Carried Away by Love: Sweet Romance Collection, #1

By Miriam Newman

This collection includes the following stories:

Clint's Choice ~ Clint Sanders, rancher and horseman, loses the woman he loves to bright lights and a modeling career. Skyelar Harrison has no one to turn to but Clint. Will he put the past behind them and help her?

Rena's Summer Vacation ~ Rena Caldwell heads to River Cove on the banks of the wild Chattooga River for a vacation and to help her cousin. Travis Benchley needs to wheedle his way into the lives of the two women. When Rena is almost run down by a truck, does Rena really want to know who is to blame?

Lovely Lottie's Treasure ~ Dani Adair travels to Seattle at the request of her best friend Abby to help unravel notes from an old journal. The 'Legend of Lovely Lottie's Treasure' has existed for years, but is there a real treasure? Hunter is asked to keep her safe. He discovers the favor a bit more than he bargained for when both Dani and Abby end up in danger. It's enough to give any man nightmares.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John R. Vickery
• Release date: Oct 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540181381

Book preview

Chapter One

Clint...?

The sound of her voice on the phone almost sent him into shock. The vivid image of her beautiful face as he'd last seen her two years ago flashed through his mind.

Clint, you there?

Pulled back from the memories, he cleared his throat and answered, I'm here. Where are you, Skye, and what do you want?

"I'm at the bus station, but I've got a ride to Granger's. Could you...uhm... Would you meet me there?"

Are you gonna actually show up and tell me what's going on this time?

I-I'll tell you what I can. Please, Clint – there's no one else...

As her voice trailed off, Clint took a deep breath. Yeah, she had him pegged all right – he should have SUCKER tattooed across his forehead in bright red letters. I'll be there. If you get there first, wait for me, or I won't do this again. He hung up without waiting for her response then rubbed his hand over his face to wake himself up.

He tugged on his jeans and stuffed his feet into the boots he'd left near the door. Exhausted when he came in from the foaling barn, he'd fallen onto the sofa in his tee shirt, briefs, and socks – he glanced at his watch – only two hours before.

After grabbing a soda from the fridge rather than taking time to make coffee, Clint plopped his battered straw Resistol on his head, grabbed his coat, and headed to his pickup.

The large all-hours convenience mart known as Granger's would take almost an hour to reach. She better have a good story, he decided.

* * * * *

Country love songs played throughout the popular store and crepe paper hearts, red balloons, stuffed animals wearing red bows, and red boxes of candy filled odd corners, reminding him Valentine's Day would be here this Friday. He didn't like to think about Valentine's Day at all anymore. He glanced around and noted only a few hardy souls scattered about at this late hour.

He heard her speak from behind him. Hi, Clint. Thanks for coming. You're a welcome sight – I wasn't sure you'd come.

His eyes widened as he turned and looked at Skyelar Harrison. He thumbed back his cowboy hat as he stared her up and down. The boyishly spiked hair replaced the long mane of elegant blonde waves he remembered, two purplish bruises and a swollen mouth marred her almost gaunt face, and her scruffy clothing surprised him. He would have thought a fashion model would be 'dressed to the nines'.

The feminine curves he remembered had thinned until she looked as if she would blow away in a breeze. The slim-legged jeans she wore were threadbare in spots and the dark blue, ill-fitting shirt had a tear at one shoulder. A faded, sherpa-lined, denim jacket hung over one arm.

A twinge of pain arrowed through him as he wondered what happened to change her so much. If not for her distinctive voice and wide eyes, he wouldn't have known her.

I-I look different, I know, but it really is me. Can we talk, please? Skye interrupted his appraisal as she warily glanced around them and toed the bag at her feet.

Are you hungry? We can sit in the snack area – or do you want to go out to the truck? Clint managed to break his silence.

Your truck, please. I'm not hungry.

He picked up the grungy khaki knapsack, which seemed to be all she'd brought with her, and led the way outside. He grabbed her coat and draped it over her shoulders when she seemed not to notice the need.

The cold February wind whistled around the building and Clint used his body to block the frigid air from hitting her straight on. He urged her to the passenger door, opened it, and tossed her bag onto the floorboard.

Once settled in his truck, Clint started the engine, turned on the heat, and waited for her to explain. As the silence lengthened, he removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Irritation began to build – why does she have to make everything so devilishly difficult? Is she playing me for a fool again?

* * * * *

I would know him anywhere, she realized, as she watched him. Broad shouldered, lean hipped, the description tall, dark, and handsome fit him to a T. Clint Sanders never failed to make her breath catch, speed up her heart, and cause a funny ache to grab her insides.

Skye felt Clint's patience ebbing away and couldn't blame him. But she couldn't decide where to start – how to tell him what a mess she'd made of everything. Nothing would ever be the same, and she was an idiot to come here – to him. Deciding she shouldn't have bothered, she reached for the door handle.

I'm sorry, Clint. This is a mistake—

* * * * *

Clint's hand closed over her wrist, strong as iron, but still careful not to cause pain as he stopped her. Ignoring her small yelp, he insisted, No you don't, Skye. You woke me up and had me drive nearly sixty miles to meet you at one in the morning. You don't get to just disappear without an explanation this time. Now, what in blazes is going on? Who bruised your face, and what do you want from me?

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked rapidly, fighting to keep them from falling. My agent – we argued. I demanded my money and he laughed at me... He said I don't have any money left. He spent it on my clothes and the apartment and drugs he slipped in my drinks to keep me working. I went to the phone threatening to call the police, but he grabbed me... Artie hit me. He said I owe him and he...he said I could pay him by...

Skye's voice broke, her eyes closed, and her head dropped in shame, or was it defeat?

Clint used his hold on her arm to draw her across the seat and pull her against him.

She drew a ragged breath and went on, I don't have anyone else to turn to. And... I-I kicked him between the legs and ran. He was screaming for security by the time I got on the elevator. Another breath turned into a sob. I'm so scared, and so tired of... A deeper sob, then the tears streamed down her cheeks. I've...I've missed you so much... She covered her face with her hands and turned away, embarrassed at those last words, which slipped past her lips.

She didn't fight when Clint tucked her into his right side, his body instinctively curling around her. "Dammit, Skye, you know I never could stand it when you cry. Sh-shh, it'll be all right. You're all right now..."

Finally, the sobs quieted. A few minutes later, she raised her head from his chest. After a couple of ineffective swipes at the damp patch she'd left, she said, I got your shirt all wet – I-I'm sorry.

As long as there's no boogers, it's no problem.

Skye saw the half grin she'd never thought to see again in the glow from the parking lot lights and almost broke down once more. Instead, she returned his smile and, with a flash of her old spirit, said, This from the man who wallows in horse manure and birthing fluids most of the time?

She moved as if to draw away, but Clint held her in place and chuckled at her remark. He gently nudged her head down onto his right shoulder and told her, Stay there and talk to me, sweetheart. The endearment came naturally from his lips. Just tell me whatever you want me to know, for now.

* * * * *

He didn't like the way she trembled in his arms, and she'd lost too much weight. Not knowing what else to do, he kept soothing her gently, as he would a spooked horse, while he waited for her to talk to him.

Clint grew angry and even more frustrated as words hesitantly spilled from her mouth. Tales of too many parties, and too much drinking. Getting hooked on speed without even knowing she was taking it. And then finding out all her work was for nothing.

How can what she's telling me be the truth? He hated to doubt her, but she had called almost six months ago, asked him to wire her a hundred dollars for a bus ticket home – which he did – and then she never showed. A few months before then she called and wanted him to meet her, but she never arrived. At the time, he couldn't help wondering if she was on drugs, maybe even an addict? She sure looked like one now. And how could a successful model have no money at all, unless she spent it on getting high?

You don't believe me, do you? Skye demanded when she realized he wasn't really listening. She drew away from his shoulder to sit straight and stiff.

You have to admit, it does sound wild, Skye. Your modeling agent stealing from you and slipping you drugs to keep you working? The problem was he wanted to believe her. He desperately needed to believe every word, especially the part about her missing him.

She swallowed hard, tilted her head so she glared directly into his dark eyes, and told him, I don't know how to prove it to you or to anyone else. But it's the truth. What can I do?

Clint fought off a huge yawn. Well, not much any of us can do tonight. I'm tired and need some sleep. Let's go home and we'll see what happens in the morning. Fasten your seatbelt.

He watched her as Skye considered her options. Hopefully the offer of coming home, having a roof over her head, a warm bed, and a few good meals sounded much better than what she could afford in town – which was nothing, if what he saw was any indication.

Clint nodded in satisfaction when she slid to the passenger seat and pulled the seatbelt around her, clicking it in place. He switched on the headlights before pulling out of Granger's parking area. He might not believe all her tales, but having her home again could only be a good thing.

Chapter Two

Skye woke to the smell of bacon frying and fresh brewed coffee. Feeling too content to move, she relished the warmth from the thick quilts piled on top of her. She'd slept so well, for a moment she thought she was back home, waiting for her mom to come in and tell her to get ready for school. Then reality set in and she groaned as she pushed aside the covers and stood to stretch.

The sounds of horses and men moving around outside drew her to the bedroom window. Several cowboys, wrapped in thick coats, hats, and gloves, breathed out frosty vapor as they worked in the light of dawn, breaking up the ice on top of the water troughs and throwing fresh hay and grain to the outside animals. She smiled as a wooly gray and white miniature goat scrambled between horse legs to get to the feed.

Skye sighed and thought how contented she would be – if she could just stay here now. She'd made such a mistake when she escaped her drudge life on a ranch to take a city job. Talk about drudgery – being a 'clothes-horse' was the epitome of it. Stand here, look there, smile, don't smile, pout, more sensual, take that off, put this on, more eyeliner, not enough blush, you're gaining weight, no tan lines allowed... and on, and on, and on... until she had no control left over her own life.

From there, it only got worse. The endless rounds of parties, fawning over important clients, fending off sexual advances from men and women – a never-ending nightmare...

As she stepped into the hot shower, Skye felt tears trickle down her cheeks to mingle with the spray. The worst thing she'd ever done was break the heart of the man who'd never been anything but kind and loving to her. The man she was supposed to have married two years ago this Friday, February 14th – Valentine's Day. It should be their second wedding anniversary.

* * * * *

Clint stopped mid-sentence as Skye walked into the dining room. She wore the same jeans as the night before, but topped them with a wine colored sweatshirt – about two sizes too large – and in place of shoes, thick gray socks encased her feet. Her mouth seemed less swollen, but the bruises along her left jaw-line and cheekbone appeared darker, and her cropped blonde hair spiked in all directions.

Boss? one of the five men seated at the table prompted.

After clearing his throat, Clint took a drink of coffee, and then finished giving instructions for which three mares were going to another ranch for breeding. Even as he talked, his eyes followed Skye while she poured a cup of coffee, wordlessly offered refills around the table, and then sat down to reach for a biscuit and the last piece of sausage.

This is Skye, Clint offered, when he saw a couple of the men glancing curiously in her direction. She's a family friend and will be staying a while.

Skye recognized two of the men seated at the breakfast table, but the other three were new to her. She gave a slight smile in response to Tom's nod. Tom Vaness had been the foreman since the Sanders family bought the ranch several years before. Then she nodded to acknowledge Mr. Harbin's two-fingered salute. Everyone called the elderly man Mr. Harbin and relied on him to cook the meals, supervise household chores, and do the payroll, plus provide first aid when needed.

Ma'am, and Nice ta meet ya, followed the introduction. The youngest ranch hand smiled in her direction, but didn't say anything, a red spot forming high on each of his cheeks.

She nibbled at the made-from-scratch bread after cutting it open and placing her sausage inside, along with a smear of butter. Pure heaven. A sip of the coffee made her take another, longer drink despite it being hot. Nectar of the gods... She wolfed down the food and drank a second cup of coffee while listening to the familiar ranch talk going on among the men.

Finally, with plates empty and cups dry, Tom pushed back his chair and said, All right, boys, let's get to it. He nodded in her direction again and the men followed as he left the dining room.

Mr. Harbin stood and began gathering dishes. Skye jumped up to help. She really didn't want to be left alone with Clint at the table, with his dark eyes probing for her innermost thoughts. Also the rules she'd grown up with were still the same – on a working ranch, if she wanted to eat, she needed to pitch in and do her part.

Clint trailed after them to the kitchen, his hands filled with dishes. Skye, we need to talk before I go out. Come on into the great room.

Mr. Harbin gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. His bite hasn't got any worse, but he does bark a bit louder.

She gave him a half smile and followed Clint to the large room at the front of the house. A large L-shaped desk filled one corner and Clint sat in the executive office chair. He motioned to the two armchairs in front of it. She felt a brief flare of pleasure. He had taken her advice to heart and moved his desk in here to make his meetings more comfortable, which left the small office in the back for the bookkeeping and paperwork.

Taking in his frown, she thought, or maybe not... Didn't look like this meeting was going to be too comfortable. She dropped into a chair and clasped her hands in her lap.

* * * * *

Skye...