by Diana Palmer
New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer delivers two classic tales of finding love in the most unexpected places.
Dark Surrender
When Maggie Sterline causes an accident that changes Saxon Tremayne’s life forever, she’ll do anything to right her wrongs. Even if that means staying in South Carolina to care for the fierce, accomplished giant whose world has suddenly turned dark. Though Saxon’s raw emotions are unsettling, Maggie is able to help him confront his new reality, and soon the beauty is drawn to this beast. Can she resist his knee-weakening kisses and passionate embraces?
Color Love Blue
Bumping headlong into sexy stranger Nick Scarpelli shakes artist Jolana Shannon’s head out of the clouds. He’s drop-dead gorgeous and incredibly arrogant, and surrendering to passion with him is utter bliss. But when Nick makes it clear he doesn’t want forever with Jolana, it breaks her heart. Still, memories of Nick linger—until one day he resurfaces in her life. Could the man who walked away offer her everything she’s ever wanted?
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author DIANA PALMER
“Diana Palmer is an amazing storyteller, and her longtime fans will enjoy Wyoming Winter with satisfaction!”
—RT Book Reviews
“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”
—Booklist on Lawman
“This is a fascinating story.... It’s nice to have a hero wise enough to know when he can’t do things alone and willing to accept help when he needs it. There is pleasure to be found in the nice sense of family this tale imparts.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Bold
“Sensual and suspenseful.”
—Booklist on Lawless
“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Diana Palmer is one of those authors whose books are always enjoyable. She throws in romance, suspense and a good story line.”
—The Romance Reader on Before Sunrise
“Lots of passion, thrills, and plenty of suspense... Protector is a top-notch read!”
—Romance Reviews Today
A prolific author of more than one hundred books, Diana Palmer got her start as a newspaper reporter. A New York Times bestselling author and voted one of the top ten romance writers in America, she has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humor. Diana lives with her family in Cornelia, Georgia. Visit her website at dianapalmer.com.
Books by Diana Palmer
Long, Tall Texans
Merciless
Courageous
Protector
Invincible
Untamed
Defender
Undaunted
Unbridled
Wyoming Men
Wyoming Tough
Wyoming Fierce
Wyoming Bold
Wyoming Strong
Wyoming Rugged
Wyoming Brave
Wyoming Winter
The Morcai Battalion
The Morcai Battalion
The Morcai Battalion: The Recruit
The Morcai Battalion: Invictus
The Morcai Battalion: The Rescue
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Diana Palmer
For Now and Forever
Table of Contents
Dark Surrender
Color Love Blue
Excerpt from Wyoming Heart by Diana Palmer
Dark Surrender
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
AUTUMN FELT GOOD. It made Maggie Sterline’s heart quicken to see the bonfires late in the afternoon, to smell the faint scent of powdering leaves mingled with wood smoke. It brought back haunting tales of hobgoblins and magic and Indian campfires. Of course, the leaves in south Georgia were nothing like the glory in the northern end of the state, where ghostly mountains lifted their smooth peaks to be dotted with gold-and-red dabs of color against the sapphire canvas that was the autumn sky. But it was much the same in other ways. The Indians had once lived in this part of her native state, too, Maggie thought, and the moccasined feet of the Lower Creeks had left their imprints in local history. There were arrowheads and bits of pottery all around Defiance testifying to that early occupation.
Maggie had always liked the town’s name: Defiance. It sounded as if it liked impossible odds, and if Saxon Tremayne caught up with her, she’d need some defiance. Some hope.
The thought of the big man made her shudder. She’d come very close to falling in love with Saxon in those weeks she’d spent in his company while she’d worked on an in-depth photo feature about the industrial giant for the regional magazine she’d worked for in South Carolina. It had been great fun. And she’d only been dimly aware that Kerry Smith was working on an exposé about some local cotton mill causing brown lung. If only she’d paid attention!
She perched herself on the edge of her cluttered desk. Maggie was a good-looking young brunette of twenty-six; not pretty, but slender and attractive, from her high firm breasts to her small waist and narrow hips. She had good legs, too, but today she’d wrapped them in long fashionable boots under a colorful gray-and-red plaid skirt over which she wore a white blouse and a knitted gray vest. She looked trendy, but not flashy, and the newspaper’s owner, Ernie Wilson, liked the touch of class she lent to his modest operation—or so he said. The owner of The Defiant Banner had known Maggie’s family since his grandfather bought the newspaper, and he was sometimes more of an uncle than an employer. He hadn’t even asked questions when Maggie had come into his office looking for a job, her face drawn and haggard, her jade-green eyes hunted and afraid. Ernie Wilson never asked questions, and Maggie assumed it was because he had such a knack for reading minds.
She’d needed the job desperately. More than a means of support, it had meant a refuge from the furious textile magnate who’d blamed her for selling him out for the sake of a story. His subsequent battle with the environmental people and his plant’s labor union had been a direct consequence of the accusing front-page story about the lung-damaging capabilities of his plant and his carelessness in not correcting the situation. In fact, the modifications to update the plant and install a new system to control the damaging cotton dust had been planned and were well on their way to being implemented. But the story didn’t make mention of that fact; it made it seem as if Saxon Tremayne was a money-mad businessman who put profits above safety. And he’d blamed Maggie for that piece of damning fiction. He’d judged her guilty without giving her the benefit of the doubt or an opportunity to tell him her side of it. He’d promised only retribution for her betrayal, and Saxon Tremayne was a man of his word. It was worth its weight in diamonds, and in the South Carolina textile town of Jarrettsville, it was law.
Maggie hadn’t wanted to leave the graceful little town. She was innocent, and if he’d given her half a chance, she might have proved it to him. But he hadn’t been in a listening mood the day the story broke. His voice had bellowed at her over the phone, deep and slow and as cold as a mortuary. He’d cut her off before she could put the blame on a mix-up over bylines, promising
reprisals in that cutting tone he used best in a temper. He never raised his voice, but it was worse than being yelled at.
The worst thing of all was that her heart, so long untouched, had finally been his for the taking. She’d learned to love the big man in the brief period she’d spent with him, and if she’d just had a little more time, she might have been able to catch his eye. He’d been friendly, cooperative. But not once had he touched her or looked at her in any intimate way. People said he was still grieving for his late wife. But nothing he’d told Maggie gave the impression that he’d felt anything at all for the woman who’d shared his bed and board for eighteen years. Maggie had wondered at the time if he was capable of deep emotions. He seemed to be a loner, involved deeply in business but only casually interested in his family. There wasn’t much of that either, she knew: a stepbrother, a mother and a few scattered cousins whom he barely acknowledged. She didn’t even know where his family lived.
“Daydreaming again?” a light, teasing voice whispered at her ear.
Her dark-lashed eyes flew open, their emerald-green depths brilliant enough to shock as she met Eve’s dancing gray ones.
“Sorry,” Maggie murmured sheepishly, and blushed. “I was just going over some notes in my mind.”
“About how to help the firemen raise enough funds to buy that new turnout gear Harry’s got his heart set on?” Eve grinned. “Come on, Maggie, don’t hold out on me. Who’s caught your eye?”
Maggie smiled mysteriously. “A great, hulking creature with eyes like a tiger’s—tawny and deep-set and mysterious,” she replied, exaggerating only a little. “No, really, I was trying to decide which of the city commission candidates to call first for an interview.” She sighed. “It’s going to take me two weeks to wrap up this race.” She moaned. “Pictures, interviews—and none of them will hit the issues on the head. I’m so tired of having men tell me they’re running for office because the city needs them. My gosh, Eve, if they really cared about the city, at least four of them would never run for office in it!”
Eve patted the taller woman’s shoulder. “There, there,” she murmured. “It’s all those years you spent working for a magazine that’s done this to you. You’ll get used to it.”
“Why won’t they answer my questions?” she asked wearily.
“Because the way you get elected in Defiance is to say as little about yourself as possible. The less the voters know,” she whispered conspiratorially, “the more of them will vote for you.”
Maggie stared at the ceiling, as if she expected to find answers hanging from it. “Dad warned me not to go to college in South Carolina,” she murmured. “That really was my worst mistake. I should have stayed in Defiance and gone into local politics.”
“Run for office,” Eve encouraged her. “I’ll vote for you.”
Maggie stretched lazily. “Personally I’m voting for Thomas Jefferson in this election.”
“He’s dead,” Eve pointed out.
“Well, I won’t hold that against him,” Maggie said straight-faced. She ran a hand through her dark hair impatiently. “I guess I’d better hit the road. I’ll swing by Jake Henderson’s place and take a picture of that giant cabbage he’s grown while I’m out. Have I got anything pending?”
Eve checked the big calendar on the wall, scribbled all over with a big red pen, and shook her head. “A luncheon tomorrow when they’re giving out those student awards at Rotary, that’s all.”
“Okay.” Maggie grabbed up her thirty-five-millimeter camera and an extra roll of film along with her purse and paused at the door. “Call if you need me.”
“I’ll come myself,” Eve promised with a wry glance at the doorway leading into the makeup room. She raised her voice above the soft humming sound coming from the computer in the next office. “I need a break, what with all the hard work I do around here that goes unappreciated!”
A tall, gray-haired man with a slight paunch came to the door, scissors and a galley proof in his hand.
“If you want to do some work, Miss Johns,” he told Eve, “get in here and start pasting up. I’ve got the front page and the editorial page done and twelve more waiting while you pass the time with Miss Big-city Journalist there.”
“I don’t associate with you backwoods journalists,” Maggie informed him haughtily. “And I fully expect to get a Pulitzer with my fine feature on Mr. Henderson’s twenty-five-pound cabbage that he raised from a tiny seed in his garden.”
Ernie Wilson stared at her unblinkingly. It was the look he used on Tuesday, when they were making up the final pages and they were sitting on the deadline for the printers. It was a cross between despair, exasperation, and the threat of imminent alcoholism. It spoke volumes.
“’Bye,” Maggie said quickly. With a wink at Eve she dashed out the door.
Professor Anthony Sterline was relaxing in the small living room with his afternoon paper when Maggie dragged into the house, kicking off her shoes in the hall.
“I’m here,” she called.
“About time,” her father replied dryly. “You’re an hour late. Not that I expected you early, since it’s Tuesday.”
“I’ll never get used to standing on my feet all day while we make up that...paper.” She sighed, joining her father on the sofa. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Oh, if supper would only cook itself.”
“It has,” came the amused reply. “Lisa’s home.”
Maggie’s eyes flew open. “Already? I thought she’d be much later.”
“Her flight was canceled, so she traded places with one of the other stewardesses and came home early. She’s got engaged.”
“Engaged? I didn’t even know she was dating anyone,” Maggie said with considerable interest.
“Randy Steele. Didn’t she mention him? The family lives in Jarrettsville. Very well-to-do, she says,” he said.
Steele. Steele. Somewhere in the back of Maggie’s tired brain that name rang bells. But she couldn’t quite place it. But Jarrettsville was one place she’d never forget.
“Maggie!” her sister cried suddenly, flinging herself through the door and onto her taller sister’s prone body with a gleeful laugh. Lisa was fair and green-eyed, and nobody who saw them together would have suspected they were sisters. Lisa’s features were delicate and sharp, where Maggie’s were more muted. Lisa was small-boned, and Maggie was tall and statuesque. But the one thing they did share was the color of their eyes—the same bright jade-green of their father’s eyes, unmistakable.
They began to talk all at once, exchanging greetings, asking questions, until the excitement faded for a minute.
“Dad says you’re engaged,” Maggie ventured.
“Tattletale,” the shorter woman told her father, sticking her tongue out at him. “I wanted to surprise her. He’s gorgeous,” she added with a sigh. “Tall and sexy—and rich too—although that’s not why I said I’d marry him. I’m so in love, it hurts,” she added solemnly. “I never dreamed it would happen to me, and certainly not like lightning striking. We’ve only been dating for a month.”
“When have you set the date?”
Lisa looked uncomfortable. “That’s the hitch. Randy won’t set the date until he decides what to do about his home problems. I’m going to fly up there this weekend and meet his mother and brother. I’d like very much to have you go with me. I’m going to need some support.”
It was beginning to sound like a play. Maggie stared at her sister. “Support?” she prodded gently.
Lisa sat down in the armchair across from the sofa and looked preoccupied. “Randy’s brother is blind,” she said quietly. “There’s only him and his mother in the big house in Jarrettsville, and Randy doesn’t feel right about marrying and leaving the responsibility for his brother with his mother.”
“A commendable attitude,” their father said with an approving nod. “But is the brother a tota
l invalid?”
“I get the feeling,” Lisa said slowly, “that he’s something of a tiger. He was a high-powered businessman before his accident, always on the go. Now he’s just not able to live that fast anymore, and he’s bitter about it.” Lisa studied her pale pink-tipped fingers. “Randy says he won’t even leave the house. He won’t learn Braille, he won’t get a Seeing Eye dog, he won’t even try to adjust to it!”
Professor Sterline ran a restless hand over his thinning gray hair. “Perhaps it’s just taking him a little time to adjust,” he remarked, leaning forward. “I had a student in my history class who was like that. Once he was able to accept his blindness, he progressed rapidly.”
“You don’t understand, Dad,” Lisa said gently. “Hawk’s been blind for eight months.”
“Hawk? Odd name,” her father observed.
“It’s a nickname, but I’ve never heard Randy call him anything else,” Lisa said with a wry smile. “Anyway iťs not as if the accident just happened or anything. And he’s gone through half a dozen nurses. Randy says he’s a holy terror.”
“A lion with a thorn in his paw,” Maggie corrected gently, feeling a strange kinship with the unknown blind man. Her own trauma had begun about that same length of time ago. “He just needs someone to pull it out.”
“How are you with a pair of tweezers?” Lisa teased. “You will come, won’t you? Mrs. Steele’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“I’m not sure if my life insurance covers lions,” came the dry reply. “And my memories of Jarrettsville are rather...unpleasant.”
“We’ll carry a chair and a whip to protect us from Hawk,” Lisa promised. “But I didn’t know you’d ever been to Jarrettsville...”
“What is his mother like?” Maggie asked, eager to change the subject.
“Long-suffering and patient, he says,” her sister told her with a smile. “I’ve never met her. Randy says the house sits right on the edge of the Blue Ridge Mountain foothills, surrounded by huge live oaks. It was a plantation during the Civil War.”
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