Unnatural Calamities Read online

  He grinned at her. “Get married, buy a house in the suburbs and get a Volvo or an SUV.”

  “Live in West Farmbrook forever.” Even happily ever after had some flaws, but she’d live with them. Hell, she’d live with him in that house if she had to.

  “You hate it that much?”

  She managed a smile. “I’m getting used to it. Margaret is a good guide to survival there and it’s best for the kids.”

  “There isn’t a barbed wire fence around the place, Janey.”

  She shrugged. “And my business…”

  “You can locate your business any place you want. If you can’t just take my damn money, I will get Nina to write up some kind of contract and you can borrow money for your business. I don’t care about the damn details. All I know is I am not letting you go if you love me. Never.”

  Toph the tornado. He’d swooped in and dragged her up after all. She was in for the ride of her life. Good. She snuggled into his lap. She only hoped she’d be able to give him nearly as good as she got.

  Epilogue

  Four hours later, Dr. Mitchell wandered into the room where they sat side by side on the examining table, trying to distract themselves by designing a wedding invitation on Toph’s laptop.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Connolly.”

  “Carmody,” Janey automatically corrected, though she was impressed he hit on a name so close to her own. She remembered Dr. Mitchell from three months earlier when she’d had strep throat. During that visit he called her Mrs. Harrigan and Miss McPherson.

  Toph slid off the table and stood next to it. He jammed hands into his jean pockets.

  The doctor gave little puffing breaths, punctuated by comments, as he leafed through the folder. “Let’s see, let’s see. What are we seeing you for this morning?”

  She didn’t bother to point out it was now afternoon.

  He flipped the folder shut and peered at her. “So you’re going to be a mother. Congratulations.”

  Janey blinked away the sudden tears in her eyes. She pulled the paper gown around her so tight it ripped in the armpits. “But there’s been bleeding and…”

  From his white coat, Dr. Mitchell pulled out a small machine that looked like a portable tape player. “Not much blood and rust colored, correct? Probably not a problem. Your hormone levels are lovely, Mrs. Connerman. Simply lovely for the conception date marked here.”

  He held up the machine. “Ultrasound’s broken,” he announced cheerily. “But we’ll try this. Even though we’re only seven weeks along, I’m a wizard with this doppler gizmo. Let me see if we can catch that good little heartbeat.”

  The doctor waggled a large forefinger at her. “Now don’t let’s get all worked up if we don’t hear the little fella. Sometimes we have to be further along, closer to ten weeks.”

  Janey closed her eyes and lay back, awkwardly crunching along the paper-covered table under her. When she raised her arm and stretched out her fingers, Toph, standing next to her head, understood. He grabbed her cold hand and nestled it between his warm ones.

  The doctor glopped a slug of warm gel on her belly. They all stopped breathing as he slid the machine across her skin. For a brief moment, tiny quick thuds echoed through the room.

  Dr. Mitchell grabbed a paper towel and wiped off the machine. He handed the used, goopy towel to Janey. Then he yawned and said, “Go home. Lie down and rest, Mrs. Connelly.”

  Janey sat up. She abruptly buried her head in her hands and began to howl, crying as if her heart had been ripped apart. Toph grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her. With her head pressed against the warmth of his chest, she felt rather than heard the words he said to the doctor, “Thank you very much. We’ll clear out in about ten minutes, okay?”

  “Fine, Mr. Carmody. Take your time.” He pulled out a prescription pad and scribbled. “Prenatal vitamins. Take them.”

  He handed the paper to Toph and ambled out.

  “Are you okay?” Toph whispered close to her ear.

  She hiccupped. “Sh-shocked. Re-re-relieved.”

  “Oh, Janey, that doctor might be all right, but the guy doesn’t even know your name. Please, please, let me take you to my internist. Or call him? He’ll know a good ob-gyn. Let me. Please, Janey love.” He sounded fierce, not sedate or reasonable, as he pleaded with her.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Please.”

  His arms still held her as she climbed off the table. She rested against the hard wall of his chest for a moment to listen to the hard thump of his heart—fast, yet so much slower than the beat of the baby they’d made. Their baby.

  For a moment she allowed herself to relax and lean against Toph. She grinned. Golly, what would they tell the little guy about how his parents met? She’d let Toph take care of that story.

  She reached up to stroke his rough, unshaved cheek. “Let’s bring along Rachel too. And Cynthia.”

  The instant she had understood Toph, Jr. still might be on board, she’d had no intention of getting stupid or stubborn about medical care. She was even going to suggest they call his doctor before he began to beg her. Janey would not begrudge money spent to help that little miracle, but, hey, no point in telling Toph, Sr. that fact right away.

  Nope. She wouldn’t tell him yet. She liked the way he pleaded with her, instead of telling her in that matter-of-fact way of his. It was a very good sign for their future.

  About the Author

  Summer Devon is a pen name for Kate Rothwell, who also writes under her own name.

  Though her favorite subgenre is late Victorian historicals, especially with a New York City setting, Kate/Summer also writes contemporaries, paranormals and fantasy. The one consistent factor: the stories are all character-driven romance.

  She’s won numerous awards such as the Passionate Plume (she finalled a few times and won 2011 with co-writer Bonnie Dee), finalled in the Eppies, won a RIO award, the Golden Rose, the ecataromance Reviewer’s Choice award, and she was a Romantic Times Readers’ Choice finalist.

  You can find her at twitter, Facebook, her own blog katerothwell.blogspot.com. She lives in Connecticut in a town that is not even remotely like West Farmbrook, nossirree.

  Look for these titles by Summer Devon

  Now Available:

  Learning Charity

  Revealing Skills

  The Knight’s Challenge

  Taken Unaware

  Coming Soon:

  The Psychic and The Sleuth (with Bonnie Dee)

  Resisting alien invaders is easy. Protecting her heart is another story…

  Taken Unaware

  © 2009 Summer Devon

  Leah’s plans for the weekend didn’t include dealing with an alien invasion in her kitchen. But there’s something about the wary, vulnerable, refugee half-breed Gabriel that compels her to hide him when the authorities come knocking on her door.

  Gabriel has good reason to be suspicious of both humans and his own kind alike. He’s a halfling—half human, half Dar—the product of a breeding program undertaken for one purpose. To use the offspring’s inbred powers to influence humans on a deeply emotional level. So deep, they won’t know until too late that the Dar have gained more than a toehold on Earth.

  Raised in subhuman conditions, all Gabriel knows of life is how to endure it. Then Leah opens his eyes to a life richer than any he’s ever known. Suddenly he’s not so sure he wants to be a pawn in the Dar’s non-violent, but no less insidious, plans.

  Leah and Gabriel go on the run to seek help from the government, only to discover the invasion’s tentacles have gotten there ahead of them. In the final confrontation, the bond Leah and Gabriel have forged may be more than an emotional haven. It could save her world.

  Warning: Contains explicit sex, alien encounters

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Taken Unaware:

  “No aliens in the headlines.” Clutching the newspaper and her coffee mug, Leah settled on the sofa next to the cat, Fluke, that ignored her.

  She’d alrea
dy performed her new ritual of checking reliable Internet news sites. Now she shook open the paper and began a search inside. Two weeks later, and still not a word about the rumors she’d heard at the bar. Good. Maybe the two soldiers from the base were just trying to scare her with their stories. The Dar targeting a town in Wisconsin? They’d be smarter to aim for Florida this time of year.

  “How about it? You think there’s a cover up?” she asked Fluke. “Time to stock up on milk and toilet paper? Maybe hide in the basement?”

  Every few years, tabloids screamed They’re Back! Even those covers with the blurry pictures were enough to send some people rushing for their rifles.

  Leah abandoned the search for stories about space invasions and conspiracy theories and turned to the comics. Sipping her coffee, she decided not to move for at least two hours. Pure, lovely laziness in her favorite room.

  As if he could read her mind, Fluke stood and shook himself. He batted at her arm with an imperious paw.

  She frowned at him over the top of the paper. “Learn to use the box, dammit.”

  He jumped from the couch and strolled to the kitchen, meowing the whole way. Leah put down her paper and coffee and followed him.

  She opened the door and nudged his backside with her foot. “I’ve ordered a boring birthday, Fluke. I don’t need a present from you so don’t bring me any mice. The last one just about gave me a heart attack.”

  He sauntered out into the bright morning air and within a minute discovered something more heart-pounding than a mouse.

  One of the massive trucks rumbled up the road. Hide.

  Halbrut dived behind the bushes next to the small yellow house.

  As the roar of the truck died away, someone in the house opened a door, and almost immediately an animal came trotting over to his hiding place.

  A cat.

  It stopped dead when it spotted him. The creature’s back humped up and it inched sideways, muttering and then hissing.

  Halbrut hunkered lower when he heard footsteps.

  “What’ve you got? Not another skunk, Fluke, please, no.” The woman’s voice was too near.

  A second later her face appeared over him. Her eyes went wide.

  “Oh my Go—” the woman shrieked.

  By then he was out of the bushes and on her.

  “Hush, please,” Halbrut urged as he grabbed her and covered her mouth. The neighbors wouldn’t see but perhaps they’d hear her. He pinned her back against his chest.

  The cat hissed again.

  He paused, and with his hand clamped over her face, his other arm wrapped around her arms and slender middle, he couldn’t help remarking, “That’s a strange thing the cat’s do—Ouch.” The woman had stamped down hard on his foot. The boots he’d been issued protected him, but he was startled. Not enough to let go of her.

  Any moment the big vehicle would cruise by again, looking for him and the others from his group, no doubt. He wasn’t going to stick around and flag it down.

  The door to the yellow house lay wide open so he dragged the struggling woman inside. “Listen,” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her through the door, slamming his elbow on the doorjamb. “I’m sorry you’re scared. But I can’t let you scream, right? I’m, ah, waiting for friends.”

  The cat skittered past his legs into the house again.

  The woman’s mouth moved against his hand and her warm tongue thrust against the chilled skin of his palm. His body’s response disgusted him. He hoped she wouldn’t notice.

  An enraged muffled snort emerged from her. After he slammed the door shut he removed his hand from her face—though he kept a firm grip on her arm to keep her from running off.

  She didn’t scream, thank goodness. For a moment she glared at him, breathing hard. Her brow furrowed. “You’re full of bullshit.” Her voice shook but she managed to project an air of anger rather than fear. “What do you mean you’re waiting for friends? Behind my bushes?” With a twist she tried to yank her arm from his grip. Not even close to successful. He’d inherited his sire’s strength.

  He motioned at a chair at the small kitchen table. “If I let go of you, will you just sit down? And allow me to explain.”

  Still staring at him as if she wished she could kill him with her eyes, she dropped down onto the wooden chair.

  He didn’t want to sit. Exhaustion might claim him. So instead he loomed over her, examining her angry face, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. Nothing came to him.

  “Well?” She tilted her head and the sunlight through the window caught the high cheekbones, the deep red shades in her dark hair and her green eyes that didn’t contain a hint of familiar gold. Her hand scrubbed at her mouth as if trying to remove some disgusting substance he’d left there with his hand.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said faintly.

  “Like what?”

  “I’m a raw piece of meat and you’re a wolf.”

  He answered without thinking. “I am hungry.”

  He’d suspected the phrase was a double entendre—and her shiver confirmed it. “What are you anyway? A Peeping Tom?” She sounded less belligerent now.

  “A peeping what?”

  She gave a noise that might have been a moan, low, deep and, to his ears, thoroughly arousing. Once again, he remembered he hadn’t had a female in a very long time.

  But his simple question about the peeping something had changed her somehow. Now she meekly clasped her fingers together and rested them on the tabletop. Those fingers trembled.

  “I guess you don’t have to tell me why you were hiding out front. I don’t need to know.” She spoke hesitantly as if she didn’t want to make him angry. That was probably for the best, having her fear him. That would be the right response, if she knew who he was. Or what he was.

  He didn’t want her too terrified, so he sat in a chair near her. “I was actually playing a joke on my friend,” he lied.

  She shook her head. And, surprisingly, she leaned close to him. Her heat warmed his chilled body and he could smell her musky, exotic human fragrance.

  Just as he decided he liked the scent, she gave another of her odd growls. Her eyes opened wide. “You smell like it. Cinnamon.” Her fair skin went even paler. “God. You’re one of them. Oh. No, no,” she whispered. “But it’s true.”

  She jumped up so quickly the chair fell with a thud.

  She started for the door.

  As she brushed him, Halbrut grabbed her again, pulling at her until she tumbled onto his lap. While he held her tight against him, his arms forming bands around her body, he made idiotic, soothing noises. “It’s fine, no, don’t struggle. It’s fine.” But she was clearly not convinced. She twisted on his lap and her feet flailed hard against his shins. Leaning sideways, she managed to pull her arm from his grasp. With her free hand she clawed at his cheek and the arm he put up to protect his face.

  Suddenly her attack stopped. She lifted her hand again only to point at his wrist. Blood oozed from a scratch she’d made. “Red… You can’t be one of them.”

  He’d heard strange fiction that the Dar had green ichor in their veins. He examined the blood on his arm and considered lying. He’d tell her that no, he had no connection to Dar, that he was a human vagrant passing through. He could leave with a goodbye and an apology that he’d frightened and inconvenienced her.

  He let go of her. But instead of getting up, she shifted sideways on his lap. He didn’t object. Not at all. She hesitantly touched his dark hair and stared hard into his eyes. Her weight on his legs, their locked silent gaze, made him feel more alive than he had in a very long time.

  When she breathed out, the soft warm air washed over his face. She gave a quiet whimper. “Jesus. You’ve got the ring of gold in your eyes.”

  Ah. He should have pushed her away but he’d done it again. He’d hoped she stared into his eyes because she wanted him. That was twice he’d mistaken her actions. When she’d leaned close to catch his scent and now when their gaze
locked. He wished there was some way to turn off his extreme response to her so he could think with his brain.

  “What are you?” she whispered.

  If any man wants more than a dance with her, they’ll have to get past him…

  Brand New Me

  © 2010 Meg Benjamin

  Konigsberg, Texas, Book 5

  Deirdre Brandenburg has an MBA and a dream to become the coffee supplier for Konigsburg’s growing restaurant industry. What she doesn’t have is money, courtesy of her billionaire father’s scheme to make her come home. All she needs is three months until her trust fund kicks in. Until then, she needs a job.

  Hiring the new girl next door is a no-brainer for ex-gambler Tom Ames. He’s already succeeded in making his bar, The Faro, a growing tourist draw. Deirdre’s beauty will pull in the locals—particularly every red-blooded male in the Hill Country. As he watches her transform from tentative business wonk to confident, sassy barmaid, he realizes he wants first crack at her heart.

  When Big John Brandenburg sends Deirdre’s ex-boyfriend to drag her home, the plan backfires, leaving Tom’s bar in shambles and Deirdre kidnapped by a band of loony Texas secessionists.

  Things are looking pretty bleak—except the good people of Konigsburg have no intention of giving Deirdre up, either. Even if it takes every Faro employee, every last Toleffson, and one cranky iguana to give the honky-tonk lovebirds a chance at forever.

  Warning: Contains dirty dancing, hot summer sex, a honky-tonk makeover, and one nippy iguana.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Brand New Me:

  A large part of the Saturday-night crowd stayed both inside and outside the Faro until the official closing time of two in the morning. Tom and Chico circulated among the remaining diehards, moving them relentlessly toward the door, while Deirdre and the other barmaids cleaned off tables and stacked glasses for Leon to run through the dishwasher. The empty bottles were tossed back into the cardboard cases, ready for recycling. All in all, it looked like a very successful night, at least as far as Deirdre could tell.