Rebecca Daniels - Night Talk

Kristin had been so full of emotion, so intent on getting out all the pent-up anger, she hadn’t really been thinking about what kind of a reaction to expect from him—and for a moment Jake didn’t do anything. He just stood there, staring down at her.

But then the most amazing thing happened. Suddenly he was coming toward her, reaching for her, pulling her close.

“I could have lost you,” he growled, pulling her into him. “I could have lost you.”

His words made their way into her heart and burst through her system like fireworks on the Fourth of July. She forgot about being angry, forgot about being careful and staying in control. Suddenly she understood there were some things worth suffering for—and in that moment she knew Jake Hayes was one of them.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another fabulous month of the most exciting romance reading around. And what better way to begin than with a new TALL, DARK & DANGEROUS novel from New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann? Night Watch has it all: an irresistible U.S. Navy SEAL hero, intrigue and danger, and—of course—passionate romance. Grab this one fast, because it’s going to fly off the shelves.

Don’t stop at just one, however. Not when you’ve got choices like Fathers and Other Strangers, reader favorite Karen Templeton’s newest of THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY. Or how about Dead Calm, the long-awaited new novel from multiple-award-winner Lindsay Longford? Not enough good news for you? Then check out new star Brenda Harlen’s Some Kind of Hero, or Night Talk, from the always-popular Rebecca Daniels. Finally, try Trust No One, the debut novel from our newest find, Barbara Phinney.

And, of course, we’ll be back next month with more pulse-pounding romances, so be sure to join us then. Meanwhile…enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

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will never forget the first time she read a Silhouette novel. “I was at my sister’s house, sitting by the pool and trying without much success to get interested in the book I’d brought from home. Everything seemed to distract me—the dog, the kids, the seagulls. Finally, my sister plucked the book from my hands, told me she was going to give me something I wouldn’t be able to put down and handed me my first Silhouette novel. Guess what? She was right! For that lazy afternoon by her pool, I will forever be grateful.” From that day on, Rebecca has been writing romance novels and loving every minute of it.

Born in the Midwest but raised in Southern California, she now resides in the scenic coastal community of Santa Barbara with her two sons. She loves early-morning walks along the beach, bicycling, hiking, an occasional round of golf and hearing from her fans. You can e-mail Rebecca at rdaniels93111@hotmail.com.

TYVMFE! And for Jackson Jerome Phillips:

Aunt Nell has a place at the table for you.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

“He said he couldn’t go that long, you know, without…er…without it.”

“Without sex?”

“He’s a man, he has needs.”

“And this was while you were in traction.”

“Right, for six weeks. He said it would just be for then, just while I…couldn’t. H-he promised it would stop after that, he wouldn’t see her anymore once I was…well, once we could…we could…”

“We get the idea. And that was okay with you?”

“He’s a man, he has—”

“Needs, yeah, you mentioned that.”

“But then, when I got home from the hospital I found it. The letter.”

“The Dear Jane.”

“Yes.”

“And he was long gone, right?”

“He went with her to Alaska. They’re going to look for gold.”

“Gold? Oh brother!”

“Gold? You mean like prospect?”

“Yeah, that’s why he said he needed my truck.”

“Your truck?”

“It’s four-wheel drive, he had to borrow it, you know, to get up into the mountain.”

“He didn’t borrow it, lady, he stole it.”

“He took your truck without checking with you first?”

“He just borrowed it. He promised to bring it back once they struck it rich.”

“I don’t call that borrowing, Sally. I call it grand theft auto.”

Jake smiled.

“But I miss him, Jane.”

“Oh jeez, lady, give me a break.”

“Sally, my dear girl, give me a break. You don’t miss this guy, you escaped him. He didn’t leave you, he did you a favor.”

Jake’s smile widened. It wasn’t the first time they’d thought alike. “You tell her, Jane.”

“Count yourself lucky all this relationship cost you was your truck.”

“But…but I love him.”

“Well, if you do, he doesn’t deserve your love, Sally. But there will be someone who does. Anybody agree? Anybody out there have advice for Sally Sad in Savannah, or a story of the love you’ve lost that you’d like to share? Let’s hear from you, 1–800–NIGHT TALK. This is ‘Lost Loves’ and I’m your host, Dear Jane—Jane Streeter—and here’s a little smooth jazz to soothe those aching hearts.”

Jake stretched back as best he could in the narrow lawn chair, listening to the sultry tones of the saxophone drift out from the speaker and up into the night sky. It was late, too late, and he needed to be up early in the morning, but he wasn’t sleepy. He’d gotten caught up in the music and the stories from callers who had phoned into the late-night radio program, caught up in the soft, velvety voice of Dear Jane.

Of course, if anyone were ever to ask, he would deny it to the death that he was part of the legion of listeners across the country who tuned in to the popular call-in program. After all, real men didn’t listen to programs called “Lost Loves.” They went for things like sports and hard-core news. But when you live alone at the top of a mountain, the nights get to be long, and the low, sultry voice of Jane Streeter helped fill the hours.

A tiny flicker of light glimmered suddenly out of the blackness from the far side of the canyon below. Jake sat up, automatically reaching for his binoculars. No flame, no fire, nothing to get excited about, but he would check it out anyway.

He focused the high-powered lens on the tiny spot of light. Just the pale beam from the headlights of a lone vehicle on the narrow mountain road. Too late for campers to be out. Besides, it was off-season. The campground wasn’t set to open for another six weeks yet. More likely one of the handful of locals who lived year-round in the tiny fishing village of Vega Flats, which was three thousand feet and fifteen very rugged miles below his mountaintop perch. It was probably Mac making his way back to his cabin on the ridge after closing up the tavern in town, or maybe Ruby from the bait shop, out looking for night crawlers or tracking down one of her stray colts from the small herd of free-roaming horses she raised.