Nighttime Sweethearts. Cara Colter
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Magic was one thing. Miracles were quite another.
Merry felt her first shiver of doubt. Rick was wounded, and he didn’t like romance. But there was something about him that made her want to see love transform his life.
And then, suddenly, he went very still beside her. Intrigued, she followed his gaze. He stared with his eyes narrowed to a hard squint at Cynthia Forsythe.
Merry started at his deep growl. Every hair on the back of her neck rose up. “You know Cynthia?” she asked.
Something in his face closed and became colder than ice. “I did,” he said. “A long time ago.”
“I’d be happy to reintroduce you!”
The look he gave her could have stripped paint. “No,” he said. “In fact, I’d thank you not to mention me to her.”
Merry’s heart pounded hard. What could be more perfect? Her last couple—a love-gone-wrong-and-now-made-right story! But a glance into the cast stone of his face made her wonder if even magic could change what she saw there.
Nighttime Sweethearts
Cara Colter
To Judy and Charles Moon
in gratitude for all you do
CARA COLTER
shares ten acres in the wild Kootenay region of British Columbia with the man of her dreams, three children, two horses, a cat with no tail and a golden retriever who answers best to “bad dog.” She loves reading, writing and the woods in winter (no bears). She says life’s delights include an automatic garage door opener and the skylight over the bed that allows her to see the stars at night.
She also says, “I have not lived a neat and tidy life, and used to envy those who did. Now I see my struggles as having given me a deep appreciation of life, and of love, that I hope I succeed in passing on through the stories that I tell.”
The Tale of the Bear Who Married a Woman
[Source: Franz Boas, Tsimshian Mythology (Washington, D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1916.)]
Once upon a time there lived a widow with a beautiful daughter. Many men asked for the daughter’s hand, but the widow declined them all. The mother wanted a son-in-law who had the hands to build a solid canoe. So her advice to her daughter was to feel her suitors’ palms. “If they are soft, decline him. If they are rough, accept him.”
Her daughter obeyed and refused to be wooed by any of the young men. Until one night, a man came to her bed. She tucked her hands in his and found his palms to be very rough, so she accepted his proposal. Early the next morning, however, he had disappeared. She had never even seen his face. But in front of the house was a tasty fish, left for the girl and her mother.
The girl, her mother and the young man who visited only at night lived this way for some time. The young woman never saw her husband, but every morning she found an animal at the door, each one larger than the last. Because of the animals, the widow became quite rich.
But the widow was eager to see her son-in-law, so one day she waited until he arrived. What she saw was a red bear emerging from the water. He carried two whales, but as soon as he noticed the widow looking at him, he was transformed into a rock, which may be seen up to this day.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Prologue
“Ms. Montrose?” Her secretary paged Merry over the office speakerphone. “Rick Barnett is here to see you.”
“Who?” Merry asked, not even trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She did not have time for anyone right now.
“He’s the architect. The one you’ve chosen to build the chapel?”
Oh, yes, the architect. The chapel was the brilliant idea Merry had conceived. Given the amount of romance blossoming at La Torchere resort, where she was a manager, they should have an on-site chapel. People could plan to have weddings here. The resort’s owner had been thrilled with her idea, naturally, and had given her the go-ahead via correspondence to look after all the details.
At the time, Merry had been quite pleased with the success of her idea. Now it seemed like small potatoes, compared to what was going on in her real life.
She had to play matchmaker for only one more couple, and the spell that had been placed on her almost seven years ago by her well-meaning—but nonetheless wicked—godmother, Lissa, would be broken!
Broken, broken, broken. She would go from being this wrinkled, bony, gray-haired old crone back to her gorgeous, young self. Closing her eyes, she remembered what she had once looked like: the flawless skin, the waves of auburn hair, the beautiful figure she had taken so for granted.
Yes, Merry Montrose, aka Princess Meredith Montrosa Bessart, was one match away from being restored to her former fabulous life. Not that managing this very exclusive island resort off the coast of Florida didn’t have moments so rewarding they took her by surprise, but, really—life as a resort manager or life as a princess? The choice was a no-brainer!
She indulged in a moment’s daydreaming. She would be welcomed back to the kingdom of Silestia. There would be parties and celebrations in the streets. She would once again have her life of luxury. She would marry the prince she had been promised to at birth, and their union would provide fabulous business opportunities and contracts. There would be glory and glamour, as was befitting a princess.
But enough daydreaming! The curse had required she match twenty-one couples before her thirtieth birthday. Couple number twenty—that delightful sheik and the lovely Selina Carrington had fallen head over heels for each other—just as Merry had planned. Couple nineteen, Brad Smith and Parris Hammond, were marrying right here at the resort next week.
Time was of the essence now. Only weeks to go before Merry turned thirty. Only one couple left!
Now was not the time for dilly-dallying, but Merry found herself wasting precious moments fretting over who to match. If it was going to be her last effort, she wanted it to be absolutely perfect. Stacks of papers and files and photographs littered her desk as she debated whose lives to meddle in.
“In the loveliest way, of course,” she muttered, holding up a photo of a stunning actress, a regular at La Torchere. “Well beyond her prime,” Merry noted, though not unkindly. She shuffled her photos like cards in a deck and came to La Torchere’s gardener, also beyond his prime. Was it possible?
“Ms. Montrose?” the secretary’s voice came again, uncertainly, over the speakerphone, “Should I send him in?”
“Oh, if you must,” Merry said crabbily and slammed the intercom button with the palm of her hand. She put the actress and gardener aside and picked up a photo of an award-winning nuclear physicist and a belly-button-flaunting rock diva. “Too big a stretch,” she decided unhappily.
There was that new handyman on the place. Gorgeous. Blond, blue-eyed, the build of a Greek god…
A shadow fell over her, and she looked up. The photos fell from her fingers. “You must be Rick Barnett,” she said, her annoyance at this disturbance forgotten.
It’s