An Act of Love Read online

  She’s not getting married. She’s only engaged!

  Marley Roman should have already known that romantic plots hatched with her best friend Dede were doomed. But a fake engagement seemed like the only way for her, as the last old maid in the bunch, to endure her youngest sister’s wedding. Armed with a phony ring and a plausible story about a fiancé loosely based on her overly friendly cowboy-turned-actor neighbor, Brant Westfield, she was ready to face—and fool—her family. But between her ex-boyfriend Richard’s unexpected role in the wedding party and Brant’s sudden arrival to join the fun, the holes in her plan were growing…and multiplying!

  “That our audience?”

  Brant pointed to the porch, indicating the people collecting there.

  Marley nodded.

  “Break a leg,” he said and pulled her into his arms. “Relax,” he whispered against her ear. “You want to convince your family we’re engaged, you’ll have to loosen up. I may be good, but you’ll need to cooperate a little. I can’t carry the whole show by myself.”

  “You arrogant…” She stopped when his lips brushed hers. The kiss, if that’s what it was, turned out to be very short. A disappointment, actually. “You call that a kiss?” she asked breathlessly.

  He turned, dragging her toward the porch. As he smiled and waved, he said under his breath, “That’s what I give mannequins. You want something better, you’d better put some life into those bones.”

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for choosing An Act of Love. I started this story a long time ago with Marley going back to her hometown in Pennsylvania for a wedding and reconnecting with Richard, her love in college. Well, by about chapter seven, I was in love with Brant and couldn’t figure out how I could continue with my first premise. I put the story aside. But the idea kept coming back to me, and I decided to try again. Eventually, Marley came around and fell for Brant as well, but you can see through the story it was a difficult challenge to get her on board. With Brant’s help, we showed her he was the one for her even though Richard wasn’t such a bad guy.

  In the first go-around, I didn’t include Brant’s viewpoint. Can you imagine not letting an “actor” with an ego keep his opinions to himself? The reasoning behind not having a male viewpoint was simple: if I included one then the reader would know immediately who the hero was. I wanted everyone, including Marley, to think Richard had possibilities. Brant got a little pushy so I gave in and let him have his say.

  Do I sound as though my characters rule what goes on in my books? The best possible scenario is yes. I love it when their voices take over in my mind. I can see them, hear them and empathize with any problems they may be experiencing. However, they never let me strong-arm them into something they know is wrong and often won’t allow me to sleep.

  Marley plays my favorite music on her guitar, and I share her delight that Brant is able to sing and play music with her, as well.

  I hope you’ve had a few laughs as well as poignant moments and maybe shared some similar experiences. Reach me through marionekholm.com or heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com. I’d love to hear from you.

  Marion

  Marion Ekholm

  An Act of Love

  MARION EKHOLM

  was writing stories and reading them to her friends back in fifth grade, in Plainville, Connecticut. She always wanted to be either a writer or an artist. Neither one seemed like a possibility in her day, when most women became either teachers or secretaries. But she had determination on her side and a mother willing to help with her dreams. She earned her BFA at Rhode Island School of Design and became a lace designer in New York City, met her husband and moved to New Jersey. Years later, she took stock of her life. She had a career, two children, a beautiful home and opportunities to travel extensively—but she’d never written anything other than letters. She began writing for real and eventually became an editor of a newspaper and sold numerous short stories and magazine articles. Thanks to Harlequin Heartwarming, she’s now a novelist. Her second novel, An Act of Love, follows her first, Just Like Em. She’s found signing her books and talking to people who’ve read them an absolute delight.

  Books by Marion Ekholm

  HARLEQUIN HEARTWARMING

  JUST LIKE EM

  This book is dedicated to Jane Toombs who died this March, 2014. Jane introduced me to Romance Writers of America when RWA was in its infancy by sponsoring a romance writers conference with Ruby Frankel in New York state. Thanks to their efforts, Hudson Valley Romance Writers came into being. Jane asked me to be the newsletter editor for the group. There I learned about deadlines, writing articles, interviewing and a host of other skills necessary to becoming a writer. Over the years, she not only critiqued my writing but also offered friendship that led to many delightful trips as roommates to RWA national conferences. Thank you, Jane, for your dedication in helping people learn their craft.

  Acknowledgments

  I have wonderful opportunities to take classes at Glendale Community College where I work. David Thibodeaux, my instructor at GCC for The History of Jazz and Rock Music and Culture, instilled in me a passion for all types of music.

  Chuck Hulihan taught my acoustic guitar class at GCC. Even though I should have started a hundred years earlier, I learned about the dedication and enthusiasm required to play well. So much of Marley’s love for playing the guitar comes from those lessons.

  Hank Glogosh, who helped with his knowledge of Pennsylvania.

  Sheryl Zajechowski, the acquisition editor for Brilliance Audio, answered all my questions about narrating books, Brant’s profession.

  To Shelley Mosley and Sandra Lagesse—my best friends, mentors and critique partners—a heartfelt thank-you.

  Additional thanks to Harlequin and its editors whom I’ve been fortunate to meet or work with over the internet, especially Paula Eykelhof, Victoria Curran, Kathryn Lye and Beverley Sotolov. I really appreciate all your help and encouragement.

  Love to my daughter and granddaughters for their support. And special thanks to my son, David, who answered so many of the questions I had about acting. His experiences in the theater in college and after were very helpful.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER ONE

  AFTER WORK ON Friday night, Marley Roman and her friend Dede Sanchez met for drinks at a downtown bar in Phoenix to escape the July heat before heading home. Marley pushed her long hair away from her neck to let the cool air-conditioning sweep around her.

  “Here’s to you, Lindy.” Marley lifted her oversize margarita to her lips and licked at the salt before taking a sip. “Thanks for beating me to the altar.” Saturday morning she’d be flying to her youngest sister’s wedding. Memories of the last sister’s ceremony still haunted her. How could she handle the next week and k
eep her sanity?

  “I’ve never seen you so glum.” Dede placed her glass of wine on the bar. “Why not avoid this ritual? Tell your family you’ve come down with the plague or something.”

  Marley leaned toward her friend. “Right. Like anyone would believe me.” She hastily readjusted herself on the bar stool to catch her balance. The drink hadn’t helped Marley’s funky mood one bit. Maybe skipping supper hadn’t been such a great idea.

  “I’m the first of six girls, five of whom...who...whom...” After pausing, she took a deep breath to clear her thinking. “Why do I have to be the last one?”

  “Since when has marriage become one of your priorities?” Dede dusted a speck off her black dress, which was the same shade as her long hair. “I thought you liked being single.”

  “I do, but everyone in my family questions it. And they keep asking me when will it be my turn.” Marley tried to focus. “Well, maybe someday I’ll meet someone—and then...then I’ll think about it.”

  “It won’t happen. Not when you refuse to accept the drink that cute guy at the end of the bar is offering.” Dede smiled at him and waved a finger; Marley ignored him. He didn’t appeal to her. For that matter few men had since she’d finished college more than a decade ago.

  Dede continued where she’d left off. “You won’t date anyone in your office, and you completely blew it when I tried fixing you up with the guys I work with.”

  Marley propped her cheek against her hand and leaned her elbow on the bar to support her head. “Jerrod was ten years younger than me—”

  “Nothing wrong with being a cougar.”

  “And Lincoln looked like the original Lincoln, minus the beard.”

  Marley finished her drink and motioned to the bartender.

  “Want the same margarita, Red?” He reached for her glass.

  Red. She hated that reference to her hair color. Did he call other customers Black, Brown or Blonde when he addressed them? Her father was always called Red. Anyone calling her that brought back memories of him. She didn’t need reminders of all the pain associated with her father’s abandonment.

  “The name’s Marley, and, yes, I’d like the same.”

  “You sure?” Dede attempted to shoo the bartender away. “You rarely ever finish one, let alone two.”

  “I’m not driving, so it’s okay.”

  The bartender hadn’t moved. He jerked his thumb toward the end of the bar. “He’d still like to buy you one.”

  Marley glanced at the man, gave him a halfhearted smile, placed a bill on the bar and shook her head. The motion momentarily destroyed her vision, making her realize she’d already had enough. “No, thanks. Don’t fix another. Your margaritas are way too potent.”

  “You know, you’re avoiding the real problem.” Dede stood and went through her purse in search of money.

  “Which is?”

  “Guilt.”

  Marley furrowed her brow. “What guilt?”

  “You moved away from your family, and every time they bring you back, you try to make it up to them.” Dede dropped a bill on the bar. “Like this wedding. You’ve practically paid for most of it yourself.”

  Marley shrugged. “Maybe so, but this is the last wedding so...no more guilt.”

  “Yeah, right. Until the next baby is born.”

  Hesitantly, Marley placed her foot on the floor, got off the stool and held on to the bar for support. “See, no hands.” Marley lifted both palms, only to lose her balance and grab the back of the stool.

  “At some point, you’ll have to say no.” They started for the door. “Practice. It could make your life so much simpler.”

  Now that the sun had gone down and the night air felt tolerable, they walked the few short blocks to the light-rail station. Marley slung her jacket over her arm and hiked her purse’s strap onto her shoulder. Her feet ached in her open-toed heels. Getting home, then into a bath, was her only priority.

  “What you need is a fiancé, not a marriage.” Dede slipped her arm through hers.

  Just a fiancé. That’s all I need, Marley mused.

  “A fiancé you can talk about and get rid of the moment you return to Phoenix.”

  When they reached the red light and stopped, a city bus with a giant poster on it also stopped. The poster had recently popped up all over the city—an advertisement for a special business symposium to be held at the Civic Center. Here it was again, Brant Westfield smiling at them.

  “You see that guy?” Marley said, pulling back and pointing at the bus.

  “Yeah. Cute.”

  “He’s my neighbor.”

  “Really?” They both turned to face yet another announcement of “The Convention No One Should Miss,” this one posted at the bus stop. And this one with another smiling Brant Westfield.

  When Brant had first introduced himself, she’d been welcoming but had kept him at arm’s length. For several reasons. First, she avoided relationships where she worked or lived because problems arose when the people became too involved or they broke up.

  Second, and more important, she’d seen Brant with a parade of women. Obviously a player, he brought a lot of gorgeous females home with him. Better to avoid potential problems. Problems likely to occur with a man whose smile left her breathless.

  Now that smile was plastered everywhere.

  “Give me your phone.” Dede held out her hand and snapped her fingers.

  “Why?”

  “I’m taking a picture of you with your new fiancé. Stand over there.”

  Laughing, Marley did as Dede ordered. After several unsuccessful shots, Dede handed the phone back. “I don’t know if there’s too much or too little light. Sorry it didn’t work, because he sure makes a decent fiancé.”

  After reaching the Metro station, the women took seats to wait for the next light-rail that regularly made trips up and down Central Avenue. A breeze had picked up. Instead of offering relief, it felt more like a hair dryer blasting them. At least Marley wouldn’t have to deal with the Phoenix summer once she reached Pennsylvania.

  “To create a make-believe fiancé, it’s better if you focus on someone specific, so you’ll be able to remember the details.”

  A make-believe fiancé. Was she really going to invent a guy? Marley nodded slowly. Who? She went through all her acquaintances, including the few men she’d dated. No one stood out. Certainly no one she’d like to be engaged to.

  Another poster of Brant flashed by.

  Maybe...

  Brant could be her fake fiancé, especially since he’d never know about it.

  * * *

  WHEN BRANT SAW the woman approaching his condo building, he backed under a tree out of sight. Since his picture had started appearing in all the ads for the convention campaign, everyone who recognized him accosted him. Particularly women he didn’t know. Better to be safe and not broadcast his address by walking in. His three-day beard and grubby clothes provided some disguise, but the celebrity status the poster afforded made anonymity nearly impossible.

  When he could finally see her clearly under the streetlight, he recognized his neighbor—Marley. And she was obviously feeling no pain.

  Beautiful she might be, but beauty was a common sight in his profession, and often the women had little more than their looks going for them. But he’d heard Marley play the guitar. He’d wanted to talk to her about possibly jamming together. Unfortunately, she shot him down before he could even suggest it.

  He stayed put as water from the yard’s sprinklers hit his calves, refreshing after the day’s heat. He watched, waiting for her to go inside. Instead of entering the building, though, she took out her cell phone and paused in front of his picture on a bus stop billboard. It was an older likeness, from when his hair was shorter—

  Great. His flip-
flops were getting soaked. He stepped onto the sidewalk.

  In the British accent he’d been practicing for his next gig, he asked, “You’re taking a picture of my picture?”

  She screamed and tossed her phone in the air.

  He managed to catch it before it hit the cement. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to alarm you, love.” Reverting to his natural voice, he asked, “Why are you taking my picture’s picture?” If it was to become rich on Facebook or Twitter, it was a wasted effort, since his image was already all over the internet. He held out the cell phone and waited. Finally, he took her arm and placed the phone in her hand.

  * * *

  MARLEY’S HEARTBEAT CONTINUED to race. How on earth could she explain this? She might as well be truthful, since she couldn’t think of any plausible reason. “I needed your picture to show my family.”

  “Why?”

  “I...I needed a fiancé and decided you’d do.”

  “What?” After a moment’s pause, possibly to focus on what she’d said, Brant held his sides and roared with laughter. “Lady, you’ve absolutely made my day.”

  That annoying accent again. What was it, anyway? British? Australian? She knew he’d spent several months in Australia doing a movie and had returned only a few weeks ago. And she knew he was an actor. But that’s all she really knew about him—well, that and his propensity for cowboy outfits. Usually he wore boots and a cowboy hat; today, though, he looked more like a hobo. His chambray shirt no longer had any sleeves and his shorts were cutoff jeans with white threads hanging around his knees. Instead of boots he wore grungy flip-flops.

  “So we’re engaged?” Brant said as he continued to gaze at her. The accent was gone but not the smile in his voice. “When’s our wedding?”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow to attend my sister’s and...” She stopped and took a deep breath.

  “And?”

  “And I have five sisters, all younger and married or about to be. You have no idea what it’s like when everyone gangs up on you and asks when you’re getting married.”