Who Do You Love? by Maggie Shayne & Marilyn Pappano

Author:Maggie Shayne & Marilyn Pappano [Maggie Shayne and Marilyn Pappano]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2000-09-12T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2

Mary Katherine drowned out the beeping of the alarm clock by smothering it under the extra pillow, then slowly forced her eyes open. Lord, it hadn’t all been a bad dream. She really was living in a cheap Natchez motel and working on a gambling boat as a waitress with exhibitionist tendencies, and her body really was killing her.

And Chance Reynard really was back in her life. After eight years of hearing not one word from him, eight years of feeling like a fool, of loving him, hating him, wanting him, cursing him, he was back. With his dark blond hair and wicked green eyes, he was as handsome as ever, quite possibly sexier than ever, undoubtedly more lethal to her ego than ever.

A young woman was entitled to make a few mistakes in her life, Mary Katherine’s mother had always counseled her. Chance Reynard had been her first mistake. Telling Jonathan and the world about him had been the second. Not screaming and running the other way last night just might be her third. How many mistakes? she wanted to ask her mother. How many chances could she take—she groaned at the bad pun—and still survive?

She should follow his advice and go back to Jubilee where she belonged. But how could she tell Granddad his one opportunity to prove his innocence was blown because she’d run into an old flame? How could she tell anyone that her summer adventure—fabulous pay, decadent work hours and freedom from kids—had ended before it even started? Besides, who was Chance Reynard to tell her where she belonged? Hadn’t she listened to him once before, and hadn’t it cost her a broken heart? They were mature adults. They could handle this situation. He would stay out of her way, and she would most definitely stay out of his way, and they would both be happy.

Uh-huh.

She’d left the Queen shortly after three this morning, driven to the motel and fallen into bed, clothes dropped on the floor, makeup still on her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so tired. The last time she’d spent eight straight hours on her feet, and in heels, no less. The last time every single part of her body had radiated pain with the slightest movement.

And here it was barely eleven o’clock, and the clock wouldn’t stop its infernal beeping. Digging it out from under the pillow, she focused long enough to find the off button and pressed it, then dropped it to the floor. She desperately needed more sleep—eight, ten hours should do it—but Sara was on her way over to take her to look at an apartment she swore would be perfect, which this dingy room certainly wasn’t.

Sitting up, she groaned out loud. Every muscle protested, some viciously, but she didn’t stop the movement until she was on her poor, aching, abused feet. Maybe a shower and some aspirin would help—better yet, a weeklong, drug-induced coma. Or maybe she could go to work early

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