disappeared into the snow just a few yards from the house.
Tucking the card into her robe pocket with a bemused smile, Grace bumped the door closed with her hip while she peeled the cupcake. After she’d polished it off and disposed of the paper and candle, she went in search of her glasses. Finding them right where she’d left them, she sank back into her well-worn chaise and pulled out the card.
On one side, her name was written in bold, uniform calligraphy. On the other was a short poem.
You made your wish, and so polite!
Now I will grant you one more night…
Grace blinked. “One more night…” How could the girl possibly have known that she’d wished for a night ?
For just a moment, hope fluttered in her breast, but common sense asserted itself immediately. What did she think, that Marina might be some sort of fairy godmother? If anything, she would have to be her fairy goddaughter. And since when is your name Cinderella?
“More like Senior ella,” she muttered under her breath. Grace almost laughed out loud at the visual. Well, she’d lost nothing by making the wish and she wasn’t going to complain—after all, it was the only birthday cake she’d had in years and pretty damn good, to boot. The card might be a bit out there, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Speaking of cards, why hadn’t she grabbed the mail while she was up?
7
Robin L. Rotham
Even knowing there was probably nothing but bills and sales circulars, she scurried back to the door and stepped out onto the porch. When she reached into the mailbox, she thought at first that it was empty. But then her fingers found a postcard.
Yes, Seniorella, you guessed it right—
Now love them ‘til the stroke of midnight.
Her knee-jerk English professor response was, Another trite little rhyme . Then her eyes widened. Seniorella ? She whipped her head from left to right but the girl was nowhere to be seen. Shaking like a leaf, she turned to step back into the house and slipped on the frosty concrete. The last thing she saw was the card flying out of her hand.
8
Seniorella
Chapter Two
“Jesus, Grace, are you okay? Talk to me, honey, please!”
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the battered silver pickup with McLain Homes emblazoned on the driver’s door. Then she looked up. Jared McLain gazed down at her, his dark blond hair falling over his forehead, his roughhewn face creased with concern, and her heart squeezed painfully before starting to race.
Jared—the love of her life and the irresistibly dominant man she’d run away from.
The dominant man who’d been dead for thirty years.
“Jared?” Tears filled her eyes and joy exploded in her chest, bubbling outward until she couldn’t draw a breath. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up. She reached up and ran trembling fingers over his mouth, biting her lip as he kissed the tips. “You’re really here?”
“Of course I’m really here!” He shifted her on his lap until she was sitting up. Then he scowled at her. “And I really would have helped you carry in the groceries if you’d called me.”
All she could do was stare at his beloved face. She was with Jared!
He waved a hand in front of her. “Earth to Grace—are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t answer me the first time.”
She threw her arms around his neck, knocking him backward onto the ice-slicked sidewalk. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you so much!” Her tears ran freely as she dropped urgent kisses down his stubbly cheek. Tucking her face into the collar of his flannel shirt, she sucked in the scent of warm, musky morning man and just about had an orgasm.
Jared’s laughter set off more sparks in her tummy. Squeezing her against his chest, he rumbled, “You just left an hour ago.”
9
Robin L. Rotham
Grace raised her head and looked into his achingly familiar blue eyes. “It was the longest hour of my life,” she choked. Her face crumpled before she dropped her
Tucking the card into her robe pocket with a bemused smile, Grace bumped the door closed with her hip while she peeled the cupcake. After she’d polished it off and disposed of the paper and candle, she went in search of her glasses. Finding them right where she’d left them, she sank back into her well-worn chaise and pulled out the card.
On one side, her name was written in bold, uniform calligraphy. On the other was a short poem.
You made your wish, and so polite!
Now I will grant you one more night…
Grace blinked. “One more night…” How could the girl possibly have known that she’d wished for a night ?
For just a moment, hope fluttered in her breast, but common sense asserted itself immediately. What did she think, that Marina might be some sort of fairy godmother? If anything, she would have to be her fairy goddaughter. And since when is your name Cinderella?
“More like Senior ella,” she muttered under her breath. Grace almost laughed out loud at the visual. Well, she’d lost nothing by making the wish and she wasn’t going to complain—after all, it was the only birthday cake she’d had in years and pretty damn good, to boot. The card might be a bit out there, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Speaking of cards, why hadn’t she grabbed the mail while she was up?
7
Robin L. Rotham
Even knowing there was probably nothing but bills and sales circulars, she scurried back to the door and stepped out onto the porch. When she reached into the mailbox, she thought at first that it was empty. But then her fingers found a postcard.
Yes, Seniorella, you guessed it right—
Now love them ‘til the stroke of midnight.
Her knee-jerk English professor response was, Another trite little rhyme . Then her eyes widened. Seniorella ? She whipped her head from left to right but the girl was nowhere to be seen. Shaking like a leaf, she turned to step back into the house and slipped on the frosty concrete. The last thing she saw was the card flying out of her hand.
8
Seniorella
Chapter Two
“Jesus, Grace, are you okay? Talk to me, honey, please!”
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the battered silver pickup with McLain Homes emblazoned on the driver’s door. Then she looked up. Jared McLain gazed down at her, his dark blond hair falling over his forehead, his roughhewn face creased with concern, and her heart squeezed painfully before starting to race.
Jared—the love of her life and the irresistibly dominant man she’d run away from.
The dominant man who’d been dead for thirty years.
“Jared?” Tears filled her eyes and joy exploded in her chest, bubbling outward until she couldn’t draw a breath. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up. She reached up and ran trembling fingers over his mouth, biting her lip as he kissed the tips. “You’re really here?”
“Of course I’m really here!” He shifted her on his lap until she was sitting up. Then he scowled at her. “And I really would have helped you carry in the groceries if you’d called me.”
All she could do was stare at his beloved face. She was with Jared!
He waved a hand in front of her. “Earth to Grace—are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t answer me the first time.”
She threw her arms around his neck, knocking him backward onto the ice-slicked sidewalk. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you so much!” Her tears ran freely as she dropped urgent kisses down his stubbly cheek. Tucking her face into the collar of his flannel shirt, she sucked in the scent of warm, musky morning man and just about had an orgasm.
Jared’s laughter set off more sparks in her tummy. Squeezing her against his chest, he rumbled, “You just left an hour ago.”
9
Robin L. Rotham
Grace raised her head and looked into his achingly familiar blue eyes. “It was the longest hour of my life,” she choked. Her face crumpled before she dropped her
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