Made for Marriage

“Do you still love him?”

She was pole-axed. “What?”

Noah was in front of her in three steps. “Your fiancé … do you still love him?”

“He’s dead,” she whispered.

“I know. But that wasn’t the question.” He reached for her, slid one arm around her waist and drew her against him. “The thing is,” he said, holding her firm. “If you still love him … I’ll do my best to stop … to stop wanting you.” His other hand cupped her cheek, gently, carefully. “But if you don’t love him, then I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Her insides contracted. “No,” she said on a breath.

“No?”

“I don’t love him.”

His green eyes darkened as he traced his thumb along her jaw. “Good,” he said softly.

And then he kissed her.

Dear Reader,

I have always been a sucker for old romantic movies and corny love songs. It seemed an obvious choice then, when I decided to be a writer at the age of seven, that I would write romance. Of course, back then it was about love between a girl and her horse, but I was on the right track.

Horses have always been a big part of my life and several years ago I married a single dad, and because both those themes are a big part of this story I’m delighted that Made for Marriage is my first book published with Mills & Boon^>® Cherish^>™. I hope you enjoy Noah and Callie’s journey and invite you to return to Crystal Point very soon.

I would love to hear from readers and can be reached via my website at www.helenlacey.com.

Warmest wishes,

Helen Lacey

HELEN LACEY grew up reading Black Beauty, Anne of Green Gables and Little House on the Prairie. These childhood classics inspired her to write her first book when she was seven years old, a story about a girl and her horse. She continued to write with the dream of one day being a published author and writing for Cherish is the realisation of that dream. She loves creating stories about strong heroes with a soft heart and heroines who get their happily ever after. For more about Helen visit her website at www.helenlacey.com.

Helen Lacey

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Robert

Emphatically, Undeniably, Categorically.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To the Babes

Louise Cusack, Lesley Millar, Laura O’Connell,

CC Coburn & the amazing Helen Bianchin. Thank you for your endless support.

To my editor Susan Litman and my agent Scott Eagan

who both trusted in my storytelling.

And to Valerie Susan Hayward—for showing me

how it’s done.

Callie Jones knew trouble when she came upon it. And the thirteen-year-old who stood defiantly in front of her looked like more trouble than she wanted on a Saturday morning. For one thing, Callie liked to sleep later on the weekend, and the teenager with the impudent expression had banged on her door at an indecently early 6:00 a.m. And for another, the girl wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Her long black hair was tied up in an untidy ponytail revealing at least half a dozen piercings in her ears, plus another in both her brow and nose. And the dark kohl smudged around her eyes was heavier than any acceptable trend Callie had ever seen.

“I’m Lily,” the girl said, crossing her thin arms. “I’m here for my lesson.”

Callie opened the front door fractionally, grateful she’d had the sense to wrap herself in an old dressing gown before she’d come to the door. It was chilly outside. “You’re early,” she said, spotting a bicycle at the bottom of the steps.

The teenager shrugged her shoulders. “So what? I’m here now.”

Callie hung on to her patience. “I told your father eight o’clock.”

Lily shrugged again, without any apology in her expression. “Then I guess he told me the wrong time.” The girl looked her over, and Callie felt the burning scrutiny right down to her toes.

Callie took a deep breath and glanced over the girl’s head. Dawn was just breaking on the horizon. Another hour of sleep would have been nice, but she wasn’t about to send Lily home.

“Okay, Lily. Give me a few minutes to get ready.” Callie pointed to the wicker love seat on the porch. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

The girl shrugged. “Whatever.”

Callie locked the security mesh screen as discreetly as she could and turned quickly on her heels. She didn’t want an unsupervised teenager wandering around her house while she changed her clothes. Dashing into the bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth and hair before slipping into jeans and a T-shirt.

She skipped coffee, grabbed a cereal bar and shoved it into her back pocket. She really needed to do some grocery shopping. But she was too busy. Busy with her students, busy trying to ensure the utilities were paid, busy not thinking about why a recently turned thirty ex-California girl worked twelve-hour days trying to make a success of a small horse-riding school situated a few miles from the eastern edge of the Australian coastline.

Callie grabbed her sweater from the back of the kitchen chair and headed for the front door. Once she’d locked up she pulled her muddy riding boots off the shoe rack, quickly tucked her feet into them, snatched up her battered cowboy hat and placed it on her head. She turned around to find no sign of her visitor. Or the expensive-looking bicycle.