“What I need is a bridegroom and temporary husband.”
Cara leaned into Neil, burrowing her cheek against his shoulder. “It wouldn’t be a bad deal for a man who liked Italian food,” she said with an attempt at humor. “You’ve eaten my lasagna.”
“I sure have, and you’re tempting me to volunteer.”
“I wish.” She kissed him on the cheek and stepped away, gazing at him searchingly. “You wouldn’t really consider a pretend marriage, would you, Neil?”
“No, because you’re not serious about it,” he chided her.
But the look on Cara’s face said she was very serious.
And he was seriously tempted!
Dear Reader,
While every romance holds the promise of sweeping readers away with a rugged alpha male or a charismatic cowboy, this month we want to take a closer look at the women who fall in love with our favorite heroes.
“Heroines need to be strong,” says Sherryl Woods, author of more than fifty novels. “Readers look for a woman who can stand up to the hero—and stand up to life.” Sherryl’s book A Love Beyond Words features a special heroine who lost her hearing but became stronger because of it. “A heroine needs to triumph over fear or adversity.”
Kate Stockwell faces the fear of knowing she cannot bear her own child in Allison Leigh’s Her Unforgettable Fiancé, the next installment in the STOCKWELLS OF TEXAS miniseries. And an accident forces Josie Scott, Susan Mallery’s LONE STAR CANYON heroine in Wife in Disguise, to take stock of her life and find a second chance….
In Peggy Webb’s Standing Bear’s Surrender, Sarah Sloan must choose between loyalty and true love! In Separate Bedrooms…? by Carole Halston, Cara LaCroix is faced with fulfilling her grandmother’s final wish—marriage! And Kirsten Laurence needs the help of the man who broke her heart years ago in Laurie Campbell’s Home at Last.
“A heroine is a real role model,” Sherryl says. And in Special Edition, we aim for every heroine to be a woman we can all admire. Here’s to strong women and many more emotionally satisfying reads from Silhouette Special Edition!
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
Separate Bedrooms…?
Carole Halston
CAROLE HALSTON
is a native of south Louisiana, where she lives with her sea-faring husband, Monty, in a rural area on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, near New Orleans.
Fans can write Carole at P.O. Box 1095, Madisonville, LA 70447. For a free autographed bookmark, they should send a self-addressed, stamped business-size envelope. Romance readers can visit Carole’s Web site by first accessing http://www.eHarlequin.com.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
“Who’s next, please?” Neil asked as his customer turned to leave with a newly purchased set of brake pads. Half a dozen people were milling about near the long counter of the auto parts store Neil managed and would eventually own after he’d finished buying out his father’s interest.
Why hadn’t Cara come out of the office to help out? he wondered, looking over his shoulder. It wasn’t her job to wait on customers, but Cara was the type of loyal employee who pitched in and did whatever needed to be done without being asked. She knew the whole operation of the business about as well as he did. After all, she’d worked at Griffin Auto Parts either part-time or full-time since she was fifteen, and she’d celebrated her twenty-ninth birthday a couple of months ago.
Through the plate-glass wall, Neil spotted Cara’s glossy black curls and frowned, instantly concerned. Seated at her desk and gazing at a computer screen, she was blotting tears from pink cheeks with a tissue. As though sensing his scrutiny, she turned her head and saw him.
Hey, what’s wrong? he telegraphed.
She managed a brave smile and waggled her hand, mouthing the words, I’m okay.
“I guess I’m next,” a woman said, repeating herself with a hint of impatience. Reluctantly Neil returned his attention to his customer, who fished around in her purse for a full minute before she finally pulled out a receipt. “My husband sent me to pick up this part he ordered a couple of days ago. Someone called and said it had come in.”
“That was me who called.” Cara spoke from beside him, her voice slightly husky. She took the receipt from Neil’s hand. “Let me take care of this. You can help someone else who might need some automotive expertise.”
“Thanks, Cara,” Neil said. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze that not only spoke his gratitude, but offered comfort for whatever was troubling her.
It was old habit to feel protective and brotherly toward Cara LaCroix, whose name gave clues to her mixed Italian and Cajun French ancestry. He’d known her since she was born. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood right here in Hammond, Louisiana. An only child, Neil was five years older than Cara, the youngest of eight. For some reason, she’d always seemed to idolize him, and he’d thought she was cute as could be with her plump little body, big brown eyes and tangle of black curls.
Neil had picked her up off the sidewalk on any number of occasions when she’d toppled her tricycle. He’d brushed away her tears with awkward tenderness and given her a pep talk. When she’d graduated to a bicycle, he’d done repairs—tightening the chain when it came loose or adjusting the seat. He was enrolled in college by the time she’d become a teenager and begun dating. Instead of turning to her brothers for advice about boys, she’d come to Neil. He’d always listened and tried to be wise.
Before the day was over, Neil figured he would learn what was bothering Cara. He hoped it was nothing serious. If there was a problem he could help solve, well, he wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever was in his power to bring a happy smile back to her pretty face. One of his main pleasures in life now was being around Cara and enjoying her full-fledged love of life.
Customers continued to arrive in a steady stream right through the noon hour. Finally about two-thirty, business slacked off to a more normal flow that Neil’s two sales clerks, Jimmy Boudreaux and Peewee Oliver, could easily handle.
“You eat lunch yet, Boss?” asked Peewee, an African-American man in his late twenties whose nickname certainly didn’t describe his muscular build.
Cara had just come out of the office. She answered for Neil. “No, he hasn’t eaten.” She spoke to Neil, “I ordered you a roast beef po’boy earlier. It’s in the refrigerator.”
“Thanks,” Neil said, smiling his appreciation. “That was sweet of you.”
“Somebody has to see that