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Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.
Lost
The joy of motherhood. Skylar Diamond was a successful fashion designer now, but the regret she harbored at the long-ago decision to give up her baby haunted her still.
Found
A grown-up daughter and an overprotective father. Sheriff Noah Beaufort didn’t appreciate a high-society type nosing around his town, watching his daughter, Lauren. Then Lauren took a fancy to the woman, and in spite of himself, so did Noah. But he was too good a lawman to trust her motives. Something was definitely suspicious....
“Come in, if you dare.”
Ashley peeked around the edge of the door. “I can come back later if this is a bad time.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Kyle walked out of the kitchen, a glass of water in one hand, Casey riding the opposite hip. He was barefoot, unshaven, dressed in a stained T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts adorned with fuzz from Casey’s new baby blanket. But Casey was smiling at him and clenching her fingers about his nose. He pried her fingers loose and tickled her tummy. She laughed out loud and then poked a thumb into her mouth and rested her head on Kyle’s shoulder.
Something tightened in Ashley’s chest and she found it difficult to breathe. “I know I look like something Mikasa dragged in from beneath the stairwell,” he said, “but you don’t have to stare at me like that.”
She kept staring, mesmerized. She’d never seen him look worse. She’d never wanted a man more. The feeling scared her to death. She took a step backward.
“Do I look that bad?”
“No, you look—fine.”
“Now you’re lying for sure. But lie all you want. Just don’t leave, unless you want to hear a grown man cry.”
Dear Reader,
I was thrilled when I was invited to be part of the Trueblood, Texas continuity project, and it turned out to be as much fun as I expected. Not only did I team up with some great writers, but I got to help create the wonderful Garrett family. They reminded me so much of some of the warm and close-knit Texas families I know. It was easy for me to understand how growing up as a Garrett would have a profound effect on forming my heroine’s character. I loved watching Ashley Garrett unfold and change as she interacted not only with her family, but with her sexy but complex neighbor and the precious, abandoned baby girl. By the time the story concluded, they had all walked off the pages and into my heart. I hope the characters in Surprise Package touch you as they did me.
I love to hear from readers. You can contact me through my website, joannawayne.com.
Joanna Wayne
www.millsandboon.co.uk
THE TRUEBLOOD LEGACY
THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the Great War in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.
The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.
The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.
The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.
None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprece-dented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.
But in one house, there was still hope.
Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, leaving their Quaker roots behind.
Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.
Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.
Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.
Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son, Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from grow-ing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.
And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would become famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their
families. After reading notices in newspapers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grand-parents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.
Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.
At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anniversary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.
Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Elizabeth Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Elizabeth married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965, and gave birth to twins Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother, Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.
Joanna Wayne is acknowledged as the author of this work.
I’d like to give special acknowledgment to Rick Redmann for his valuable input on the business of advertising. I’d also like to thank Emilie Richards, who taught the creative writing class that got me started writing romance suspense and remains a wonderful friend. And to Wayne, always.
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 SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
COWBOYS. Ranchers. Cattle. Beef.
Ashley Garrett typed in the words, Times New Roman font, eighteen point, and ran them across the page in the shape of a galloping horse.
Her mission was to put them all together and come up with an ad campaign and a slogan that was so terrific it would be on the lips and in the minds of every Texas citizen. In the process, she would put her name on the map—along with the Texas Ranchers Association, of course.
This was her biggest account to date, a chance to leap a few rungs up the advertising success ladder and put her one step closer to some swanky office on Manhattan’s famed Madison Avenue. Let other women marry and cook pot roasts. She’d influence what their kids wore, the kind of car they drove and where they’d buy their groceries.
But for now, it was sell the Texas Ranchers Association. Sell beef. Sell an image. The task had seemed so easy when Mr. Clintock of Clintock, Mitchum and O’Connell had offered her the plum account. Four days later, she was drowning in insipid, languishing in schmaltz, when what she needed was a spark of genius. Of course, she’d let the Creative Department guys in on the fun eventually, but she wanted to be the mind behind the idea, not just a facilitator.
Stretching her fingers and placing them back on her trusty keyboard, she prepared herself for another go at releasing a rush of ingenious juices. When in doubt, start with a cowboy. They were sexy, virile, rugged, totally masculine. Except for the ones who were dirty, sweaty and smelled of cattle droppings.
“Wrong mind-set, Ashley Garrett.”
Talking to herself again—a sure sign she’d been punching keys and staring at the screen on her computer too long. Fingering her favorite silver bracelet, she glanced at the chrome office clock on the wall over her file cabinet. Six-thirty. No wonder the office was so quiet.
Everyone else had gone back to their cozy suburban homes, where, according to someone’s statistics, they could enjoy their four bedrooms, two baths, two and a half children, one dog, one cat and two goldfish. Or else they’d headed over to happy hour at the hotel bar across the street so they could fortify themselves to face their mate and two and a half kids. To each his own.
She had a session scheduled with her personal trainer at seven. She loved saying that. It sounded so impressive. Not that she could afford him on a regular basis, but after one session, she’d been so excited about the results that her brother Dylan had made exercise her Christmas present. He was springing for three months of sessions, two per week. She had six weeks to go, and she could already see progress. By summer, she’d be able to do great things for a bikini.
In a matter of minutes, she’d flicked off her monitor, turned her daily calendar to the next day’s page and straightened her desk, readying it for the morning. Organization was a key factor in maintaining the level of professional excellence she demanded of herself.
Standing, she ran a hand down her skirt, ironing the pleats with her fingers so that they lay straight. The suit was teal, the fabric a silk blend, the workmanship exquisite. The price tag had blown her budget to heck and back, but she couldn’t resist it. Work was her passion, but clothes ran a close second.
The phone rang just as she grabbed her briefcase and threw the leather strap over her shoulder. She considered ignoring it, but thought better of it. It might be her pregnant sister Lily, and who knew what a woman with a stomach the size of a bloated beach ball might need?
“Clintock, Mitchum and O’Connell, Ashley Garrett speaking.”
“So this is where you spend your evenings. What a waste.”
The voice was male and unfamiliar. “May I ask who’s calling?”
“Guess I didn’t make as much of an impression on you as you did on me this morning. I’d recognize that soft, feminine voice of yours anywhere. This is Jim Bob McAllister.”
“Mr. McAllister?”
“Yes ma’am. It’s me.”
The Mr. McAllister from the Ranchers Association. She hadn’t recognized his voice, but she’d make it a point to the next time he called. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about in our meeting, you know, about how to help folks see beef in a new, much more acceptable light. Anyway, I made a few notes this afternoon and I’d like to toss them around with you.”
“Great. You know what you want. I’m just here to put your desires into a total image package. I can see you tomorrow, any time that’s convenient for you.”
“I’d rather make it tonight.”
Yuck. She’d spent an hour with him this morning, and enough was enough. “Are you still in town?”
“Afraid so. I had hoped to drive back to the ranch this afternoon, but my business took longer than I’d planned. So, since I’m still stuck here, how about talking over dinner? My treat.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is to me, little lady. I don’t cotton to women taking out a wallet when they’re out with Jim Bob McAllister.”
Little lady! Gag me with a spoon. But if he wanted to talk business, she couldn’t very well turn him down. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather fax me your ideas? That way you could spend your evening in town with friends and not devote it to business.”
“No, once I get something galloping around in my mind, I just can’t let it go till I’ve put the horse in the stall.”
Which meant there wasn’t an easy way out of this. It could be worse. She’d met him on several occasions before today, mostly at Ranchers Association functions that she’d attended with her dad.
He was a respected rancher and around the same age as her father. Surely he wouldn’t grope her thigh under the table like the last client had after he’d insisted she join him for dinner to discuss the scope of the campaign. She’d told him as nicely as the situation allowed just what he should do with his scope.
“Dinner would be fine, Mr. McAllister, if we can make it around eight-fifteen. Can I meet you somewhere?”
She wrote down the name and address of the restaurant. The office was quiet as she locked up and headed toward the elevator. The parking lot would be even quieter, almost deserted this time of night. It never used to bother her, but ever since her self-acclaimed secret admirer had started leaving cards and flowers attached to her windshield, she was a bit uneasy when leaving the office alone.
Not that she was afraid. It hadn’t happened all that often and the cards were harmless enough, probably someone’s idea of a joke. Besides, her brother Dylan was an ex-cop and he had made sure she was well-trained in the art of self-defense. Pity the poor mugger who mistook her for an easy target.
Still, she walked to her car quickly, anxious to get to the health club as soon as possible so she could finish her session before she met Mr. McAllister.
* * *
ASHLEY PUSHED the breath from her lungs as she pulled her body up in yet another stomach crunch.
“That’s the way,” Bernie encouraged. “Use the stomach muscles, no stress on the back and neck.”
“How many more?” she gasped between breaths.
“Don’t think of it in numbers. Just get in the rhythm of crunch-release. And think what a taut stomach you’re going to have, not that your figure isn’t already great.”
“Then why am I paying for this torture?”
“You’re not. Your brother is. One more. Crrrunch and down and stop.”
She groaned and stayed flat on her back until Bernie took her hands and tugged her to a sitting position.
“We’ve worked on your abs, your stomach and your upper thighs,” he said. “I guess that about does it for this session. Now you can go out and party the night away.”
“Not me. I’m pretty much a dud.”
“Really, I never heard that about you, but I did hear that you’re a workaholic.”
“Who would you hear that from?”
He glanced across the room to where her neighbor Kyle Blackstone was leaning against a weight machine, chatting with a couple of bosomy females in form-fitting tights and clingy tops.
“You surely don’t believe everything Kyle says.”
“I don’t, but the women sure hang on his every word. You’re about the only one in here who doesn’t drool when he shows them a little attention.”
Kyle caught her looking at him and waved. She hated that, but she waved back in what she hoped was a nonchalant, offhand manner. He started over, and her pulse shot up. No need for aerobics when he was around. But she had no intention of letting him know he had that effect on her. He was far too sure of himself as it was. She’d just as soon Bernie not know, either.
“The man spends a lot of time watching you,” Bernie said. “Have you ever been out with him?”
“No.”
“Good. You have a lot more class than those bimbos that follow him around like groupies chasing a rock star.”
“He’s not my type.”
“I don’t think you’ve convinced him of that yet.”
“He’s only interested because he thinks I’m a challenge.” She groaned as she pulled her stressed muscles into a standing position. “Thanks for the session, though I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“No pain, no gain. It’s trite but true.”
Kyle stepped up beside her. “That was quite a workout. If you need someone to massage those aching muscles tonight, I’m available.”
“And just which muscles do you plan on massaging?”
“You name it. I’m very accommodating.”
“I’ll just bet you are.”
“Well, if you don’t want a massage, how about dinner? There’s a new Italian restaurant just a block from our building. The pasta is eccellente and the vino is squisito.” He used his hands, fingers and mouth to add emphasis to his claim.
“And I already have a dinner invitation. Just my luck,” she teased.
He cocked his head to one side and flashed a devastating smile. “We can always do dessert at my place.”
“Dream on.”
“I already am.” He closed his eyes. “Wow! You’re good.”
When he opened his eyes, she closed hers. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” She gave him a playful right cuff to his upper arm. “I’m out of here. Thanks again, Bernie. And, Kyle, happy hunting. I’d hate for you to have to sleep alone tonight.”
She turned and walked away, not stopping until she reached the door to the ladies’ locker room. Bernie and Kyle were still standing together, immersed in conversation. Two very nice-looking men. Bernie had more of the macho build, huge shoulders, well-defined biceps, muscular arms and legs. Kyle was just lean and mean. Rock-hard body. Thick dark hair. Deep-blue eyes that a woman could drown in and never yell for help.
The man was drop-dead gorgeous—but he was not for her, and she needed to keep that thought firmly planted in her mind. The minute she became interested in a man, her life became complicated. The men either became possessive and jealous of the time she spent on her career, or else merely wanted to get her into the sack.
Without a doubt, Kyle fell in the latter category. Turning away from him, literally and figuratively, she pushed through the door of the locker room. She’d have to hurry to be at the restaurant by eight-fifteen, and it wouldn’t be prudent to keep Mr. McAllister waiting.
* * *
ASHLEY STUDIED the menu. The restaurant was pricey for her expense account, but no reason to worry, since McAllister would be picking up the check. She’d offer again anyway. Mr. Clintock had informed her when he’d given her the account that he wanted the Ranchers Association to be extremely happy with both the treatment they received from all employees of the agency and the quality of the finished product.
The waiter stopped at her elbow and asked for their drink order. Jim Bob ordered a vodka martini. She ordered a glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime.
“Nonsense. You need a real drink,” the rancher insisted. “Something to help you relax, so that we can get to know each other better.”
“I never drink when I’m on the job.”
“Then let’s just call this a get-acquainted night. I always work better when I feel I’m in tune with the person I’m working with.”
She cringed at the intimacy that had crept into his tone. It would never have been there if he was talking to Mr. Clintock or any of the other men connected with the firm. It was more of the “little lady” mentality that she hated. Or else Mr. McAllister was not as harmless as she’d assumed.
“What I’m most interested in are your ideas about the ad campaign,” she said, making sure he realized she was here only for business purposes. “I know the Ranchers Association is eager to modernize their image.”
“And Mr. Clintock assured me that you’re the woman who can do that for us.”
She centered her attention on the menu. By the time the waiter returned with their drinks, she’d decided on a green salad and a broiled trout filet. Jim Bob went for the steak, the largest and most expensive cut they offered, with a loaded baked potato and a side order of sautéed mushrooms. He ordered an appetizer of oysters Bienville for the two of them to share and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon with two glasses.
She waited until he’d gulped down half his martini, the time span of about four seconds, before she went back to the subject they had supposedly come to discuss. “Why don’t we start with the ideas you’ve come up with since our meeting this morning? That will give me more insight as to how you see this working.”
His mouth stretched into a smile. “I hate to talk business on an empty stomach. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? And, by the way, the color of that suit really brings out the green of your eyes.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now tell me, what does an attractive little filly like you do for fun?”
“I work.”
“That sounds much too boring, and I have a feeling you’re not a boring lady.”
“Actually, I am.” She sipped her water. “But if you want to know about me, I can certainly give you the details that affect my ability to do my job. I have an undergraduate degree in graphic arts and a master’s degree in commercial advertising. I’ve worked for Clintock, Mitchum and O’Connell for almost two years.”
“And I’m sure you’re very good at what you do. But you can’t just work. As pretty as you are, I bet you have dozens of men on the string.”
“Afraid not. I’ve never wanted the kind of man who would settle for dangling from a string.”
“Then you must break a lot of hearts.”
“None that I know of.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
He scooted the candle from the center of the table. She met his gaze, hopefully achieving the look she was after. Business or nothing. “I’m sure that you’re far more interested in what I can do for the Ranchers Association than you are in my personal life.”
“Everything has a time and a place. Right now it sounds as if you could use more fun in your life. I know this great little club we could visit after dinner.”
Another dirty old man. She’d have to nip in the bud any ideas he had about including her in his extracurricular activities. But she couldn’t nip so sharply that she drew blood, at least not if she could help it. She wanted to keep this account.
“I don’t dance,” she lied, “and I hate nightclubs. The smoke bothers my contact lenses. So let’s talk about you. Let’s see, you’re married and have four children. Am I correct?”
His glowing ardor cooled as quickly as if she’d dumped her glass of water on his head. He downed the rest of his drink and motioned to the waiter to bring him another. After that, he sat quietly for a moment, his hand wrapped around the base of his empty glass while he stared at her from beneath his bushy, salt-and-pepper brows.
“You’re correct,” he said. “I have a lovely family, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the company of a beautiful woman. But if you’re more comfortable talking strictly about business, I can do that, too.”