin, she would be comfortable. When she went out in public, she’d be Zara.

Swiftly, she tossed off Zara’s skintight white leggings and loose, hot-pink blouse and pulled on a pair of soft, faded jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt. The only thing she had forgotten was her own well-broken-in running shoes, so she laced up Zara’s, a true example of high-tech athleticism. She took the cell phone Zara’s employers had provided from her purse and shoved it in her pocket. Then she whistled softly to the collie and headed for the door, confident that she looked like a cross between her usual self and her sister.

The secure landline Zara kept in the kitchen rang before she could get outside. Muttering, Leonie turned back while the dog stood waiting patiently beside the front door.

“Hello, baby,” Zara cooed with her usual insouciant cheer. “How’s it going so far?”

“Fine.” Leonie figured Zara knew very well how it was going and opted for brevity.

“Don’t be huffy. Your country thanks you. I thank you. We both kiss your feet.”

“Um-hum.” Zara wanted something. That much was obvious. “These clodhopper running shoes of yours won’t make all that foot-kissing very easy.”

“I forgot to mention something earlier,” Zara went on, ignoring Leonie’s response. “There’s a man who stays in the cabin on the other side of the woods behind mine.”

“Oh, yes?” Leonie picked up on the uncertainty in Zara’s voice immediately. Zara never sounded uncertain.

“Well, he doesn’t stay there all the time, but he’s there a lot of weekends. His brother owns the cabin.”

“That’s nice.” It also wasn’t like Zara to beat around the bush.

“His name is Adam. Adam Silverthorne.”

Leonie maintained a wondering silence. Was she supposed to faint upon hearing his name? Zara sounded as if that was exactly what she expected. Leonie had never heard her sister’s voice take on that particular soft, feminine quality before.

“He lives in Dallas, so you probably won’t run into him, but if you do . . .” Zara trailed off.

“Am I supposed to seduce him for the good of my country? Maybe I should impress him with that silver hankie you call a party dress.”

“I’ll have to slap you silly,” Zara said, laughing. “Seriously, Leonie, you’d better consider Adam off-limits. He used to work for my branch, and he might—” She broke off. “I mean, he might realize you aren’t me.”

“Oh, yes?” Leonie decided to have some fun. “This sounds interesting. Maybe I

should—”

“Don’t you dare,” Zara interrupted, laughing again. “So far, Adam has resisted all my blatant hints, but I’m hoping to remedy the situation soon.”

“What kind of blatant hints are we talking about? Maybe I can learn something.”

Zara didn’t answer. Her voice retreated as she spoke to someone in the room with her, then it returned to full volume. “If you should, by some chance, run into Adam, maybe you could give him a mysterious wink and disappear. That might give him something to think about.”

“He must be something if you’re so interested in him,” Leonie said. “Okay, mysterious wink and vanish. Got it. Anything else?”

“Charles said you’ve got a dog with you,” Zara said. “I thought your apartment complex didn’t allow pets.”