âIâm here to see if your mother will go somewhere with me tomorrow.â
âOh.â Jane picked up the end of the boa and twirled it around. âShe can go.â
âNot so fast, Jane,â Claire said. An idea occurred to her, one that had the advantage of easing her anxiety immensely. âThere is the little matter of my nine-year-old daughter. Of course, if Jane can go with usâ¦â
âMommy, no,â Jane said. âDid you forget again? Iâm going to make bags of potpourri with Aunt Pet to give to girls for Halloween. Weâre putting in lavender and lemongrass, andâ¦â
âThatâs right. I did forget. You can stay with Aunt Pet.â
âThen youâll go?â Jack asked.
âI guess so. Since you said itâs important.â
âGood.â He smiled down at Jane. âBut I have a question. If youâre giving the girls nice smelly things, what are you giving the boys?â
âAunt Pet says weâre going to give them little bottles of toad juice, and they can all get warts.â
Claire started to reprimand her daughter, but she was suddenly engrossed in watching Jackâs attempt to hide a smile.
âRemind me not to trick-or-treat at your house,â he said.
Dear Reader,
Iâve often been asked where I get the ideas for my stories. I am most often inspired by unique or off-the-beaten-path locations. A year ago, while scouting out fertile locations for my husband to do some deep sea fishing, we came upon a remote, laid-back island community about two hours north of Tampa on Floridaâs west coast.
This island, which boasts great seafood restaurants and charming art galleries, does not have even one chain restaurant or name brand motel. Every business is unique to this location only. Itâs a quirky, sit-a-spell place where visitors can enjoy Gulf breezes and wandering minds. And so, Heron Point, my fictional representation of this place, was born in my imagination and populated with characters I hope you will find memorable. Like me, the hero and heroine of this story never expected to end up here. And they never expected to find love here either, but thatâs the wonderful thing about loveâyou never know where youâll find it.
I hope youâll visit Heron Point again in my next book from Harlequin Superromance, An Unlikely Father, available in 2006.
I love to hear from readers. Please visit my Web site, www.cynthiathomason.com, or e-mail me at [email protected]. My address is P.O. Box 550068, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33355.
Sincerely,
Cynthia Thomason
This book is dedicated to my two âmoms,â Barbara Brackett, who gave birth to me, and Elsie Thomason, my mother-in-law. Voracious readers, both ladies read every one of my books and always offer encouraging words. Thanks, Moms.
And a special thank-you to my friend Nan Carter, whose expertise in tracking down the bad guys helped me realistically portray the illegal activity mentioned in this book. Thanks, Nan, for ALL you do.
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
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
âMOMMY, YOUâRE COMING to the school zone.â
Claire Betancourt glanced over at her nine-year-old daughter and automatically raised her foot off the accelerator. The Lexus sedan slowed to fifteen miles per hour before proceeding under the blinking yellow light. âThank you, Jane, for your infallible back-seat driving,â Claire said.
âYou were speeding, werenât you, Mommy?â
âNo.â At the girlâs pointed stare, Claire relented. âMaybe a little. But weâre late.â Still, it wouldnât look right if the mayor was caught doing a reckless twenty miles per hour through Heron Pointâs only school zone. Especially when she had an elementary student in the passenger seat.
Jane sat forward, straining against her seat belt. âLook, Mommy, isnât that Mrs. Hutchinson?â
Claire groaned. âOh, no. Not again.â This was the second time in two weeks that the regular crossing guard hadnât shown up for duty. And the second time Heron Pointâs most conscientious citizen and self-proclaimed mother-of-the-year had taken it upon herself to guide the townâs children safely across the street to the school building. Claire slowed to a crawl, lowered her window and spoke to the woman whose short arms were flailing about in an exaggerated attempt to direct Heron Pointâs youngest citizens. âHi, Missy,â Claire said. âI guess Bella didnât show this morning?â
âYou guessed right,â Missy answered. âReally, Claire, you must do something about that woman. We canât have our children subjected to the dangers of a busy school crossing without competent adult supervision. And I canât be expected to step up every time Bella Martingale is too hungoverâ¦â She stopped speaking when she realized Jane was listening to every word.
Busy school crossing? Claire checked her rearview mirror. There were two cars behind her, and only one had passed going the opposite direction in the last minute. And this was Heron Pointâs rush hour. But Missy was right. Even if there were only seventy-six children enrolled in the elementary school, it was the communityâs responsibility to provide them with adequate crosswalk protection.