An Accidental Kiss (Dearly Beloved) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Book

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  An

  Accidental Kiss

  by

  Dawn Douglas

  Dearly Beloved Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  An Accidental Kiss

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Dawn Douglas

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Last Rose of Summer Edition, 2013

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-771-7

  Dearly Beloved Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Conor, Ivy, and William

  January

  Marcy Garret sighed blissfully as the romantic movie ended.

  Sitting beside her on the couch, wrapped in a soft as silk fleece wrap, her fourteen going-on-forty year old daughter snorted. “Yeah, right!”

  Marcy looked at her. “What?”

  “Mom, it’s a nice fantasy, but let’s get real.”

  “People fall in love and get married all the time.”

  “Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for that to happen,” Justine said as she came off the couch then strolled from the room on her way to bed.

  Marcy switched off the television, went into the kitchen and poured another generous glass of wine. Why did she feel so sad? Wandering into her bedroom, she pulled aside the drapes and watched the snowflakes drifting down onto her Denver neighborhood of aging ranch homes. It was such a pretty scene. Her eyes filled with unexpected tears and impatiently, she swiped them away.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Could she be getting her menopause? She was forty-five, a little young she’d have thought, but maybe this was it, the beginning of a slippery slope toward depression, night sweats and mood swings. After that she’d have gray hair, dentures and arthritis to look forward to.

  “Heaven help me,” she muttered to the empty room.

  Perhaps Justine had a point and it was time she quit holding her breath waiting for Mr. Right to come along. It had become pretty obvious that would never happen.

  Mr. Right left the building a long time ago.

  The phone rang and she picked up, sighing. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Hi, sweetie pie. Are you having a good evening?”

  Marcy looked out at the gathering snow, hoping the roads wouldn’t be too icy in the morning. “It’s been okay.”

  “Just okay? You sound like you could use some excitement.”

  Marcy pulled the drapes closed. “No.”

  “Excuse me?’

  Her mother’s baffled tone didn’t fool her for one second. “I am not going on another blind date.”

  “This one’s different, I swear,” Kath promised, not for the first time.

  A strange thing happened then; Marcy experienced a little flutter of hope, even though she should have known better.

  “His name is Frank Anderson—he’s a writer. Have you heard of him?”

  “Of course I have, his books are always being checked out at work.” She didn’t care for westerns, had never read any, but felt a stirring of curiosity for anyone who could craft something that would make the best seller lists.

  “One of his books has been made into a movie,” her mother informed her proudly. “And this major celebrity is chomping at the bit to take you, Marcy Ann Garrett, out to dinner and a movie Thursday night.”

  “I can’t.” There it went again, that wisp of hope fluttering around like something trapped inside her and trying desperately to escape.

  One of her mother’s weary sighs came down the line. “Marcy, life is not like one of those romantic comedies you so love to watch. Attractive men don’t generally come knocking at our front door or get trapped with us in snowstorms. Sometimes fate needs a little helping hand.”

  She would probably regret this, Marcy thought as she opened her mouth. “Fine.”

  “Fine?” Her mother sounded as if she hardly dared hope. “Fine as in...you’ll meet him?”

  “Yes, but you have to make me a promise—if fate doesn’t come through for me this time, you’ll give up, leave me alone and stop arranging these stupid blind dates.”

  “Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Kath agreed meekly. “Frank will be giving you a call—he’s got your number.”

  “Mom, I mean it.”

  “Your father’s calling me, I’ve got to say bye,” Kath interrupted. “Good luck, honey!”

  Slowly, Marcy hung up the phone, knowing she’d probably just made another terrible mistake. Blind dates were not a good way to meet men, especially when arranged by interfering mothers. The trouble was her lifestyle didn’t allow much spare time to meet members of the opposite sex. Working full-time in a busy public library, processing book returns and checkouts, helping the public find crucial information, and answering incessantly ringing phones all day long left her with little interest—or energy—to do more than veg out on the couch after a quick dinner at home.

  She cast her mind back to her last date, with some guy named Eric—the sensitive type. He’d wept copiously into his dessert as he gave Marcy an account of his divorce, then teared up again when she’d gently declined another date. Before that it was Wayne, the plumber and wannabe country singer who wrote his own songs. She’d been so embarrassed when he’d broken into song on their first date—right there in the restaurant, for God’s sake—attracting amused and disbelieving stares from other diners. Just thinking about it made her insides shrivel.

  Yet, here she was, agreeing to go through that ignominy all over again. Am I really that desperate?

  Marcy thought of the silence that often surrounded her at home, and how much she’d like it to be replaced by conversation and laughter. She thought of snuggling on the couch with a man and watching a movie. And she thought of the ache in her heart each time she saw a couple kiss on television, or walk past her on the street holding hands. Yes, Marcy Garrett, she thought grimly.

  You are that desperate.

  ****

  Frank Anderson had been railroaded, and he resented it. His sister lived hundreds of miles away in Arizona, but she didn’t let that stop her from interfering in his life, quizzing him endlessly on his diet, his emotional well-being, and his love life. This time it was the crying that made him cave in.

  “Frank, you cannot shut out the world forever,” Lillian sobbed down the phone.

  He’d clamped his lips shut. She was being absurd. It was just women he’d shut out of his life, not the world.

  “This woman sounds perfect for you.”

  Frank snorted. As far as he was concerned there had only ever been one perfect woman and she died six years ago.

  “Look, I know you’re thinking of Katie,” Lillian said, as if she’d read his mind. “She was my best friend, as well as your wife, and I know she wouldn’t want
this for you.”

  He just stood there, desperate for her to shut up, but he loved Lillian and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “I can’t.”

  “She’s a single mom, forty-five, quite attractive. Her mom, Kath, is in my online book club and says Marcy works in a library and loves reading. She’s probably a big fan of yours.”

  Something inside Frank wilted at the thought of a starry-eyed, middle-aged writer groupie asking where he got his ideas.

  “You know, I promised Katie before she died I’d do everything I could to help you move on, and God knows I’ve tried. If you just do this one thing, I swear I’ll shut up and never say another word about it to you.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “You’ll do it? You’ll go on this date?”

  Frank could almost see her triumphant grin. “If that's what it takes to get you off my back, then yes. Okay.”

  “That’s great!”

  Now, two days later, Frank scowled at the phone number his sister had emailed him, which he’d obediently printed out. Of course he wasn’t going through with it, but Lillian wasn’t picking up her phone so he was going to have to call this Marcy woman himself and concoct some lie about having a vicious head cold or a previous engagement. She’d probably be annoyed and disappointed, but it had to be done. Steeling himself, Frank picked up the phone and punched in the number. On the other side of the line, a phone rang five times before being picked up.

  A young girl’s voice said, “Yeah?”

  “Um, may I speak to Marcy, please?”

  “Mom’s not home right now. Can I take a message?”

  “Could you tell her that Frank Anderson called and he’s not going to be able to make it tomorrow night?”

  A long silence greeted his words before she said, “You can’t do that. She’s bought a new dress and everything.”

  “What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Justine.”

  “Justine, it just wouldn’t be fair of me to take your mom out. I’m really not good company right now.”

  “Fine. Been there, done that myself but could you let her be the one to do the rejecting? Trust me, she’ll reject you. My mother has a deep seated, underlying hostility toward all men.”

  “She does?”

  “Ever since my father dumped her when I was two. I think at some level Mom believes she’d like Mr. Right to come along, but with her attitude it’s never going to happen. And then there’s her age to consider.”

  “She’s—how old?”

  “Forty-five.”

  “Well, I’m fifty,” he said.

  “No offense.”

  Frank grinned. “So your mother is old and has an attitude problem. Anything else I should know?”

  “She’s checked out one of your books, The Man from Laredo, from the library where she works, even though she thinks westerns suck. She was reading it on the couch last night and groaning. Look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Frank, but—”

  “Go ahead.”

  “She says your book is a pile of crap and she doesn’t know why she let Grandma talk her into this again, that you’ll probably turn up wearing a ten gallon hat and a pair of spurs.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh—wait. She’s walking in the door right now.”

  Frank heard the sound of a heavy door opening, then closing. There was a jangle of keys and the noise of footsteps crossing the room. “Could you put her on?” he said.

  “Mom!” Justine yelled. “It’s for you.”

  “Who is it?” a woman’s voice inquired, but Justine had already handed over the phone.

  “It’s Frank Anderson,” he said. “I know you just walked in. This won’t take long.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, sounding a little flustered.

  He floundered for the right words, but they eluded him. On the other end of the line he heard Marcy Garrett’s soft breaths as she waited. It was as if he could feel her sadness coming down the line, the loneliness she felt every night as she climbed into bed with nobody to kiss goodnight. He knew exactly how that felt. Frank closed his eyes, giving up. His mouth opened, and words came spilling out as if of their own accord.

  “Do you like Chinese?”

  ****

  Marcy wondered if she was overdressed for a first date in a Chinese restaurant. She was wearing a black, scoop-necked knee-length dress teamed with the silver pendant Justine had given her for Christmas. Her hair was a complete mess, all straggly and lank. She hadn’t been able to do a thing with it tonight.

  As she shoved open the heavy, dragon-guarded double doors of the Jade Wok, Marcy glanced nervously around the lobby. She wasn’t nervous that he wouldn’t turn up—somehow, from their brief conversation, she felt absolutely sure that Frank Anderson wasn’t the kind of man who would stand a woman up. He just hadn’t arrived yet. She was nervous about what might happen after he did turn up.

  A waiter looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “I’m waiting for someone, he should be here any minute—”she began, and as if on cue, the doors behind her opened, letting in a rush of chilly night air.

  Marcy turned, and her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t so much that he was good-looking, his features were too rough and irregular for that. It was more a matter of his presence, his tallness, the grave intensity of his dark blue gaze. He gave a slight nod in her direction. He had thick, ruffled graying hair and he ran his hands through it as if annoyed.

  “Marcy Garrett?”

  For a moment, she was too flummoxed to know her own name but managed to nod. “You must be Frank!” she blurted, inwardly cringing at how stupid she sounded.

  He didn’t bother to dignify her words with a response. They were shown to a table and handed menus. He glanced around.

  “It’s nice in here, isn’t it?” she gabbled. “The decor is very restrained for a Chinese restaurant—of course all the dragons and what have you are fun—but the food is really something special, and the service is great. I always come here on my birthday. They have a take-out menu, too.”

  Shut up, shut up, she thought, and felt herself flush bright red.

  “Is everything okay?”

  She took a sip of water and tried to compose herself. “I’m sorry. To be honest, I’m rather nervous about having dinner with a famous writer.”

  “Have you ever read any of my work?”

  The question did nothing at all to put her at ease. “I—I’ve just finished reading The Man from Laredo.”

  “And?”

  “It’s, uh, certainly full of action.”

  He grinned. “It’s garbage.”

  She stared at him in wonder. “I’m not sure I’d go that far...”

  Frank snorted. “Cliché central. Stinks worse than a rattlesnake’s behind.”

  She threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay!”

  Frank laughed, and Marcy felt another little surge of wonder. This man was full of surprises. At first glance, he was slightly intimidating, but he had the most disarming grin she’d ever seen and a laugh she’d like to hear a lot more of.

  Their eyes met, and attraction licked through her, hot and powerful. She was almost relieved when a waiter arrived to take their orders.

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Frank said, when the waiter had left. “I’m going to be equally honest. I’m not looking for a girlfriend, relationship, wife—or anything like that.”

  Marcy wanted to duck beneath the table and howl in disappointment. “I see.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with you,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

  She went still at the compliment. It had been years and years since she’d heard those words from a man.

  “My wife died six years ago,” Frank went on. “And my sister out in Arizona won’t rest until she sees me paired up again. I agreed to this date so she’d leave me alone.”

  Marcy smiled. “That’s funny—I made my mom promise to leave me alone if I met you tonight. Only...”
she hesitated. It seemed pathetic to admit that she’d actually hoped that something might come of this, that she’d never quite stopped hoping that love would find her at last. “My life is busy enough as it is without the added complication of a man.”

  Then their food arrived and they ate dinner and conversation flowed easily. Frank didn’t talk much about himself, Marcy noticed, but he seemed interested and smiled when she told him about the trials and tribulations of raising a teenage daughter. Maybe it felt easy, she thought, because they’d been honest with one another. They weren’t a couple on a date, they were just two people who’d been bullied into spending an evening together and decided to make the best of things. It was hardly his fault her stomach did somersaults every time he looked at her.

  It was snowing lightly when they left the restaurant, the flakes dancing down from the night sky as Frank walked her back to her car. “I’ve enjoyed tonight,” he said, with something like surprise in his voice. “Thank you, Marcy.”

  “Well, thank you,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I had a really good time.”

  They looked at each other as they reached her car, silence stretching between them. So this was it, Marcy thought, with a hollow feeling inside. She’d never see him again.

  He bent toward her and she realized, just a moment too late, that he’d only intended to brush her cheek. By then she’d moved her face a fraction and leaned forward so that their lips met, and somehow they were kissing, and Marcy closed her eyes, intoxicated, thrilled, wanting it to never end.

  Frank pulled away, staring at her. His expression was stunned. She blinked up at him.

  “Good night,” he said raggedly, and walked away.

  With trembling fingers, Marcy unlocked her car, got in and fastened the seat belt. She felt lightheaded, as if she might faint, and her stomach was churning with emotion. For a few moments, she simply sat with her eyes closed, wishing she could rewind the past few minutes of her life and avoid making such a pathetic idiot of herself.

  ****

  Frank had so much to do the next day—mail to answer, paperwork that needed signing, and a rather important phone call to make before lunch with his publisher. Usually, he was focused and methodical as he went about his work day, efficiently taking care of each task.