Somebody to Love Read online

  Dedication

  To Gayle and Ron Harris, owners of Books and Crannies in Terrell, the best little bookstore in Texas! Your warmth and hospitality made me feel right at home. You two are an unsung treasure, and your own romance is the stuff of legends.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  An excerpt from One True Love

  About the Author

  By Lori Wilde

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Archaeology: The scientific study of material evidence to find out about human cultures of the past.

  Dear Cupid,

  I’ve gone and ruined everything by falling in love with my best friend. Now, not only have I lost my lover, I’ve lost the one person in the world that I could tell anything to. But that’s not the half of it. I thought I was doing a good thing by searching for something meaningful. People accused me of being frivolous and shallow, so I was determined to earn a little respect, prove I could commit, dig deep, find my roots, and discover who and what I am. Guess what? I did and that’s what started all the trouble. The things I have uncovered could destroy people I love. I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know how much longer I can hang on. Help!

  Spontaneous to a Fault

  Zoey McCleary quivered atop Widow’s Peak on private land, directly across from Mount Livermore, the very spot where her parents had died more than twenty years earlier in an airplane crash that had also severely wounded her older sister, Natalie, while she had come out of the accident without a scrape.

  Not so lucky now, huh, McCleary. Looks like you’ve used up the last of your nine lives.

  In her hand she crushed the crumpled letter she’d written to Cupid the previous evening. Last night, she thought she’d smacked rock bottom. Now she fully understood how much farther she had to fall.

  She stared down the sixty-five hundred feet to the town of Cupid, Texas, nestled in the cradle of the Davis Mountains. It was the only home she’d ever known. The town had been named after an impressive seven-foot stalagmite found in the local caverns that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Roman god of love. Local legend had it that if you wrote a letter, begging for divine intervention, Cupid would grant your wish. Her family on the Greenwood-Fant side was steeped neck deep in the lore, the lot of them avid beseechers of Cupid’s goodwill.

  It was total romantic bullshit and she knew it. Writing that letter spoke to precisely how desperate she was. Forgone conclusion—when a girl turned to a mythological cherub for Hail Mary help, she was seriously screwed.

  However, it was the other side of the family that had driven her up the mountain, McClearys and their dark, ancestral secret.

  Her pulse beat a hot stampede across her eardrums; she was exposed and vulnerable, stiff with fear, tension strained muscles, sweat slicked skin, nicks and scratches oozed blood, lungs flapped with the excruciating pain of trying to draw in air after a dead run up the mountain.

  Heat from the setting summer sun warmed her cheeks. Desert wind whipped through the Davis Mountains, blowing sandy topsoil over her face. She licked her dry lips, tasted grit. On three sides of her yawned sheer drop-off. Overhead, a dozen buzzards circled.

  Waiting.

  Something tickled her cheek, feather-soft and startling as the sweet sensation of an unexpected midnight kiss. She gasped and brushed at her face, her work-roughened fingertips scratching her skin, and for one crazy moment she thought, Jericho.

  But of course it wasn’t Jericho. It was merely the caress of a passing cloud. Her impulsiveness had driven her here before she’d had a chance to tell him she loved him as more than just a friend, and now she would never have that chance.

  She put her palm to her lips, kissed it, whispered, “Jericho,” and blew the kiss into the gathering mist. “I’ll love you throughout all eternity.”

  From behind her, she heard her pursuers crashing through the aspen and madrone trees, cursing black ugly threats. They were coming for her. This was it, the end of the trail, the end of the world, the end of her, and nowhere left to go but down.

  The thundering footsteps were nearer now, closing in. Soon, her trackers would emerge from the forest and join her on the skinned, igneous peak.

  Her heart took flight, faster than a hummingbird and thudding with jumpy brutality. Panic shuddered her bones. She could not stop trembling no matter how hard she willed it.

  Teeth chattered. Knees wobbled. Nostrils flared.

  Don’t just stand there. Do something! Do something!

  But what?

  There was only one solution, only one clear way out.

  Zoey gathered her courage, took her last deep breath, and jumped.

  Chapter 1

  Flake: To remove a stone fragment from a core or tool.

  Six weeks earlier …

  THE mewling was so soft that Zoey almost didn’t hear it. She had just slung her backpack onto the passenger seat of the Cupid’s Rest Bed-and-Breakfast van parked in the student lot at Sul Ross University, anthropology and archaeology textbooks spilling out, and stuck the keys into the ignition when something caused her to stop, cock her head, and listen.

  “Mew.”

  Faint. Helpless.

  She plastered a shaky hand to her chest. Holy freak-out. Was there a kitty hiding inside the engine? If she had started the van … Zoey gulped against that grisly scenario, popped the hood latch, unbuckled her seat belt, and got out. Raising the hood, she peered into the engine. No cat. That was good, right?

  “Mew.”

  She muscled closer, angling her neck to get a good look at nooks and crannies hidden amid hoses and gears and whatnot. “C’mon little sucker, where are you?”

  “Mew.”

  Hmm. Sounded like it could be coming from underneath the van. Zoey bent over to take a look, her brown-sugar colored ponytail flopping down over her head and brushing the ground. She spied a tiny kitten with bluish-white body fur and a slate gray face, curled up tight against the back tire. A blue-point Siamese.

  “Ooh, look at you, pretty baby. Where did you come from, little guy? Or gal, whatevs.”

  The kitten narrowed its eyes as if to say, I’ll never tell the likes of you my secrets.

  “Kitty, kitty, kitty.” She moved to the rear of the van, crouched down, and rubbed her fingertips together as if she had a tasty treat she was willing to share. “You gotta come out from under there so I can go home.”

  The trembling Siamese boldly met her stare. It might be scared, but it was scrappy. Gently, she moved to close her hand around the kitten, but it sprinted to the back tire on the opposite side of the van.

  She tracked around to the other side and got down on her hands and knees. “Hey there. Still me. I didn’t go anywhere. Here’s the deal, I can’t go anywhere and risk squashing you, so it would really benefit us both if you’d let me help you.”

  The kitten darted back to the other tire.

  “Not buying it, huh?” She sighed, got up, and returned to the other side. This time, she lay on her belly against the warm asphalt and walked two fingers toward the woebegone cre
ature. “Look, I get that you’re all stealth ninja kitty and everything, kudos on the mad sprinting skills by the way, but I gotta go.”

  “Rrrowww.” Fur bristling, the kitten arched its back, sent her a get-the-hell-away-from-me-beeotch-or-you’ll-be-sorry-you-didn’t-make-out-your-will hiss and swatted a warning paw.

  “Seriously, I can’t be late again for the luncheon meeting of volunteers who answer the lonely hearts letters written to Cupid. I’m already skating the razor’s edge with that bunch over my habitual tardiness and yes, while it is sorta hypocritical of me to give advice to the brokenhearted when I myself have never actually been in love, somebody’s got to answer those letters and you don’t look as if you’ve got a mind to do it for me. And even if you were willing, there’s the whole no opposable thumbs issue. Sorry if that hurts your feelings, just stating the facts.”

  The kitten’s fur settled back into place and he or she canted its head as if trying to figure what she was yammering about. It was so darned cute and the talking did seem to help.

  “If I’m not really qualified to answer the letters and I can’t seem to show up on time, why don’t I just quit? Good question, Egbert. You don’t mind if I call you Egbert, do you? Unless it’s Egbertlina. Is it Egbertlina? I can’t really tell from here if you’re a boy or a girl, but to answer your question, it’s this whole family obligation thing. We—just to clarify, that’s me and my sister, Natalie—are descended from Millie Greenwood, the woman who started this whole letter-writing mess when she wrote a letter to Cupid asking him to help her snare her true love, John Fant and it worked stupendously. He dumped Elizabeth Nielson at the altar for Millie, who was just a poor housemaid. It’s all terribly romantic.”

  Her sister, Natalie was enamored of that legend, but to Zoey, it was all a bunch of blah, blah about long-dead people. Then again, if she were being honest, jealousy could have something to do with her lack of interest. Unlike her sister, she wasn’t the oldest daughter of the oldest daughter of the oldest daughter of Millie Greenwood. She had no real stake in keeping the fairy tale alive.

  As she spoke, Zoey slowly inched her hand closer to the Siamese.

  The kitten’s hair flared again.

  Zoey backed off.

  She fumbled in the pocket of her blue jean shorts for her cell phone, and flicked it on to check the time. Twenty minutes to twelve. No way was she going to make it to the meeting on time, especially since she still had to drive the thirty miles from Alpine to Cupid.

  Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from noon to one-thirty, the volunteers met to answer letters from the lovelorn written to Cupid. The letter-writing tradition had started in the 1930s after the Depression hit and the town had a desperate need of extra income and did anything they could to encourage tourism. Grandmother Rose had spearheaded the campaign, gathering some of the local women to answer the overwhelming number of letters that people left at the base of the Cupid stalagmite inside the Cupid Caverns. At first, the replies to the letters were left on a bulletin board posted outside the caverns, but that became unwieldy, and in the 1940s someone had the idea of doing away with the bulletin board and instead printing the letters and “Cupid’s” reply in a free weekly newspaper that was paid for, and distributed by, local businesses. Great marketing ploy, but somebody had to answer all those freaking letters.

  Should she call her sister and say she was going to be late or roll the dice and see if she could get there in the nick of time if she drove hell-bent for leather?

  If you get another speeding ticket, they’ll cancel your insurance.

  Dammit. She ducked her head under the van again. “I don’t mean to scare you, kiddo, but this standoff isn’t working for me. Something’s gotta give, so if you want to spit and hiss, have at it.”

  The kitten arched its spine, flattened its ears, took her suggestion, and hissed long and loud.

  Blowing out her breath, she got serious with kitty. “No more pussyfooting around. You cannot stay under the van. This is nonnegotiable.”

  The Siamese slapped her hand with amazingly sharp little claws, managed to make contact with her index finger and draw blood.

  “Ouch.” She popped her finger into her mouth. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a vicious little cuss?”

  “Hey there, Zoe-Eyes,” oozed a deep, masculine voice.

  Only one person called her that. She jumped to her feet, spun around, and came face to face with six-foot-two-inches of lean, raven-haired he-man.

  Zoey grinned from ear-to-ear at the sight of her very best friend in the whole wide world. “Jericho Hezekiah Chance!”

  He held out his arms and she flew across the asphalt to throw herself into them, his familiar scent enveloping her in his hearty hug. But while his scent might have been familiar, there was something decidedly different. His muscles were leaner, harder, and his eyes darker, warier. And the way he held her not the easy camaraderie of old, all loose-limbed and casual. Now there was a tightness about him that set her heart knocking against her chest. What the hell?

  She tilted her chin up

  He smiled down at her.

  “How did you know it was me?” she asked, surprised her voice came out stunted and breathless.

  “I’d recognize that cute fanny anywhere.”

  Her skin tingled electrically. Whenever he said things like that, her naughty thoughts went to … well … places where they had no business going. Their relationship was strictly platonic, always had been, always would be, but sometimes she couldn’t help wondering if he wanted more from her and that made her want more from him and wanting more was perilous territory.

  Zoey pulled back. “It was the Cupid’s Rest van. That’s how you knew it was me, not my fanny.” Ugh, why had she repeated the word “fanny”? She put a hand to her backside. Stop calling attention to it! She dropped her arm, forced a laugh.

  His smile turned wicked. “Uh-huh. That’s it. The van.”

  What did that smile mean? Was he flirting with her? Once upon a time, she thought so, but then she’d pulled a bonehead move and kissed him and he’d been horrified, and things had been weird between them for months afterward. She was not going to make that mistake again.

  Put away the second-guessing. He’s your friend. That’s it. Too bad, since Jericho was endlessly hot. If he wasn’t her best friend … But he was, wasn’t he? Forget it. With her palm, she shaded her eyes from the sun.

  He possessed skin the color of a walnut hull, and normally, he sported a five o’clock shadow, but today he was freshly shaven and had on a gray business suit with somber blue tie. She couldn’t ever recall seeing him in a suit before. Why was her cowboy archaeologist in a suit and tie? His cheekbones were razor-sharp and his nose had a slight bump at the bridge that, along with his dark eyebrows, gave him a hawkish appearance. At first glance, no one pegged him for a science nerd, but he spent as much time indoors analyzing, cataloging, and teaching as he did outdoors digging up artifacts.

  “You should wear sunglasses,” he said. “Protect your eyes.”

  “You’re not wearing them.”

  He patted the front pocket of his suit jacket. “Took them off when I spied you. Had to get an unobstructed view. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Is something wrong?”

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “You can’t hide anything from me. I know you too well. Something’s up.”

  He paused. “Mallory and I broke up.”

  Oh goody. Okay, that was tacky. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You guys were so good together, two peas in a pod—introspective, quiet, and cerebral.”

  “That was part of the problem. We were too much alike.”

  “What happened?” She held up a stop-sign palm. “No wait, save that story. We’ll go out drinking. Wednesday is half-price beer night at Chantilly’s. You can tell me all about it then.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t need a shoulder to cry on. It was a long time coming.”

/>   “So what are you doing here dressed like a banker?” She plucked a fine piece of lint off his lapel.

  A sudden stillness settled over him that was both patient and predatory, the same darkly fascinating threat as a Big Bend mountain lion methodically stalking prey. What was this? Something was decidedly different. There was a hard-edged steeliness to him that hadn’t been there before. He’d left Cupid not much more than a boy, but he’d returned a fully developed man. Unnerved, she dropped her arms and stepped back.

  “I’ve got a one o’clock job interview at the Center for Big Bend Studies.”

  “You’re way early.”

  “I know. I was nervous. Didn’t want to be late.”

  “Is this for the position Dr. Keen vacated?”

  “It is.”

  “You scoundrel!” Playfully, she swatted his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were applying?”

  “I didn’t want to jinx it. Besides, I wanted to surprise you.”

  She beamed up at him. “Best surprise I’ve had all week.”

  “Wish me luck. I understand there’s been over thirty applicants.”

  “Pfft. With your credentials the competition doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “It’s not as cut and dried as all that.” He swept his dark gaze over the length of her body.

  A strange shiver started at the bottom of her spine, but she managed to suppress it, clapping her hands more to get back on keel than anything else. When in doubt, rah, rah, rah always worked. “I’m so excited. Will you be living in Alpine or coming home to Cupid?”

  “One step at a time. I have to get hired first.”

  “Oh.” She laced her fingers together, did a little jig. “This is so wonderful. Wait, I just thought of something. If you get the job, you’ll be my instructor for this summer’s field school. Dibs on teacher’s pet.”