“My letter of resignation is printing now.”
“Lizzy, it might take you a year to land a comparable position. Are you prepared to give up everything?” Cameron asked.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“Then I hope you’ve got cable. That’s a lot of time to spend alone.”
Her fussy movements stilled. “What makes you think I’ll be alone?”
“No offense, honey, but your social life isn’t exactly active. By choice, I’m sure,” he added hastily and much too late.
Ten years she’d waited for him to call her honey, to see his eyes warm with tenderness. But not out of pity.
Deep in that place where insecurity and pride waged war in a woman’s soul, the latter raised a mighty sword and sounded a Valkyrie battle cry.
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Please don’t worry about me. I won’t be alone. Along with finding a new job, I’ll be starting a second career. The most exciting and challenging one any woman can have.”
“And in plain English that would mean?”
That I’m through settling for what I can get. “It means I’m getting married, Cameron. If you really want what’s best for me, you’ll wish me well.”
Dear Reader,
I’ve been an executive in a large financial institution, a co-owner of an advertising agency and a novelist. Each career has provided moments of profound satisfaction, tremendous frustration and everything in between. Sound familiar?
Of course it does. I’ve described the lives of Superromance readers.
Whether you work outside the home or in, own a huge corporation or a mom-and-pop business, you’re required to squeeze too many responsibilities into too little time for too little money and too little appreciation. That’s not a whine. That’s human nature. And life in the world today.
At times, professional goals clash with personal ones, and difficult choices must be made. I hope each and every hardworking one of you enjoys Cameron and Elizabeth’s romance and personal journey. As they learn to redefine “success,” perhaps you’ll be reminded of a truth easily forgotten during hectic stressful days. It comes from a poster hanging in my office, and I share the words with you gladly:
“Happiness is not based on possessions, power or prestige, but on relationships with people we love and respect.”
Warmly,
Jan Freed
Jan is a recipient of RT’s Reviewer’s Choice Award, and a multiple RITA Award nominee. She loves to hear from readers, and invites you to write her at: 1860 FM 359, PMB 206; Richmond, TX, 77469. Or visit her Web site at: www.superauthors.com.
The Last Man in Texas
Jan Freed
To Lesa and Steve Moller,
orange-blooded Austinites, master raconteurs
and my favorite twin sister and brother-in-law.
Hook ’em Horns!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
WELL, HELL. He looked more like one of America’s Most Wanted Criminals than one of Austin’s Ten Most Eligible Bachelors.
Cameron Malloy snapped open the newspaper wider—and really wished he hadn’t.
Sharp movements, bad! Slow movements, tolerable. Hangover 101 basics a worldly thirty-two-year-old bachelor shouldn’t forget.
As pain reverberated inside his skull, he cursed last night’s wedding reception. And champagne. The fact that he’d even touched the fizzing stuff, Queen-Mother-of-morning-after headaches, proved he wasn’t as unaffected by months of stress as he pretended. Unclenching his molars, he relaxed by degrees.
Okay. The pain was receding. He just might live, after all. Forcing his attention back to the double-page feature article, he concentrated blearily on the other nine photographs. Informal poses all, taken of each interviewed subject “on the job.” Not a threatening face among them. At least, not in the escaped convict mug shot sense. He supposed one could argue subtle nuances of definition and make a case against bachelor number two.
The poor schmuck had been caught with his eyes three-quarters closed, transforming his slight smile into a sleazy leer. Less than reassuring in any physician. Downright creepy in a pediatrician.
And bachelor number eight wasn’t much better. Behind that startled scarecrow expression, there had to be a brain. The guy was top dog at S-mart Computers, the cutting-edge leader in built-to-order computer hardware manufacturing. Still…he looked like he’d stayed a leee-tle too long in the poppy fields on his way to Oz. Cameron’s spirits lifted.
He swiveled toward his desk and reached carefully for his coffee. Maybe he’d overreacted. He did that a lot, according to Lizzy. Taking a sip, he re-studied his own photograph through a mist of rising steam.
His wince had nothing to do with the scalding liquid, and everything to do with his hot-tempered image on the page.
The lens had captured him leaning over Malloy Marketing’s conference room table, his braced arms straddling an accordion stack of client billing statements, his murderous expression yelling loud and clear “Get out before I break that camera and your nose!”
Damn. Even the lech and dimwit came across better.
Of course, they hadn’t been ambushed by a sneaky photographer intent on