This couldnât be happening.
She couldnât really be kissing the chief of police.
No, it was real enough. She seemed hyper-aware of each of her senses. He tasted of cocoa and hot male and he smelled like laundry soap and starch and a very sexy aftershave with wood and musk notes. As she had expected, Trace Bowman kissed like a man who knew exactly how to cherish a woman, who would make sure she always felt safe and cared for in his arms. He explored her mouth as if he wanted to taste every millimeter of it and wouldnât rest until he knew every single one of her secrets.
Dear Readers,
I donât know about you, but Christmas at my house is all about easy. With a packed calendar of parties, shopping, wrapping and generalized chaos, I try to find the simplest ways to do things while still enjoying some favorite traditions. This recipe is perfect for those of you who (like me!) love homemade candy but not all the fuss. All my best to you and yours this joyous season.
Easy Vanilla Microwave Caramels
4 tablespoons butter1 cup brown sugar½ cup corn syrup2/3 cup sweetened condensed milk1 teaspoon vanillabutter (for greasing pan)nonstick aluminum foil or parchment paperwax paper, cut into 4-5 inch squares
Butter an 8x8-inch pan. Line the pan with nonstick foil or parchment paper, folding any excess over the outside edges; set aside. Mix the butter, brown sugar and corn syrup in a microwave-safe glass bowl or measuring cup. Microwave on high for two minutes. Stir mixture and return to microwave for two minutes longer. Add 2/3 cup sweetened condensed milk and stir well. Microwave three and a half more minutes. Remove from microwave and stir in 1 tsp vanilla. Pour into prepared pan, scraping any residue from the sides of the bowl. Set aside and let cool to room temperature. When the caramel is cooled, remove liner from the pan. Cut into approximately 1 inch squares with a well-buttered knife. Butter your hands well, then place one caramel in the middle of a wax paper square. Roll it into a cylinder, then twist the ends. Store the wrapped candies in a cool, dry place.
RaeAnne
Much as he loved Pine Gulch, Trace Bowman had to admit his town didnât offer its best impression in the middle of a cold, gray rain that leached the color and personality from it.
Even the Christmas decorationsâwhich still somehow could seem magical and bright to his cynical eye when viewed on a snowy December eveningâsomehow came off looking only old and tired in the bleak late-November morning light as he parked his patrol SUV in front of The Gulch, the diner that served as the townâs central gathering place.
That sleety rain dripping from the eaves and awnings of the storefronts would be snow by late afternoon, he guessed. Maybe earlier. This time of yearâthe week after Thanksgivingâin Pine Gulch, Idaho, in the western shadow of the Tetons, snow was more the norm than the exception.
He yawned and rotated his neck to ease some of the tightness and fatigue. After three days of double shifts, he was ready to head for his place a few blocks away, throw a big, thick log on the fire and climb into bed for the next week or so.
Food first. Heâd eaten a quick sandwich for dinner around 6:00 p.m. More than twelve hoursâand the misery of dealing with a couple of weather-related accidentsâlater and he was craving one of Lou Archuletaâs sumptuous cinnamon rolls. Sleep could wait a half hour for him to fill up his tank.
He walked in and was hit by a welcome warmth and the smell of frying bacon and old coffee. From the tin-stamped ceiling to the row of round swivel seats at the old-fashioned counter, The Gulch fit every stereotype of the perfect small-town diner. The place oozed tradition and constancy. He figured if he moved away for twenty years, The Gulch would seem the same the moment he walked back through the doors.
âMorning, Chief!â Jesse Redbear called out from the booth reserved for the dinerâs regulars.
âHey, Jesse.â
âChief.â
âChief.â
Greetings assailed him from the rest of the booth, from Mick Malone and Sal Martinez and Patsy Halliday. He could probably have squeezed into their corner booth but he still headed for an empty stool at the counter.
He waved at them all and continued his quick scan of the place, an old habit from his days as a military MP that still served him well. He recognized everyone in the room except for a couple he thought might be staying at the hotel and a girl reading a book in the corner. She looked to be his niece, Destryâs, age and he had to wonder what a nine-year-old girl was doing by herself at The Gulch at 7:30 a.m. on a school day.