Within Reach
Authors: Sarah Mayberry
Something more than friendship
Being a single dad was never on Michael Young’s agenda. Yet
with the sudden loss of his wife, that’s exactly the role he has. On his best
days, he thinks he can handle it. On his worst… Luckily, family friend Angie
Bartlett has his back, easily stepping in to help out.
Lately, though, something has changed.
Michael is noticing exactly how gorgeous Angie is, and how
single she is. She’s constantly in his thoughts and he feels an attraction he
never
expected. Does he dare disrupt the very
good thing they have going? If they have a fling that goes nowhere, he stands to
lose everything—including her. But if they make it work, he stands to gain
everything!
Before Michael could think about it, he reached out to stop her from leaving
“Angie...”
She stilled, turning to glance over her shoulder at him with an uncertain look in her eyes.
He tightened his grip, anchoring her. “Stay.”
His gaze dropped to her collarbone, finding the give-away flutter beneath her skin where her pulse was beating wildly.
Racing. Out of control.
His own pulse was racing, too, because he was holding her arm, touching her, and they were alone.
He looked at her face again. All the want and lust and desire that he’d pushed down, down, down came rushing back up at him.
What self-control he had blew away like dust on the wind. He wasn’t sure who moved first, her or him. There was the thunk of her bag sliding down her arm to hit the floor, followed by the muted clank of her keys following a split-second later, then he was pulling her into his arms and she was lifting her face to kiss him and he was lowering his head to kiss her.
Dear Reader,
I think the seed for
Within Reach
came from some of the stories I read about post 9/11 romances in New York. I can
remember hearing about rescue workers who took it upon themselves to “adopt” the
widow and family of a fallen comrade and do all they could to help her and her
children through a tough time. Not surprisingly, such intensity and intimacy
bred another kind of intimacy and intensity—which, in a few cases, meant some
marriages broke up. Difficult, sad stuff, on many levels.
But it got me thinking about feelings that develop between
people under difficult circumstances. Feelings that neither party is looking
for, but that are nevertheless powerful and undeniable.
Then Angie, Billie and Michael popped into my head. Angie and
Billie might as well be sisters. The very best of friends, they have the sort of
close female friendship that is incredibly precious. When Billie dies
unexpectedly, Angie resolves to help Michael, Billie’s husband, face a world
without his beloved wife and raise their two children.
I’m sure you can imagine some of what happens next. It’s not
an easy journey for either Angie or Michael, but I’d like to think it’s worth
it.
I love to hear from readers via my website at
www.sarahmayberry.com
.
Happy reading!
Sarah Mayberry
Within Reach
Sarah Mayberry
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Mayberry lives by the beach in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner (now husband!) of nearly twenty years. As well as writing romance novels, she writes scripts for TV, loves cooking and reading and shopping, and is learning how to be a good fur parent to her brand-new black Cavoodle, Max.
Books by Sarah Mayberry
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1551—A NATURAL FATHER
1599—HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
1626—HER BEST FRIEND
1669—THE BEST LAID PLANS
1686—THE LAST GOODBYE
1724—ONE GOOD REASON
1742—ALL THEY NEED
1765—MORE THAN ONE NIGHT
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
380—BURNING UP
404—BELOW THE BELT
425—AMOROUS LIAISONS
464—SHE’S GOT IT BAD
517—HER SECRET FLING
566—HOT ISLAND NIGHTS
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Every book is hard. No matter how much I plan in advance, I always make missteps and reach a point where I feel as though my head is going to explode. The people who stop that from happening are Chris, my real life hero, and Wanda, the best editor a writer could have. Thank you both for always having my back.
Also a big thanks to Shane Saw for my beautiful new website, Lisa for awesome Community Kitchen, and Joan for listening to me ramble and moan.
And tummy scratches for Max, for being the cutest fur ball under the sun.
PROLOGUE
A
NGELA BARTLETT STRODE
up the path toward her best friend’s house, very aware she was running late. It was a warm October day and only the screen door barred her way when she arrived on the front porch.
She rang the doorbell, then leaned close to the screen. “It’s me. Sorry I’m so late,” she called into the house.
“So you should be.” The voice echoed up the hallway, followed by the sound of footsteps.
A petite, pretty woman with pixie-cut blond hair appeared, a baby balanced on one hip. She was dressed in hot-pink capri pants, an aqua T-shirt and bright yellow sneakers with hot-pink laces.
She sounded grumpy, but her brown eyes were smiling and Angie knew she wasn’t really in trouble. They’d been friends long enough that Billie could easily forgive a few minutes’ tardiness.
“Happy birthday, sweetie,” Angie said, dropping a kiss onto her friend’s cheek as she opened the door. The baby stared at her with big, liquid eyes and she dropped a kiss onto his forehead, too. “Hello, Charlie-boy.”
“Shh. We’re pretending it’s any old party so one of us doesn’t get all maudlin about getting old,” Billie said.
“Thirty-two is not old,” Angie said, as they walked into the spacious country-style kitchen.
Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a deck. The adjacent open-plan living room was also flooded with light, the brightness accentuating the brilliant jewel tones of the furnishings. Like Billie herself, this was a house full of color and life and vibrancy.
“Where’s Michael?” Angie asked when there was no sign of Billie’s husband.
“Where do you think?”
Which Angie guessed meant he was in his study. An architect, Michael often brought work home with him, something Angie knew Billie sometimes resented.
“Auntie Angie.” A small body launched itself at Angie and Billie’s five-year-old daughter wrapped her skinny arms around Angie’s hips.
“Hi, Eva.”
Eva looked up at her, adoringly. “I thought you were never going to come.”
Angie sank onto a crouch. “I was late. Sorry about that.” She hugged her goddaughter close, breathing in the smell of berry shampoo and Barbie perfume.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Eva said mock-sternly. She was a cheeky little thing, funny and smart as a whip.
“I will make a concerted effort, I promise,” Angie said solemnly.
“Okay, time to get this party started,” Billie said, crossing to the sound system and hitting a button. James Brown’s “Get On Up” blasted through the house. Billie started dancing, holding Charlie out from her body and shaking her backside as only she could.
Angie smiled at her friend’s antics. “Here’s an idea—you could just ask Michael to come out of the study like a normal person,” she yelled over the music.
Billie simply grinned and kept dancing.
Eva giggled, thrilled to be part of the conspiracy to flush out her hardworking father. Angie grabbed her hands and they joined Billie, doing their best to match Billie’s moves.
A minute later, a tall, broad-shouldered figure appeared in the doorway. Michael Robinson’s dark, curly hair was ruffled. His feet were bare, his jeans old and faded, his white T-shirt well washed. He crossed his arms over his chest, the expression in his gray-green eyes equal parts amused and frustrated.
Billie sidled up to her husband and passed him their son before starting to dance in earnest, her small body moving smoothly to the beat. She shook her booty, jiggled her small breasts and wiggled her hips until Michael lost the battle and his mouth curved into an all-out grin.
“Okay, message received. No more work. What needs doing before everyone arrives?”
A flurry of activity ensued. Billie took Angie on a whirlwind tour of her birthday present from Michael, the small wooden studio in the backyard designed to give Billie the space to pursue her current passion for all things ceramic. They had barely returned to the house when a couple of neighbors arrived, along with a few other friends. Michael entertained them on the deck while Angie helped Billie put the finishing touches on the food in the kitchen.
“So… How are things with the hot Greek guy?” Billie asked as she mixed oil and vinegar for the salad dressing.
“Nonexistent,” Angie said.
“Don’t tell me it’s over already?”
“It’s over.”
“Angie, I swear. What are we going to do with you?”
Angie frowned, irritated by the despairing note in her friend’s voice. “Being single is not a disease. I love my life.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I
am
happy. A man does not happiness make. Sometimes, in fact, he makes unhappiness.”
Billie opened her mouth to say something, then obviously thought better of it. Angie was glad, since she suspected her friend had been about to say something about Finn, and that would have really pissed her off. They had talked Finn to death years ago. There was nothing new to be said, no new conclusions to come to. He was firmly in the past.
Where he belonged.
“I’m not giving up on you,” Billie said after a short silence. “There’s a new guy at Michael’s office. I haven’t convinced Michael to find out if he’s single or not yet, but if he is, I want you to meet him.”
Common sense told Angie to let the comment slide—Billie was like a runaway freight train when she got an idea in her head—but her own stubbornness demanded a response.
“Let me get this straight. You don’t know this man at all, haven’t even set eyes on him, I’m betting. Yet you want me to go out with him?”
“I’m only thinking of you.”
“I’m curious. What, exactly, is his qualification for being a good prospect for poor old Angie? Having a pulse? Walking upright?” She put down the knife she’d been using to focus all her attention on her misguided friend.
In the loaded silence after her speech Billie slid the knife out of Angie’s reach. “Just in case,” she said, poker-faced.
Angie laughed. Billie was too damn irreverent and likable and her heart was so obviously in the right place. “You are hopeless.”
“So are you.”
They took the salads outside and the next few hours drifted by in a haze of sunshine and white wine and laughter. Angie kicked off her shoes and sat back and listened to the others talk around her, occasionally pitching in a comment of her own, but mostly happy to watch Billie do what she did best—shine and sparkle and glow.
When it came time for dessert, Michael produced a white box sporting the logo of Billie’s favorite bakery and they all oohed and ahhed over the giant chocolate-and-coffee mousse cake inside.
Angie fished a small box from her handbag and handed it to her friend with a smile. “Something for your collection.”
“You spoil me, but I’m not going to say no,” Billie said.
Angie watched as Billie lifted the lid to reveal a delicate black-pearl necklace, the pearls suspended on hand-beaten gold wire that had been curved into delicate, impossible spirals. As always when she first revealed a new piece, there was a little stab of nervousness in the pit of her stomach. After nearly ten years of being a professional jewelry designer, she’d resigned herself to the fact that that small moment of self-doubt would probably never go away.
Perhaps, in some way, it was essential to her craft.
“Oh, Angie.” Billie pressed a hand to her chest, her gaze glued to the necklace. “It’s so beautiful… I don’t have the words. You’ve outdone yourself. My God.”
Angie smiled, pleased, and accepted her friend’s hug when Billie shot to her feet and rounded the table to embrace her.
“I love you, sweetie. Happy birthday,” Angie said, speaking quietly so only her friend could hear.
“I love you, too, String Bean. You talented hussy. I will treasure it always, I swear.”
Angie could see all the memories they shared reflected in Billie’s eyes as her friend drew back from their hug—the years at boarding school, the mistakes they had made, the highs, the lows. Unexpected sentimental tears burned at the back of her eyes and she blinked rapidly.
Billie sniffed, too.
“Do I need to go get the tissues?” Michael asked drily.
“We’re having an intense moment of womance here, do you mind?” Billie said.
Everyone laughed and the moment was gone. Angie helped clear the table while Billie played a game of tag with the children, running around the backyard until they were all breathless. Angie loaded the dishwasher and smiled to herself as she listened to Billie complaining about how she would have to retire from playing tag now that she was an old lady of thirty-two. Angie was rinsing out a salad bowl when Billie entered the house, red-faced, hands on her hips as she labored to catch her breath.
“Wow, you really are winded, you tragic fossil,” Angie said as her friend walked to the cupboard and reached for a glass.
“Don’t laugh. Your birthday is coming up soon,” Billie said.
She was genuinely out of breath and the smile faded from Angie’s lips. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just need some water.” But Billie’s hand trembled as she held her glass under the water.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
She waved an impatient hand, already walking away with her drink. “I’m fine.”
Angie shrugged and resumed rinsing the salad bowl. The sound of glass shattering had her spinning around. She was in time to see Billie press her hands to her chest before collapsing to her knees, the sound of bone hitting wood a loud, resonant thunk.
“It hurts,”
Billie gasped, fingers pressing into her chest.
Then she hit the floor, unconscious, her body loose and lifeless.
Angie let the salad bowl crash into the sink.
“Michael!”
she screamed. She rounded the counter, her bare feet slipping on the floor. She fell to her knees beside Billie’s pale, still body as Michael appeared in the doorway.
“What happened?” he asked, his face a stark, terrified white as he took in his wife’s body on the floor.
“I don’t know. I don’t know.
Call an ambulance.
”