P.s. Love You Madly

Ah, would that I were closer to you to hold yours, my love, to take you in my arms, to kiss your deliciously kissable lips (and every other part of you, for you are infinitely kissable and delicious). I recall the sweet taste of you and feel as if I have savored the wine of the gods.

My dear, my own incomparable Olivia, I love you endlessly.

Devotedly,

John

P.S.—You were really only joking about your housekeeper once shooting a man—right?

SUBJECT: Arrangements, Winchesters, Etcetera

From: Olivia@USAserve.com

To: BanditKing@USAserve.com

To the darling bandit of my heart—

So glad to hear your son is better. And don’t apologize for him—it’s not his fault. That wretched mosquito made him do it.

Hope he’s out of the hospital as soon as possible. I’ve been in that very one. There used to be the tiniest little nun there with the coldest hands—even the memory chills me—brrr. Wish you were here to warm me, my sweetheart. You do light my fires, you know. (Yes, you know, you sexy devil.)

Oh, dear, I must watch what I say. This is how I got us in trouble in the first place.

So—explain to me about Sloan. If he’s released but has to stay in Austin, where will he stay? Does he have friends there?

Kisses and Caresses from

Your Own Olivia

P.S. No, I was not joking about Rose Alice. She shot off a man’s ear with a Winchester rifle. She’s never told me why, exactly, but apparently he irritated the very hell out of her.

SUBJECT: Hotel Rooms are Wonderful Places

From: BanditKing@USAserve.com

To: Oliva@USAserve.com

Darling Girl—

Just a note before I’m off for the evening’s work.

Your housekeeper is beginning to sound rather fearsome. Don’t you think your household might be more peaceful if you hired someone a little more, well, mellow? And without a felony conviction? Just a thought, sweet girl. I don’t mean to interfere.

Sloan says he’ll check into a hotel near the university. Don’t worry about him. Hotel rooms can be wonderful places—as you have proved to me beyond the shadow of a doubt.

I can’t wait until we can be together again. I will gladly come to Maine. Shall I tell you in minutest detail, the tender and pleasurable things I want to do with you?

Missing you body and soul—

John

SUBJECT: The Most Marvelous Idea!

From: Olivia@USAserve.com

To: BanditKing@USAserve.com

Dearest, most marvelous man—

You in Maine—how wonderful! I’ve got a new four-poster bed with a mattress soft as clouds. Would you like to play in a cloud?

As for Rose Alice, she’s mellowed considerably since her gun-slinging days. I’m sorry that when she backslid, your son was the target. I’ve already spoken to her about that.

And darling, about your Sloan—I have the most marvelous idea. I’ll call Darcy right away…

DARCY CLUTCHED THE PHONE so tightly that her fingernails paled. “What?” she asked in alarm and dismay. “What did you say?”

“I don’t want Sloan stuck in some impersonal hotel room,” Olivia said firmly. “I want him to stay at the lake house.”

Darcy was appalled. “But I live here,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” Olivia corrected. “You live in the guest house. Nobody’s in the big house. It’s just sitting there, going to waste. He’d be so much more comfortable there—he could spread out, read, listen to music, use the hot tub, the pool.”

Darcy pictured Sloan English’s nearly bare body sweating in the hot tub, glistening in the pool. Her nerves skittered to a higher level of anxiety.

“He’ll have a nice view,” Olivia went on. “He can take the boat on the lake if he wants, walk in the garden, get some nice, fresh, healthy air…”

Emerald came into the room from the kitchen. She had taken off her chain mail and sword and boots. She had a peanut butter sandwich in her hand and a curious look on her face. “Who’s on the phone?”

Darcy didn’t answer her. “You can’t just give a stranger the run of your house,” she told Olivia.

“He might not be a stranger long,” Olivia said. “He might be your stepbrother.”

“Stepbrother?” Darcy asked, stunned. “Mother, surely you’re not thinking of getting married—you hardly know this man.”

Emerald’s face went white and her mouth dropped open, forming an O. The peanut butter sandwich fell to the floor. She clutched the edge of Darcy’s worktable as if she needed support.

“I know John intimately,” Olivia said. “I know him better than I’ve ever known any other human being. And yes, we’ve talked about getting married. It’s like that ‘September Song.’ Our days are dwindling down to a precious few, and we want to spend them together.”

“Mother,” Darcy said desperately, “don’t do anything rash—please. If you’re going to get engaged, at least make it a long engagement. Be sure that he’s right for you—”

“He’s perfect for me,” said Olivia. “And I want his son to stay at the lake. It’s a sort of peace offering from our family to his.”

“The lake house,” Darcy said tonelessly. “Our future stepbrother in the lake house.”

Emerald looked even more stunned. She reeled away from the table and flung herself into the easy chair. She bent her head and covered her face with her hands to hide the tears glinting in her eyes.

“Why should our family make a peace offering?” Darcy demanded. “He owes us an apology, not the other way around.”