dangled from the ceiling, flying gently from the air movement of the heating vent. Angels were carved into the staircase and the impressive crown molding. Ceramic and porcelain angels sat on display inside a mahogany curio cabinet beside the front door. There was an angel umbrella stand and an angel coatrack and even an angel rocking chair. The angels came in every conceivable style and color—round, cherubic angels that looked like babies. Fun, playful cartoon angels. Tall, thin angels with windblown hair, halos, and benevolent expressions.
Rattled, Sarah edged after Jenny, who’d already started up the staircase.
Jenny stopped on the landing at the top of the stairs and took a key from her pocket. “I’m putting you in the VIP room.”
The entire room—still decidedly angelic in theme—was done in various shades of pink. Egads. It looked like heaven had vomited Pepto-Bismol after eating cotton candy. She had to admit the decor took some getting used to. But there was a nice spa tub in the room and the bed looked plush and comfortable.
Jenny handed Sarah the room key. “If you need anything at all just call the front desk.”
Sarah walked across the room and sank down on the mauve love seat positioned beside the window. She peeped through the lace curtain to the street below. Her grandmother’s house was a few blocks over, down by the water on Lakeshore Drive. She had an urge to go see it. Her parents hadsold the place after her grandmother died without even asking her opinion. Another reason there was a rift between her and her folks. But, Sarah supposed, after her big humiliation in Twilight, they’d figured she never wanted to come back here and they certainly hadn’t wanted the place.
Memories tumbled in on her. Flashes of how she used to be. Shy, overweight, her nose stuck in a book so she could hide away from things that bothered her. Once upon a time, Twilight had been part of her magical escape from boarding school and her parents’ impossibly high expectations of her. She’d counted the days until summer vacation, until the Christmas holiday.
And then she’d gone and ruined even that refuge.
Twilightites loved their celebrations. They never passed up an excuse for a festival or carnival or party. Part of it was due to the nature of the town’s commerce, which was, first and foremost, tourism. But an element that couldn’t be ignored was the community’s genetic propensity for romance.
The town itself was reportedly founded on a legend about two lovers separated during the Civil War, who fifteen years later were reunited on the banks of the Brazos River where Twilight now stood. But none of that malarkey was written in the history books. According to the official version, Twilight was started as a military fort to combat violent Kiowa and Comanche uprisings that were prevalent at the time.
But reality didn’t bring in the tourists.
Instead, the story of Colonel Jon Grant, sent to oversee the fort, and the woman who later becamehis bride, Rebekka Nash, became the preferred legend.
Not that Travis allowed himself to believe in any of that fated, destiny, happily-ever-after crap. He knew better. He believed in one thing and one thing only—his daughter, Jasmine.
Looking at her now, so robust and excited, sent his spirits soaring. She’d been on the new medication for six weeks and she’d just received her third dose. So what if the seventy-five hundred dollars had drawn his savings account dangerously near zero. He would gladly surrender every last cent he owned for her. Of course, he was already worried how he was going to afford the next round, which was due just before Christmas, while at the same time giving Jazzy the Christmas she deserved. He had a few things he could sell—an antique shotgun his granddaddy had left him, his fishing boat, a secondhand Kawasaki motorcycle that had sat in the garage since Jazzy had come into his life and changed his wild-boy ways. And there was her
Rattled, Sarah edged after Jenny, who’d already started up the staircase.
Jenny stopped on the landing at the top of the stairs and took a key from her pocket. “I’m putting you in the VIP room.”
The entire room—still decidedly angelic in theme—was done in various shades of pink. Egads. It looked like heaven had vomited Pepto-Bismol after eating cotton candy. She had to admit the decor took some getting used to. But there was a nice spa tub in the room and the bed looked plush and comfortable.
Jenny handed Sarah the room key. “If you need anything at all just call the front desk.”
Sarah walked across the room and sank down on the mauve love seat positioned beside the window. She peeped through the lace curtain to the street below. Her grandmother’s house was a few blocks over, down by the water on Lakeshore Drive. She had an urge to go see it. Her parents hadsold the place after her grandmother died without even asking her opinion. Another reason there was a rift between her and her folks. But, Sarah supposed, after her big humiliation in Twilight, they’d figured she never wanted to come back here and they certainly hadn’t wanted the place.
Memories tumbled in on her. Flashes of how she used to be. Shy, overweight, her nose stuck in a book so she could hide away from things that bothered her. Once upon a time, Twilight had been part of her magical escape from boarding school and her parents’ impossibly high expectations of her. She’d counted the days until summer vacation, until the Christmas holiday.
And then she’d gone and ruined even that refuge.
Twilightites loved their celebrations. They never passed up an excuse for a festival or carnival or party. Part of it was due to the nature of the town’s commerce, which was, first and foremost, tourism. But an element that couldn’t be ignored was the community’s genetic propensity for romance.
The town itself was reportedly founded on a legend about two lovers separated during the Civil War, who fifteen years later were reunited on the banks of the Brazos River where Twilight now stood. But none of that malarkey was written in the history books. According to the official version, Twilight was started as a military fort to combat violent Kiowa and Comanche uprisings that were prevalent at the time.
But reality didn’t bring in the tourists.
Instead, the story of Colonel Jon Grant, sent to oversee the fort, and the woman who later becamehis bride, Rebekka Nash, became the preferred legend.
Not that Travis allowed himself to believe in any of that fated, destiny, happily-ever-after crap. He knew better. He believed in one thing and one thing only—his daughter, Jasmine.
Looking at her now, so robust and excited, sent his spirits soaring. She’d been on the new medication for six weeks and she’d just received her third dose. So what if the seventy-five hundred dollars had drawn his savings account dangerously near zero. He would gladly surrender every last cent he owned for her. Of course, he was already worried how he was going to afford the next round, which was due just before Christmas, while at the same time giving Jazzy the Christmas she deserved. He had a few things he could sell—an antique shotgun his granddaddy had left him, his fishing boat, a secondhand Kawasaki motorcycle that had sat in the garage since Jazzy had come into his life and changed his wild-boy ways. And there was her
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