Once Upon A Chocolate Kiss

Richard had never been one to believe in love at first sight. But, maybe, love in the first twenty-four hours?

It sounded so sappy. Love was a relationship that developed over time when two people had the same likes and dislikes, or the same goals for the future.

But now, tonight, sitting here in the flickering firelight, Richard thought that attraction, the need to hold and care for Samantha despite the fact that they were from two different worlds, and that feeling inside him, the one that said this was the woman for him, was more important than anything else.

CHERYL WOLVERTON

RITA® Award finalist Cheryl Wolverton has well over a dozen books to her name. Her very popular HILL CREEK, TEXAS series has been a finalist in many contests. Having grown up in Oklahoma, lived in Kentucky, Texas and now Louisiana, Cheryl and her husband of twenty years and their two children, Jeremiah and Christina, consider themselves Oklahomans who have been transplanted to grow and flourish in the South. Readers are always welcome to contact her via: P.O. Box 106 Faxon, OK 73540, or e-mail her at Cheryl@cherylwolverton.com. You can also visit her Web site at www.cherylwolverton.com.

Once Upon a Chocolate Kiss

Cheryl Wolverton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Truthful lips endure forever, but a lying tongue lasts only a moment.

—Proverbs 12:19

Patience Smith, to whom I submitted this years ago.

She loved it, and because of her encouragement,

I never forgot this story.

Lori Linxwiler, who willingly gave me information

I needed from a nurse’s point of view.

Let’s face it, it’s been twenty years since I’ve been a paramedic! Thanks, Lori!

The fans who demanded more

HILL CREEK, TEXAS stories.

And my family, who, when this story absolutely flooded my being, didn’t make me stop, but allowed me to write to my heart’s delight.

Dear Reader,

This story was such a delight to write. Just before I started it, I was diagnosed with MS. I lost my agent and I was scheduled for surgery. All within three weeks of each other!

I thought, well, this story isn’t due for three months yet, I should just set it aside. Instead, I started rereading the first three chapters, and I realized what a wonderful story I had here. One little omission, one little lie, can destroy a person, and yet, God is so willing to forgive. We should be able to forgive those who upset us in the same way.

Thrilled that I had a story where the hero actually messes up, but so does the heroine in the forgiveness department, I started writing. I couldn’t put it down. It absolutely flowed from me. Only one other story has ever done that—A Matter of Trust, my first Love Inspired novel.

I realized how much the story and its theme meant. Forgiveness. Boy, is it hard sometimes, but it’s so necessary. Poor Samantha must learn that even though she has been deserted again and again, she has a heavenly Father who will never desert her, and she can keep her eyes on Him as an example of forgiveness and love.

I hope you can, too, as you go through the trials on the horizon and learn how to let go and trust God by forgiving or simply communicating with the person who is lying to you.

I always love hearing from readers! Hope you enjoy the story!

Blessings!

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 One

December 31, Hill Creek, Texas

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

Thirty-six-year-old Richard Reilly Moore caught the young woman who had just collided into him outside the church doors, hardly registering her apology. He danced on the icy steps and held on to the shifting, slipping woman for dear life, trying to keep both her and himself from tumbling down the steps.

“Yikes. Wai-ai-ai-ait! O-o-o-oh!” The woman’s voice squeaked with each word. Richard sucked in a sharp breath. “Whoa! Just hold still!”

It was to no avail. He lost his footing. So did the woman. Tangling together was inevitable. They went down.

The only thing Richard could do was wrap his arms around the woman and pray God would protect them both. Holding her closely, he bounced, slid and rolled until, with a loud thud, they hit the snow piled up along the sidewalk. Pain ricocheted through his feet, back and elbows. No one had heard or seen them land in an ignominious heap. Most of the residents were in church already. He had been running late.

She had simply been running.

He ignored the elbow in his ribs and cracked open an eye to see what other surprises the bundle of energy had in store for him. He couldn’t believe what he saw, so he popped open the other eye to make sure. His vision hadn’t disappointed him.

Laying atop of him and looking rather shocked was a beautiful petite blonde who was quite flustered and out of breath. But she wasn’t just beautiful—for Richard had seen some of the most stunning women in the world—she was more. Her blue eyes sparkled with the emotions she felt—and they were certainly running the gamut as she stared down at him in surprise, recognition of their predicament and then dawning embarrassment.

“I don’t suppose this is the time to crack a blonde joke,” he asked dryly, unable to resist responding to the rising color in her cheeks.

Blue eyes twinkled with sheepish humor.

“Only if I can crack a British joke. Or Scottish or—”

“Close enough,” he replied, surprised she’d heard the slight Irish brogue in his speech that sometimes came out more British than Irish. He’d attended an English boarding school. His thoughts quickly changed from curiosity to pain when the woman scrambled to get off him. How could someone so alive and vibrant yet so tiny manage to elbow or knee every sore spot on his body?

“Here, let me help you.” She grabbed his arm, insistent on aiding him.

“Really, I think I’m fine. Just snow-covered,” he replied. The last thing he wanted was to risk allowing this woman to pull him up and accidentally knock him right back over. He managed to get to his feet before he found out he was quite wrong about being fine. His eyes widened with pain as he tried to put weight on his left foot.

“You’re hurt!”

A dull flush entered his cheeks. The pride in him wanted to deny he had hurt his ankle in that fall. But the inability to walk kept him from telling a falsehood. Trying to be gallant about the entire thing he replied, “At least you made it out in one piece. Care to tell me what had you rushing from church?”

“I wasn’t rushing from church,” she argued, moving forward to brush the snow from him.

He couldn’t help but notice how small her hands were as they brushed over his shoulders, down his arms and chest. Catching at her hands, he murmured, “I’m fine—if I can find somewhere to sit down.”

“Oh!”

She avoided his grasp like an eel slipping from a fisherman’s hands and anchored an arm around him. The tiny arm was really quite ridiculous around his six-foot tall frame. But the woman was insistent on helping him.

“Lean on me,” she commanded.

For one so small, she was quite authoritative. He grinned in amusement and gave her a bit of his weight. His grin quickly turned to a grimace when he tried to put weight on his foot.

Why had this happened now? He didn’t have the time. He had so many other things to do. The woman urging him forward drew his mind from thoughts of work. Glancing down, he realized she really was putting her all into helping him over to a safe place to sit.

“I wasn’t—” huff, huff, he heard as she danced around in her need to assist “—leaving. I had forgotten my purse and was going back to get—” huff “—it.”

As she moved back and forth, weaving around the piles of snow, he again noted how her head barely came to his eye level. She certainly was cute—especially in this nurturing mode. She didn’t even know who he was and yet she was trying to help him. How odd. People only helped someone like him to get what they could, but this woman—his ankle was really beginning to hurt—this woman didn’t have any idea who he was. Distracted by the pain, he let her assist him to sit on the edge of the circular fountain that was turned off for winter. He reached down to slip his shoe and sock off to examine the swelling.

“Oh dear. That’s very purple.”

Glancing up, he noted the worry on the young woman’s face. She looked genuinely contrite. “I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“I wonder if it’s broken.”

Moving it carefully around, he finally shook his head. “I don’t think so. But I do believe it is quite bummed up.”

The woman bounced back and forth in front of him, wringing her hands. Richard watched her, wanting to reach out and grab her to calm her down. She really was concerned.

When was the last time anyone had worried about him? He shook his head. Reaching out, he gave in to impulse and caught her hand. The chill in her fingers filtered through his leather gloves. Frowning, he pulled her down next to him. “You shouldn’t be out like this,” he murmured, and took her hands between his own to warm them.

“I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

She had a valid point. His ankle was really hurting now. “I’ll be fine…I think.” Glancing around, he noted there wasn’t a cab in sight.

“You can make it up to me by calling a cab for me so I can get back to my hotel,” he suggested, hoping to pacify her. His friend Dillon was certainly going to get a laugh out of this. Richard had arrived only last night and wasn’t due in for another few days at the store, though he’d stopped in really late to check things out. Dillon had wanted to talk to him, spend some time with him, and Richard had agreed. At loose ends, he’d decided to attend the midnight church service to welcome in the New Year. He’d promised himself to get back into church—at least while no one knew who he was, he thought wryly. Here, he didn’t have to hide out. Especially since most people wouldn’t associate him with the world-famous confectionery shop Dunnington’s, since the business had been in his mother’s family until just ten years ago, when Richard’s father was named CEO. In the business world everyone knew who he was. But here, people didn’t. It was so very refreshing.

“A cab? Hotel? Oh dear. You’re new here!” She stilled for the first time since she’d run him over, and studied him.

The odd look she gave him as her gaze ran over his face, his nose and his eyes made him wonder if she suddenly had recognized him. He wasn’t sure if her gaze was a good thing or not.

“Tell me tonight wasn’t your first time at church here,” she continued.

Slowly, with a grin, he nodded. “I’m afraid so. I just got into town last night.”

She groaned and dropped her chin against her chest. “I am really sorry. Oh dear, I can’t believe this!” She sounded very distressed. She nibbled her lip before glancing first to her left and then to her right, as if looking for help from some passerby or maybe even a cab to shove him into so she could relieve her embarrassment.

“Tell you what, let me take you to the local hospital and see that your foot is fixed up—”

“No hospital.” He immediately vetoed that. If he ended up in a hospital, Dillon would never let him live it down. “I’ve had worse injuries before, Miss…?

“Sam. Sam Hampton.”

“Sam…?”

The surprise in his voice earned him a chuckle. “Actually, it’s Samantha but everyone calls me Sam.”

“And I’m Richard Moore. Nice to meet you.” When he saw no reaction to his name, his smile widened. Having this woman care for him and be concerned for him without knowing he was one of the Dunningtons really threw him for a loop. It felt good—and so different from all the phoniness in the world he lived in.

“Now, there’s a lie!” she said chuckling.

At first he thought she’d discerned his identity, but then he realized her mind was on something totally different. She was still embarrassed over having leveled him flat like a linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys. Lifting a brow, he said gently, “What? You think I lie when I say I’m pleased to meet you?” His gaze traveled over her and he realized just how nice it had been to meet this woman. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

This woman had certainly caught his attention from the start. Richard had always been too busy, too caught up in work to have time for life. Until a moment ago.

“Well,” Samantha said, her cheeks turning pink, “if you won’t let me take you to the hospital then at least let me take you to my home and put some ice on that ankle.”

“Are you sure it won’t be any trouble?” he asked, surprised at her openness. Most women wouldn’t offer such a thing. He’d never met a woman that innocent and willing to help—unless she had ulterior motives.

Richard knew well that people usually weren’t what they seemed. Maybe that was why this woman was so refreshing. She wasn’t like the go-getters and manipulators he’d dealt with in the past. She was open and honest. The barely contained energy this woman had, as she rushed about and spoke what was really on her mind, not some veiled agenda, intrigued him.

“None at all. It’s the least I can do. Let me go get my car.”

Before he could protest, the small—and fast—woman was up and hurrying across the parking lot.

He wondered if he should call a cab. He was a Christian—had been raised in church and given his life to God at an early age. True, he’d been busy lately and hadn’t spent as much time as he should with God—sometimes life seemed to get in his way. But this evening it hadn’t. This evening, for the first time, he’d met someone who was a breath of fresh air. He wouldn’t want to compromise her by going to her house. Small-town gossip could be cruel.

Shaking his head, he thought again how unique it was for someone to be as concerned about him as this woman was. He thought about her offer. What would it hurt to go home with her, let her treat his foot and spend a few hours just chatting? The woman was harmless enough. He grinned at that thought.

His foot certainly didn’t agree with him.

And it was nice that she didn’t know who he was. No bowing and scraping from her, or worse, freezing up and refusing to talk to him because he was rich. He just didn’t want that again, he thought wearily.

As he waited, he pulled his coat closer against the cold air that blew through the sleeping oak trees that dotted the church’s landscaped grounds. Asleep for the winter, they had no leaves or greenery. Instead, their brown branches were coated with a layer of fine white snow. As the wind blew, those branches smashed together, sending a thin misting of snow over everything.

A few had icicles hanging from them, just as the building did. Lights dotted the huge lawn, shining in different directions, several lighting up the manger scene that sat on the corner of the lot.

The rest of the lights allowed shadows to be cast. He could hear music inside, as the service was already under way.

He heard the approaching noise of a vehicle traveling over the snow-and sand-covered street. As the engine’s hum grew louder, it pulled Richard’s attention toward the street.

The woman drove up to the curb in a tiny red pickup truck that had seen better days. She waved at him, her engaging smile shining across the short distance. Any thoughts he’d had about the past pain and disillusionment of life and people fled at the sight of that sweet, gentle expression that graced her face. He stood, transfixed by that smile. Unfortunately, reality intruded in the form of pain, and, to his utter embarrassment, he had to hop as best he could toward the truck.

Chuckling, the woman came forward. “I hate to say this, but have you ever played hopscotch?”

Grinning, he shook his head.

“Well,” she said, pulling open the creaking rusty door, “sometimes the players are wonderful at it, other times they wobble around, right?” Her eyes twinkling, she continued, “You look like the wobbling ones at the moment.”

He chuckled. “I do, do I?”

She grinned cheekily. “By the way, I live two blocks away. Normally I don’t bring my truck, but I had to make a pickup on the way and so I drove. Oh,” she added, giving him a very stern warning glance. “I don’t normally pick up strangers either. I’m not alone where I’m going.”

“An injured man doesn’t have much room to argue, madam, what form of transportation he takes. And rest assured, you will be safe with me.”

Glancing worriedly at his foot she nibbled her lip again. “We’ll get you right over to my house and get something on that.”

If she was relieved at his words, he didn’t see it in her expression. Her attention had returned strictly to the injury.

Helping him into the vehicle, she waited until he was snug with his seat belt fastened before closing the door.

He adjusted the tan belted coat and then, in as dignified a manner as possible, folded his black nylon sock and slipped it into the empty charcoal loafer in his lap.

Samantha jumped into the truck, pausing to tuck the bottom of her blue dress well in from the closing door. She adjusted the beat-up gray jacket she wore over it and then fastened her seat belt. In moments she made a U-turn in the middle of the vacant street and took off the way she’d come. The tiny vehicle was toasty warm, the vents chugging out an air current strong enough to ruffle his hair. He felt his cheeks thaw and begin to heat.

A trash bag hung over the standard stick shift, and between the driver and passenger windshield was a sticker of a cartoon character. Stickers and trash cans. Two things not in his expensive car or any car he’d driven in for quite a while.

“It’s quiet this time of the evening,” he murmured over the engine’s noise.

“Everyone is in church. Hill Creek, Texas, may only run twenty thousand or so, including the outlying areas, but most everyone attends church.”

They did pass a few cars, belying Samantha’s claim. He wondered if she exaggerated everything, and decided that must be part of her outgoing personality. She hadn’t exaggerated where she lived, though, he realized when she turned two blocks later.

As he watched her drive down the street, he opened his mouth to mention the new building two blocks down where the street dead-ended into Hill Creek’s new mall, which this farming community certainly was proud of. Dunnington’s was very visible; the main store was surrounded by large gray sections of wall that blocked the current entrance while engineers and such worked on the inside of the store.

She had an excellent view of what was going on at the construction site, he realized. Hoping to gauge her reaction to the mention of his business, maybe find out just what she thought about someone like him in general, he opened his mouth to ask her about Dunnington’s.

The woman beat him to that. “Over here is where I live and over there is the devil’s playground.”

Blinking, Richard stared at where she pointed and then looked back to her. Though she pointed at the construction site down at the mall, she had to be talking about the hardware store or perhaps something he hadn’t seen. Words like that from such a sweet young woman were so out of character.

“Devil’s playground?” he asked, certain the astonishment could be heard in his voice. He was lucky that he could get that out through his wind-pipe. It’d nearly closed at her words. She pointed at the mall again.

He simply shook his head, certain he’d missed something.

“Yeah. Well, that’s what some of us have taken to calling it. It’s rather bad of me, I know. But they’re bringing in a store that is going to be my competition.”

Then he saw what she meant. “You own a candy store?” he asked, taking in the tiny gingerbread-like building that advertised homemade confections as well as “lunch items.”

She turned in beside the shop and then slipped the brake on before she opened her door. She slid out and came around to the other side of the vehicle. “Yeah. I sure do. And that new company that faces this way from the mall?” She gestured down the street. “It’s here to put me out of business.”

Before he could reply, Samantha slipped her arm around him and led him toward the side door of the building. Unlocking it, she guided him inside.

Dark it might be, but he recognized well the smell of a confectioner’s shop. How could he not? He’d been raised in one himself.

But unfortunately, he was afraid that when this woman, this angel of mercy and simple beauty found out who he was, she was going to break his other foot before booting him right out the front door. How could he go about telling her that her conqueror and savior was the devil that was going to put her out of business?

Chapter Two

“I really don’t want to put you out.”

Samantha smiled at the man. How could she not? He was gorgeous. He was polite. He was gentle. She could go on and on with the impression he’d made on her, but didn’t.

“You aren’t putting me out at all.”

She wondered what the man thought of her candy shop. She paused here at the front end of the store where they had entered. A tiny light on the counter illuminated the front of the shop at night, allowing Mr. Moore to see around him.

She tried to see The Candy Shoppe through a stranger’s eyes. A black and white picture of her grandparents, from the newspaper, when they opened the shop aeons ago, hung on the wall to her right. Various articles surrounded it. The announcement about adding lunchtime meals was beside those, a testament to her needing to add more to keep the store open and draw in more people.

On the other wall were professional pictures of candy and flowers hanging in a gilded frame. Wainscoting climbed halfway up the wall. Above it was a soft pastel wallpaper of blue, pink, yellow and green. Old-fashioned wrought-iron tables, in various pastel shades, dotted the sturdy wood floor. Of course, behind the counter the floor became cement.

Oh, the memories. Some of her best times had been in this shop with her grandmother—getting to help mix the candy, playing ballerina while Granny cleaned up at night.

Memories to fill the places that should have been made with parents who were absent most of her childhood. Especially her father.

“Nice,” the man murmured.

Jolted into action by the deep soft voice, Samantha moved to the end of the counter and lifted part of the Formica-covered countertop.

Richard hobbled through it.

Samantha waited until he was through before slipping her arm back around him.

He fit her perfectly, she thought, as she tried to help him limp through the public area and into the back communal living room.

“What happened!” Angela McCade, sitting on the sofa, book in her lap, jumped up from her seat.

“Meet Angela, one of my boarders,” Samantha said. “This is Richard Moore,” Samantha said to Angela, who came forward to help.

“Nice to meet you,” Richard said, and Samantha thought again what a wonderful voice he had.

She helped him get seated on her sofa. “Well,” she breathed out, tired from trying to help the huge man. “Welcome to my home.” It was nearly a question.