Romance Away

By Linda White-Francis

Brooklyn’s T-Bird Man

Brooklyn encounters a middle-aged classic car buff at the supermarket magazine racks. She and Tanner discover love, laughter and a few bumps on the road to romance.

Vacation For Desire

Teri accepts a date for dinner with David. She worries, will romance with a younger man be 'rocking the cradle', or rocking the boat?

Cruise For Desire (Sequel To Vacation For Desire)

On a cruise to Cancun, a younger man puts the wind back in spinster Teri Blanchester’s sails. Can they find love on a turbulent sea?

Merry Christmas, India Stone (with Megan Hussey)

Facing her first Christmas alone as a recent divorcee, India Stone takes an impulsive trip to an Aspen ski lodge, where the handsome, dashing Tristan sweeps her off her feet and onto the slopes. Spoiling her with romantic sleigh rides, beautiful gifts and romantic candlelight dinners, Tristan lends light, love, and color to India's holiday.

The Ghost and Mrs. Dunn (with Megan Hussey)

Jane Dunn delivers flowers by day and falls asleep during the news at night. When former beau, Travis Godwin, shows up, life becomes far less predictable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Dec 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781612351292

Linda White-Francis

Originally from Columbus, Ohio, Linda White-Francis is a longtime resident of Holiday, Florida. Linda has been a journalist for nearly 30 years, of which the past 18 years she has penned numerous articles for such collectible publications as DOLL READER, COLLECTORS MART, CONTEMPORARY DOLL COLLECTOR, DOLLS, THE COLLECTOR'S MAGAZINE, DOLL WORLD, BARBIE BAZAAR, DOLL CASTLE NEWS, TOY SHOP, COLLECTIBLE FLEA MARKET FINDS, DOLL CRAFTER, WARMANS TODAYS COLLECTOR, & DOLL CRAFTER. Today she writers primarily for Dolls Magazine, and on occasion Doll Reader, Doll Collector Magazines.Over the years, Linda has been profiled three times in the Tampa Tribune Newspaper for her extensive doll collection and prolific writing endeavors, which includes her magazine and doll catalog work, and four romantic novelettes that appeared originally in six anthologies published by Midnight Showcase publishers, and now Melange Books.Her most recent book "Romance Away" was released in November 2009. The book is a collection of three of her short stories previously released in the digests below.SWEET WISHES HOT DISHES (Vacation for Desire)SWEET CHALLENGE (Cruise for Desire)JOURNEYS of the HEART (Vacation for Desire and Cruise for Desire)SPELLFIRE SPECIALS (The Ghost and Mrs. Dunn)JUMPING the FUNNY BONES (Brooklyn's T-Bird Man)

Book preview

endeavors!

Brooklyn's T-Bird Man

Brooklyn Marshall, thirty-five, knelt, patted her husband’s grave and imagined his warm, stubbly beard tickling her cheek. In retrospect, her self-seeking decision to have him buried right there in McAlester, Missouri instead of so far away in Arlington National Cemetery, is something she still had misgivings over. Shattered by her loss, she hadn’t reckoned with his death very well, consequently when she decided, much to his parents’ chagrin, that the best place for his remains would be as close to her as possible, she hasn’t heard from them since.

I miss you so much honey, she whimpered, hot tears spattering all over Sergeant Major Franklin Binkley Marshall’s marker below. Brooklyn bent down awkwardly and nestled her weary head against the cold metal plate.

Strangely, the frigid bronze lettering beneath her tear-stained face felt more like Frank’s generous, warm shoulder. I love you darling. I want you back so badly, she persisted, pummeling the spring grass with one balled-up fist. Brooklyn has done this every Sunday for over three years. She didn’t think she would ever get over her husband’s tragic death.

* * * *

Brooklyn faked a smile because he smiled first then impatiently pulled her grocery cart out of the way so the tall, decidedly younger Steve Martin look-alike could get to the magazine racks in front of her.

Sorry, she apologized, mildly irritated, because she didn’t have much time, the kids would be home from school soon and Frankie, Jr. had a trumpet lesson.

All I want to do is steal a few selfish moments to myself and browse these country magazines without any interruptions. Brooklyn blinked, tugging a wayward strand of chestnut hair stuck to the corner of her right eyelid.

That’s okay, you don’t have to move your cart, the attractive man smiled for a second time then squeezed into the classic car section—accidentally brushing up against her arm.

She smiled again too, coughed into a cuffed hand and wheeled the cart around next to the greeting card shelves. Country decorating was her passion even though she didn’t have the money to do it the way she wanted. So the magazines filled a desire left void of funds, thus giving her a myriad of ideas to hold on to until the real thing was possible.

Brooklyn was a believer of all things being possible in due time, even if she and her kids were living a bit closer to the bone since Frank’s passing. Luckily, she was strong, and had a good head on her shoulders. Frank once told her what he loved the most about her was her good old-fashion horse sense.

Taking it as a compliment, she kissed him for it, although she thought a more fitting tribute might have been her unfathomable, violet-blue eyes, and supple, Irish skin. Now that would have made her swoon with desire, but she loved him anyway. Horse sense. What a funny thing to say, but that was Frank. Never very complimentary. Shy really, but the greatest guy in the world to have for a husband. Mostly he was kind, considerate, and so humorous she could never stay mad at him more than hour. He was a big-hearted, handsome man, and she was madly in love with him still. He had loved her unconditionally, and she loved him the same way. Her mother once remarked she thought their devotion was more a religion than a marriage because they worshipped each other.

* * * *

Brooklyn checked her watch anxiously—no time she thought, and tossed the quarterly into the empty buggy and began to push. I could buy a thick, juicy steak for what that darn magazine costs. I should be ashamed. Oh well. She thought, pursing her lips angrily, but her self-effacing reprimand faded quickly when the pleasant car buff, standing a few feet away, stepped closer—gently touching her shoulder.

Miss look at this. I own this car, he tapped the page enthusiastically. She looked up annoyed, way up because he must have been six foot five.

Yes, she sighed unenthusiastically, wishing she’d been more charitable. He had the most fascinating dark chocolate brown eyes she’d ever seen. Those eyes were a sexy standout with his pure white hair. This guy was easy on the eyes too. Look at this, he pointed a sun kissed index finger to a snazzy red convertible. This is my car alright. Isn’t she a beauty? It’s a 1959 T-Bird. Wow what a neat old car. I love the Brandywine red. It would be fun to take that for a joy ride.

Pretty. Brooklyn gave way, more blissful to be called Miss in the vernacular after so many years of being a Mrs. or here of late, the widow Marshall.

Seeing an old Ford jalopy in a magazine is nice like a custard cup, but it sure isn’t cherries jubilee to me. Now a lower house payment or four new tires on my six-year-old van would make me ecstatic. Or tell me I am about to get back to my old self soon because being sad day after day is not a way for a woman in her prime to live. Tell me this man with the kind yummy brown eyes is a whisper of hope for the future, and I’ll be glad to dance the Can-Can up and down this store’s 10 conveyer belts.

But classic cars don’t exactly turn me on. At least not today anyway when I’m coming down with a crappy cold. I feel dowdy...uninteresting. Snotty. Old. I think my heart-light was extinguished the day Frank died in Iraq. Now this good-looking man calls me Miss...that’s so sweet I could hug him, but he can have his damn car, and all the contentment it brings him. I need more than that...like a decongestant.

You mean that’s your car there? She leaned in for a closer look nonchalantly dabbing a well-used hanky under her rosy red nose.

"No, not that particular one, one just like it," he shifted, stifling an urge to laugh.

Huh, it’s a real classic for sure. I remember my daddy telling me about his, but he sold it when he went into the Marines back in 1963. Before I was born, Brooklyn added nervously, fondling the diamond-heart pendant, a birthday gift from Frank on the last day she saw him alive.

What’s the guy want I wonder? Is he flirting or bragging? He is so handsome, but all of a sudden, I don’t feel so good. My head is throbbing; my throat hurts. This wide-eyed gaze is pain talking, not his engaging conversation. I may throw-up any minute, she blushed with fever.

I never drive it, he shrugged, continuing the saga without a blink of apprehension. The man took close notice of the woman’s heart-shaped face and the darling dimples dotting each raspberry cheek. His own wildly beating heart scared him. This lovely woman’s stunning features awakened Tanner.

Well why not? Brooklyn scolded him, surprised by her distinctively brazen tones—but getting dizzier by the minute.

Afraid to. Might wreck her, and then there would go all my hard work. Restored her myself you know? He swanked, a reddening face spoiling his well-defined tan.

"Well you should drive it. Life’s short and you’re in love with that car I can tell that." Brooklyn flushed sickly, pondering her poor choice of words.

In-love. Ha! A car is nothing like a woman, and I sure don’t want to ever be compared to a car. Mysteriously compelled to keep the conversation going Brooklyn shook off the pesky virus for a moment for some much needed grownup talk.

She was intrigued, but not especially by the conversation. It was the man. So often the items we treasure so tenderly stay hidden until that perfect moment. There is no perfect moment. Take for example my Grandma’s Flow Blue china. I only bring it out at Thanksgiving. I love that old china. It is so pretty it makes the food taste better. She raised one eyebrow. Take her out for a spin. It will do you good. Brooklyn pinched a smile, and then reached for the crumpled tissue. Ahh-choo! Sorry, she apologized, wiping her nose again.

God bless you, he chimed in before she finished her last sentence. And you’re right, he whispered coyly, the corners of his steady mouth displaying a confident grin. I should drive her more, he nudged her arm with his elbow. I think I will, he smiled stroking a brawny cleft chin.

Thanks Miss. I’ll remember that.

Well good! Brooklyn nodded, and she moved on not saying another word, but not before noticing he was not wearing a wedding ring.

Whom am I kidding? I am not in the market for a relationship. I’m here for a magazine and some cold pills; that‘s all. I’m just too tired to care about that kind of thing anymore. But for one beautiful split-second, Brooklyn felt the flicker of arousal: that warm, tickly feeling between the heart and the loins that signals attraction. I reckon it’s the fever I am carrying, not lust. Aspirin is what I need now. Brooklyn sniffled loudly, relieved to be released from the car aficionado’s skimpy ruse and quickly forgot all about the good-looking stranger by the time she reached the cold remedies.

The next few days Brooklyn was wretchedly ill, and in bed with 103-degree temperature. Propped up on one elbow the frazzle haired patient drooled untidily around the glass thermometer hanging from her cracked lips.

Geez my legs are killing me—stay away kids don’t get too close. Shoo! You don’t want this stuff, she grumbled demanding the two toe-heads leave immediately.

Bewildered by their hospital masks that their mother insisted upon, Frankie, and Kimmie backed away slowly, apparently frightened she might die, too. It’s only a bad cold, Brooklyn snorted. Just because I’m thrashing about like a decked fish don’t worry, I am going to be just fine. But your old mother could use some chicken broth and a Gatorade if you don’t mind. And the two bolted for the kitchen.

For the next ten days, Brooklyn was up to her plugged up ears in Kleenex, chicken gruel and juices, but just as she promised, she lived, and so did the kids worn thin from their duties playing nursemaid. Next year I swear I will get a flu shot, she vowed.

Pale and eight pounds lighter, Brooklyn was glad to be back at her computer constructing Internet Web Pages. She started doing this when the kids were small. It would be a sensible way for her to be a stay at home mom, and one way to raise the kids in a home environment instead of putting them in daycare. Their clever idea had providentially sustained her and the children through the difficulties of widowhood, but it didn’t allow much time for being sick, or socializing. She didn’t date much, and the emboldened T-bird man was now lost in the haze of fevers and headaches.

* * * *

Mom, we need some food around this place? When are you going to the store? We’re out of everything! I had to take a peanut butter sandwich in my lunch today because we didn’t have anything else. Nobody eats peanut butter sandwiches anymore at my age. Kimmie rolled her eyes.

Brooklyn agreed to go later that evening. First I need to tie up some loose strings in the office then I‘ll go. What would you like for your lunch your majesty stuffed lobster tails, or caviar on a bed of rice pilaf? Brooklyn puffed.

Oh gross! Stop, Mom or I am going to hurl. Kimmie comically poked an index finger down her throat doing a mock gag. Ham-salad will do, or anything cheese.

Ok, ok I’ll go as soon as I can. Where’s your brother? I want to find out what he wants for breakfast.

He’s playing basketball at Jack’s; I think he said he’d be home around five.

Maybe he’d like to come with me. I’ll pick him up on the way.

Yeah, whatever. Can you get some mint chocolate chip ice cream? I’ve been craving that yummy stuff since Sandy Bloom’s birthday party.

Sounds good. Brooklyn responded favorably. Kids. They got me wrapped. She could hear the shower running in the upstairs bathroom soon after. It’s only Wednesday and Kimmie’s washed her hair three times this week. She takes so many showers you’d think she was rotting. On the other hand, Frankie apparently is afraid of water.

Ah Mom, no way. I don’t care what you get me for breakfast, just not brand flakes or I’ll barf! Dismayed Frankie heaved his Christmas basketball against Jack’s garage door launching Zonk, his rowdy Doberman into a dog-gone frenzy.

Shut-up, Zonk! Jack bellowed, pulling the dog inside returning quickly. Mom says I got to come in now. Darn dog! He scowled.

Come on get in the car, I’ll take you home. Brooklyn signaled impatiently taking off down the narrow street. You and your sister can clean up your rooms while I’m gone. Brooklyn told him, watching the lanky, jeans and t-shirt clad boy sprint the porch steps and slam the door behind him. He is growing up so fast too. I worry about him, though; he’s awfully young to be the man of the family. Frank is missing so much.

The short drive to the supermarket took about ten minutes, and by the time she arrived, her thoughts were on the tasks at hand and what she’d need to buy to do them for the next week. Memories of Frank had vanished somewhere after the red light and the next left turn. Let’s see, a chuck roast would be good, some chicken breasts and five pounds of hamburger. Oh and I want to be sure to get me some vitamins.

Hi there remember me? A man’s husky voice came out of nowhere, and there stood the T-Bird man. Huh, I completely forgot about him wonder if he’s going to talk T-bones or T-Birds this time?

Well, hello yourself, she said coquettishly.

I’m the T-Bird man, remember, he smiled faintly, pulling at his somewhat askew collar. I honked the horn at you in the parking lot, but you either ignored me or didn’t hear me. He chuckled.

Oh was that you? I didn’t see where it came from. There’s always a lot of horn honking going on out there. I seldom pay much attention unless they are about to run over me. And they proceeded to the fish department, Brooklyn taking the lead.

I will remember that the next time you walk in front of my car, I almost hit you, he shook his head, reaching for two fillets of sole. Gee-you must have a lot on your mind. By the way, I‘m Tanner. Tanner Vaughn, he said thrusting a large,