Under the Boardwalk: A Dazzling Collection of All New Summertime Love Stories by Geralyn Dawson Read Free Book Online Page B

telling you, that was one unhappy lady."
    "How long did her labor last?"
    "Nineteen hours and twenty-four minutes," he promptly replied. "The longest nineteen hours and twenty-four minutes in the history of the world, according to her. She swore she'd been in labor at least three days."
    Under the amusement in his tone was a thread of… joy. She tilted her head, wondering if she read him correctly. "You liked it." The words weren't quite a question.
    He laughed. "Yeah, I did. It was exciting, and funny, and amazing as hell. I've seen puppies and calves and foals being born, but I've never felt anything like when that baby slid into my hands. By the way, it was a girl. Jackson just didn't seem to suit her."
    His aura was glowing now with more green in the mixture, shot through with joyful yellow. Lilah no longer had to wonder when she would fall in love with him. She did in that moment, something inside her melting, growing hotter. She knew her own aura would be showing pink, and she blushed, even though she knew he couldn't see it.
    She felt trembly, and had to sit down. This was momentous. She'd never thought she would love the way others did, not romantically. She loved many people and many things, but not like this. Always, mixed in with her feelings, was the knowledge that she was set apart from them, a caretaker rather than a partner. Even with Pops she'd been the rock on which he leaned. But Jackson was a strong man, both mentally and physically. He didn't need anyone to take care of him; rather, he did the caring.
    If she hadn't been able to see his aura, she would eventually have loved him anyway. But she could see it, and she knew the essence of the man. That, and her own precognitive recognition of him as her mate, destroyed her sense of caution. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and let him do whatever he wanted. Instead she got up and checked the biscuits.
    She stood there with the oven door open, letting heat escape, staring blindly at the biscuits. Jackson came up behind her. "Perfect," he said with approval.
    She blinked. The biscuits were a golden brown, perfectly risen. She had a good hand with biscuits, or so Pops had always said. She took a deep breath, and, using a dish cloth, took the hot pan out of the oven and set it on a cooling rack.
    "Why does Vargas think you're a witch?"
    That brought her to earth with a thud. The change in his tone was subtle, but there: He was the sheriff, and he wanted to know if anyone in his county was practicing witchcraft.
    "Several reasons, I suppose." She turned to face him, her expression cool and unreadable. "I live alone out in the woods, I seldom go into town, I don't socialize. The witch rumor started when I was in fourth grade, I think."
    "Fourth grade, huh?" He leaned against the cabinet, blue gaze sharp on her face. "I guess he'd been watching too many
Bewitched
reruns."
    She lifted one eyebrow and waited.
    "So you don't cast spells, or dance naked in the moonlight, or anything like that?"
    "I'm not a witch," she said plainly. "I've never cast a spell, though I might dance naked in the moonlight, if the notion took me."
    "Do tell." The gaze warmed, and moved slowly down her body. "Call me if you need a dancing partner."
    "I'll do that."
    He looked up, met her eyes, and as simply as that, there was no longer any need for caution.
    "Are you hungry?" he asked, moving closer, stroking one finger up her bare arm.
    "No."
    "So the biscuits and beef stew can wait?"
    "They can."
    He took the dish cloth and set the pan of stew off the eye. "Will you go to bed with me, then, Lilah Jones?"
    "I will."

----
Chapter 6

     
    Lilah lit the lamp in her bedroom and turned it low. The storm and heavy rain made the room as dark as night, lit briefly by the flashes of lightning. Jackson seemed to fill the small room, his shoulders throwing a huge shadow over the wall. His aura, visible even in the low light, pulsated with that deep, clear red again, the color of passion and