Page 15 of 5 Golden Flings

‘Thank you,” she said dryly to her husband.

“A man has to learn how to swear, right?” Hatch asked William as he tickled the fat little tummy before setting the toddler on his feet.

“Wight!”

When William had run off, Hatch pulled her close and rested his cheek on top of hers. “When you showed up in Nevada, I was afraid you’d come to tell me you wanted a divorce.”

“When I went to Nevada, I was afraid you didn’t want me anymore.”

“You were wrong.”

“So were you. I know I can be stodgy and get stuck in my routine, but I took a risk because I didn’t want us to grow apart.” That was the worry that had gnawed at her, the sense of being too separated from her husband.

“After the shock wore off, after I caught on to your stranger-danger game, I was so turned on I thought I’d explode.”

“Maybe I’ll take risks more often,” she purred as she went on tiptoe to kiss him. When her feet hit the floor again she turned to look at the gorgeous dragon ornament sitting in pride of place in the middle of her holiday-decorated table. She could almost swear the ornament winked.

ABOUT LINDA HOWARD

Linda Howard began writing when dirt was still new. She sold her first book in 1980, and her 25th book, Dream Man, in 1995, was the first in a long line of books to make the New York Times Bestseller List. She lives in Alabama with her husband of fifty years and a three-year-old Golden Retriever who owns both of them.

LindaHowardBooks.com

ALSO BY LINDA HOWARD

After Sundown

(written with Linda Jones)

Blood Born

(written with Linda Jones)

The Woman Left Behind

Troublemaker

Cry No More

Mr. Perfect

Son of the Morning

See more at her website.

A CHRISTMAS CRUSH

LINDA WINSTEAD JONES

CHAPTER 1

Molly had followedthe droning directions from the app on her phone since the start of her trip. Thanks to a wreck on the interstate and a last minute turn to avoid sitting in traffic for a while, she found herself on a winding back road with no end in sight. Had the supposedly infallible app led her astray? For the last half hour her options for fuel had been limited, as in nonexistent. Why was the detour so long? Maybe she’d taken a wrong turn, though according to the app she was on track.

Once she had a chance to stop and check out the next scheduled turn she’d have a better idea of what was ahead, but she didn’t dare try to deal with a map on her phone while she drove. The curves insisted she pay attention. The only radio station she could pick up well playednothingbut Christmas music, a mix of old and new. Bing Crosby might be followed by Pentatonix or Mariah Carey. As long as she didn’t have to listen to the one about a hippopotamus again.

She really should’ve spent the night in a hotel along the way instead of powering through, leaving Knoxville before the crack of dawn in order to make it to the resort tonight. The call of the gulf breeze had been too tempting; the idea of sitting on abalcony and listening to the waves spoke to her, after the month she’d had. Even before the detour, heavy traffic had added more time to the trip than she’d anticipated.

With her gas tank and her stomach on empty, a big truck stop with an attached fast food restaurant would’ve been nice. There didn’t seem to be much of anything on this route. A few houses. A restaurant that looked to have been shuttered a couple decades ago. Farmland. Cows. Trees. The occasional narrow side road that would lead to who knows where.

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