To the One I Love: That Old Familiar FeelingAn Older ManCaught by a Cowboy

  Our Adventure Begins…

  To The One I Love,

  Some things are meant to be, and we’re one of them.

  I know I don’t have a lot of time to convince you, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’d like to try.

  Expect the unexpected, and I’ll be seeing you soon.

  Dear Reader,

  Who wouldn’t want to find this romantic love letter on her doorstep?

  The Colman sisters, that’s who. For Lacey, Deanna and Marti, their first instinct was to deny that the letter could be for them. But secretly, each woman imagined that a man from her past had sent the letter to claim her heart.

  Join the sisters at their grandmother’s home in the Florida Keys as bestselling author Emilie Richards and reader favorites Allison Leigh and Peggy Moreland show that you can never tell just where—or when—love will find you.

  Enjoy!

  The Editors at Silhouette Books

  EMILIE RICHARDS

  Award-winning author Emilie Richards believes that opposites attract, and her marriage is vivid proof. “When we met,” the author says, “the only thing my husband and I could agree on was that we were very much in love. Fortunately, we haven’t changed our minds about that in all the years we’ve been together.” Emilie loves writing about complex characters who make significant, positive changes in their lives, and her multigenerational novels for MIRA Books have garnered critical acclaim for their depiction of the complicated dynamics couples—and families—create. She’s also a sucker for happy endings.

  ALLISON LEIGH

  has been a finalist in the RITA® Award and the Holt Medallion contests. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books. Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighborhood church, and currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at P.O. Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772.

  PEGGY MORELAND

  published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989. Winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, a nominee for Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award and a two-time finalist for the prestigious RITA® Award, Peggy’s books frequently appear on the USA TODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. When not writing, you can usually find her outside, tending the cattle, goats and other critters on the ranch she shares with her husband. You may write to Peggy at P.O. Box 1099, Florence, TX 76527-1099, or e-mail her at [email protected].

  EMILIE RICHARDS

  ALLISON LEIGH

  PEGGY MORELAND

  To the One I Love

  CONTENTS

  THAT OLD FAMILIAR FEELING

  Emilie Richards

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  AN OLDER MAN

  Allison Leigh

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  CAUGHT BY A COWBOY

  Peggy Moreland

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  THAT OLD FAMILIAR FEELING

  Emilie Richards

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve always liked writing novellas, not only because they speed to conclusion so much faster than the longer books I write for MIRA, but because novellas give me the chance to try my hand at different kinds of stories. This time I couldn’t resist the chance to write about a teenage love affair revisited and four-year-old twin hellions. There’s something special about love that blossoms again after a long hiatus. And I have three sons myself, so imagining any of them “doubled” was terrifying, but much too intriguing to refuse.

  Creating a world is a novelist’s job, but creating a world inhabited by three sisters simultaneously, with a plot spread over three separate stories by three different authors, well, that was a challenge. Allison, Peggy and I spent hours furnishing, scheduling and detailing the world of Colman Key, the Colman sisters and their grandmother. E-mails flew, and snippets of dialogue were exchanged. “How does Grammer dress? What color are the walls in her kitchen? What shall we call the hurricane?” The questions were endless. The answers were surprising. The camaraderie was excellent.

  I hope you enjoy our world. Colman Key became so real, so vivid during the writing of this anthology, that I’ll look for it on my next trip to my home state of Florida. And maybe I’ll check in on Roman and Riley, too, just to be sure they’re behaving.

  Best wishes,

  Chapter 1

  Lacey Dillon had forgotten how much fun it was to do her own errands. In Beverly Hills she had hired housekeepers, personal shoppers and delivery services for everything because her schedule had been crowded with meetings she didn’t want to attend and parties that made the meetings seem like fun. Even without a chock-full Day Planner, as a Beverly Hills matron—a word that would have sent most of her California friends scurrying to their plastic surgeons—she had not been allowed to push a shopping cart or drive her spiffy little BMW within ten miles of a Wal-Mart. In Geo’s social circle image was all important.

  But Lacey wasn’t living in Beverly Hills anymore. She was no longer married to Geo—who had been plain old George Herbert Dillon on their wedding day. She was no longer a maniacally overworked associate at the distinguished law firm of Sagger, Link and Perfit, no longer the unhappy owner of a condo with more angles and slick surfaces than a used car salesman. She was divorced, unemployed and so happy to be in that state that right now she had to school herself not to dance a little jig on her grandmother’s sidewalk.

  Of course it wasn’t only the ecstasy of freedom that made her want to kick up her heels. Even though it was only 8:00 a.m., the sidewalk was as hot as one of Grammer’s—that was what Lacey and her sisters called their grandmother, Edith Colman—oven fresh biscuits, and the North Florida sun was beating an unrelenting tattoo on her arms and the back of her neck. Standing still was an invitation to old Mr. Sunshine to prove his worth against SPF-30 sunscreen.

  Her skin was noticeably pale for these parts. In California, on requisite trips to the health club, she had never gone in for tanning booths, although Geo had been as perfectly oiled and browned as one of Grammer’s Thanksgiving turkeys.

  Of course Geo had been sure to let her know what he thought of a woman who spent so little time and effort perfecting herself.

  She wondered if Matt Cavanaugh thought her appearance needed more time and effort. For a moment she stopped pulling bags from the trunk of her new middle-of-the-line Toyota, and let herself think about Matt.

  Matt Cavanaugh, the flame who had ignited her adolescent sexuality. The boy she’d written about in her diary, fantasized about on hot summer nights, come this close to giving her virginity to in the summer of her senior year of high school. Matt Cavanaugh, who was no longer a boy, but a man with a lean, muscular body that had more than fulfilled every adolescent promise. Matt
Cavanaugh, who still had the same sun-streaked brown hair and laughing blue eyes, but whose smile was ten degrees more sensual and mysterious.

  Matt Cavanaugh, whom she had seen just last night in the flesh at Wallace’s store for the first time in nearly a dozen years.

  Good grief, Matt Cavanaugh!

  Lacey gave herself a mental shake. There were a lot of other things she had to think about. She was here on Colman Key for a reunion, and her sisters would be out of bed by now. Deanna and Marti had arrived late last night, and Grammer was probably cooking a big country breakfast to celebrate.

  Grammer loved her granddaughters with an open warmth that their parents could only approximate. It was Grammer they had run to whenever they had problems, Grammer they still called first when they had good news. Their parents were upstanding people, but Edward and Julia Colman, a bank president and state senator respectively, had always focused first on career and second on the family’s image in the community. Grammer had focused on her granddaughters, and even as small children they had known the difference.

  Now Grammer was in danger of losing her home. The thought sent fireworks through Lacey’s bloodstream. Edward, their father, was going to force Grammer out. Technically the house belonged to him, and he was going to sell it right out from under her. Grammer was going to a retirement home, and like a lamb to the slaughter she was prepared to allow this to happen.

  Okay, it was a big house, a monstrosity, really. Sure it had an acre of yard, a penchant for leaks and peeling paint, a shingled roof that sailed to Newfoundland in every tropical storm. And then, of course, there was Grammer’s broken ankle, healed now but a reminder that even Grammer would grow frailer with age. But this house was home, even though she and her sisters had only spent a month here each summer. This house was family!

  Lacey reached for the last bag and slid it to rest on her hip so she could slam the trunk shut. She was so glad Deanna and Marti had found the time to spend the month of August here on Colman Key. Together, she knew they could find a way to keep the house—and keep Grammer and their father happy, too. She had great faith in the ability of the Colman sisters to right any wrong the world threw in their path.

  By now she was holding three big brown bags, stacked all the way to the top so that good old Wallace’s could save a penny. She precariously balanced all three and started up Grammer’s sidewalk. The old house sparkled in the sunlight. It was a style known as folk Victorian, large and rambling with ornate wedding cake trim and a front porch that beckoned any passerby to come and “set a spell.” It was well kept and tidy. Right now the only thing out of place was a square of white lying in the middle of the flowered welcome mat.

  At first Lacey thought the square was a flyer from the morning paper. But on closer inspection she saw it was one of those annoying subscriptions cards that multiplied like vermin between the pages of unsuspecting magazines. She balanced two bags against one thigh and squatted carefully to remove it, crumpling it and shoving it in her short’s pocket. She was barely up to the challenge and nearly dropped a bag.

  “Lacey!” Lacey launched herself backward just in time. The front door flew open, and a wraith with an acre of curling blond hair and a dancer’s grace leaped to the welcome mat. “Sorry, did I do that? Did you spill anything?”

  Somehow Lacey had managed to keep the bags upright, but her rump was smarting from surprise contact with the porch floor.

  “Hi, and yes, if you’d been one second quicker I’d be skimming the waves.” Lacey nodded over her shoulder in the direction of the beach on the other side of Pelican Street. “You would have knocked me clear into the Gulf.”

  “I didn’t mean to send you flying. I’m just excited to see you. I got in so late we didn’t have a chance to catch up last night.” Deanna, the middle Colman sister, grabbed the closest bag out of Lacey’s arms. An ominous ripping sound preceded the tumble of four cans of tomatoes to the porch floor. “Oops.”

  “What’s going on out here?” Marti, dark hair the color of Lacey’s own but a body at least one size more petite, followed in Deanna’s path.

  “Whatever you do, don’t come any closer,” Lacey ordered.

  Marti stopped dead in her tracks. “Why not?”

  “Because I have this under control.” Lacey managed to get to her feet by holding the two remaining bags in one arm while she used her free hand to push herself upright. “Okay, Deanna, take what’s left of that bag inside, okay? And Marti, once we’re safely past will you get the cans off the porch and bring them along?”

  “Still organizing us, huh?” Marti didn’t seem surprised. There was an unwritten law in the family. Lacey, as oldest sister, was in charge of making sure things got done well and on time. Their parents had expected it, and Lacey had seen it as a sacred duty.

  Today she wondered if she’d taken this duty a wee bit further than necessary. After all, her sisters were adults now, perfectly capable of ordering their own lives. She was proud of them both, although in her view their lives were a little scattered, a little disorderly. Deanna was between jobs, on her way from a Texas dude ranch to Hawaii to tend bar in a tropical resort. And Marti was taking a short break from doing scut work at a high fashion magazine in Manhattan.

  But then Lacey herself was now a jobless divorcée who didn’t feel more than a smidgen of regret at her circumstances. She had divorced Geo with the same enthusiasm with which she’d married him. Her own carefully ordered life was in shambles, but for the first time in several years, she was happy.

  The center hallway was cool and dark, the perfect contrast to the blinding sun outside. Lacey breathed a sigh of relief when the front door closed behind Marti. “It gets hot in L.A. in August, too, but never like this. I’d forgotten that even early in the morning the humidity on Colman Key can drown a whale.”

  Grammer, in a khaki skirt and matching silk camp shirt, came into the hall to greet her and take a bag from Lacey’s arms. “It’s hotter than usual, darling, because there’s no breeze. But it’ll be a perfect beach day if you get there early enough. Don’t your sisters look wonderful?”

  They did look wonderful. Lacey might have gotten teary-eyed over the reunion, only that was not her role in the family. She-who-is-always-in-charge wasn’t supposed to show emotion. She gave everyone a warm smile anyway. “They look wonderful. In case I forgot to tell you guys, I’m absolutely thrilled to see you.”

  As a group they trooped to the kitchen. No stainless steel and frameless cabinets here. The kitchen was cozy, with the same pine cabinets and blue Formica counters that Lacey remembered from her childhood. It could use a bit of updating, but Grammer liked it exactly the way it was.

  The air was scented with bacon, onions and peppers. There would be omelets, she guessed, grits and, of course, the famous Colman biscuits. If Geo were here he would turn up his nose, preach a short sermon on the dangers of fat and preservatives and ask for a glass of spring water instead.

  Lacey deposited her bags on the counter and started to unload, but Grammer put a hand on Lacey’s wrist. “Let’s hold off for now. Anything that needs to go in the fridge?”

  “Ice cream, hamburger.”

  “Then I’ll find it and put it away. Take your sisters out to the Florida room. The table’s all set. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Lacey knew there was no point in arguing. Grammer liked to finish cooking meals on her own and would be happier without them underfoot. Together the sisters made their way to the back of the house and flopped simultaneously on the assortment of wicker furniture and comfortable chaises lining the room.

  “Grammer had the cushions recovered.” Marti lifted a blue and white floral pillow as evidence. “Weren’t these red checked?”

  “She’s got new window treatments, too.” Deanna pointed to the blue and white plaid valances above the jalousie windows. “Looking good.”

  Lacey stood and walked to the door looking out over her grandmother’s patio and garden. “Doesn’t it seem odd to yo
u that she’s put so much energy into this room, but she still claims she’s willing to leave the house and move into a retirement community?”

  Edith Colman was a master gardener. Even in August lantana and zinnias spilled over the edges of a wide assortment of pots and more innovative containers. The patio was rimmed with banana trees swaying in a breeze that was just beginning to stir. Lacey guessed that her grandmother would miss the garden most of all.

  “We need to find a time and place to talk this over,” Deanna agreed, “but she’s going to be in here in a moment. Why don’t you tell us about you, instead? Like why you had to go out at the crack of dawn to get groceries when Grammer says you left here in plenty of time to get them last night.”

  Lacey turned, embarrassed. “Grammer told you that?”

  Deanna’s mischievous eyes were twinkling. “Uh-huh. And she also told us it might, just might, have had something to do with Matt Cavanaugh.”

  Lacey could feel her cheeks turning pink. “I haven’t seen Matt Cavanaugh in what, eleven, twelve years?”

  “Until last night,” Marti said. “Just before we got here.”

  “Okay, I ran into an old friend at Wallace’s. We talked a few minutes. It’s impolite to run out in the middle of a conversation just because you need soap powder and the ingredients for spaghetti sauce.”

  “I’m sure that’s all it was,” Marti said. But her eyes, like Deanna’s, were dancing.

  Lacey defended herself. “I just forgot Wallace’s closes early if nobody’s actually in the store. So they shut their doors at quarter to nine and shut me out before I could shop.”