Sexy, Single And Searching: Sexy, Single And Searching / Eager, Eligible And Alaskan

Dutes™

Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #79

Delightful Lori Wilde delivers a very special Double Duets this month featuring THE BACHELORS OF BEAR CREEK, a miniseries about four fervent bachelors that began in Blaze with #30 A Touch of Silk. This author always “brilliantly weaves together lovable characters, charming scenes and a humorous story line,” say reviewers at Romantic Times.

Duets Vol. #80

Talented mother-and-daughter writing team Jennifer Drew is back with a mouthwatering story about a pastry chef wronged by a reporter, who then sets out to get his “just desserts.” Susan Peterson serves up the quirky, delicious Green Eggs & Sam about a sheriff named Sam, a sexy redhead and a puzzling case of foul play—or is that fowl play?

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

Sexy, Single & Searching

Eager, Eligible and Alaskan

Lori Wilde

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Sexy, Single and Searching

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Eager, Eligible and Alaskan

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Sexy, Single & Searching

Lori Wilde

Don’t be scared.

She was no longer meek little Cammie Jo, but fearless Camryn Josephine, up for whatever life might throw her way. And she was loving her new self.

Mack was studying her, his eyes hot. So hot, her clothes stuck to her body. Everywhere his gaze landed she seemed to burst into flames.

His gaze slid from her eyes to the bridge of her nose.

Ka-pow.

Her nose burned.

Hungrily he examined her lips.

Ka-bang!

Her mouth became an inferno.

Visually he caressed her jaw.

Ka-blewy!

Her chin was toast.

Wait a minute, where was he going with that naughty stare?

Ka-bam!

Her breasts erupted in sparks.

Help! Call 911. Get the fire department here pronto. Camryn Josephine was in nuclear meltdown!

Dear Reader,

Once upon a time, I was a very shy girl. I couldn’t speak to a boy, much less look him in the face. I didn’t go out on my first date until I was nineteen, and it was a total disaster. The guy didn’t even kiss me, and I was puckered up and ready.

The idea for Cammie Jo’s story came to me one day when I was recalling my painful youth. I would have given anything for a magic potion or a charmed amulet that would have allowed me to be brave.

So Cammie Jo is especially dear to my heart because she is a part of me. But Cammie Jo was lucky. She had the treasured wish totem to help her over her shyness. Me, I had to do it the hard way, one step at a time. But now I’m happy to say I’m far from shy and living my dreams writing romance novels for Harlequin.

I hope you enjoy reading Cammie Jo’s story. If it gives just one woman the courage to face her fears and go for her heart’s desire, I’ll be happy.

Don’t miss out on the other heroes in my BACHELORS OF BEAR CREEK miniseries. Read Jake’s story next in this very volume and coming in the fall from Blaze see what happens to Caleb and Meggie.

I love to hear from readers. Visit me at my Web site—www.loriwilde.com—or write to me at loriwilde@yahoo.com.

Happy reading!

Lori Wilde

Books by Lori Wilde

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

30—A TOUCH OF SILK *Bachelors of Bear Creek, Bk. 1

This book is dedicated to Jackie H.—

Goddess of all goddesses.

You pulled my hiney out of the fire.

Thanks for reminding me to protect the magic.

Prologue

WILD WOMEN WANTED! Do You Have What It Takes To Become A Wilderness Wife?

Cammie Jo Lockhart sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop computer pushed to one side, staring down at page 110 of the glossy women’s magazine in her hand.

She should be working on her dissertation, she really should, but the photograph of four very eligible, very shirtless Alaskan bachelors provided a more provocative lure than “The Role of the Personal Computer in the Development of Archive Retrieval.”

She had been fascinated with the June issue of Metropolitan since her copy had arrived in her post office box in mid-May featuring the bachelors’ advertisement and the accompanying essay contest sponsored by the magazine. The winning entry would receive a two-week, all-expenses-paid vacation to Bear Creek, Alaska.

The trip was what interested Cammie Jo. The blue-jean clad, bare-chested hunks were just an added bonus.

Soon, the winner would be announced. Too bad she’d been too chicken to enter. Cammie Jo sighed, her gaze lingering on the picture she’d committed to late-night fantasy. Quinn Scofield, wilderness guide. Caleb Greenleaf, naturalist. Jake Gerard, B&B owner and last but not least, Mack McCaulley, bush pilot. All four were heart-stoppingly gorgeous but time and again, her eyes were drawn to Mack.

What a man, what a man, what a man. The guy was so hot her fingers scorched just turning the page to read about him.

He was everything she had ever wanted but could never have, with his sensual cleft chin, short dark-brown hair, sun-kissed cheeks and deep chocolate eyes. He had a defiant expression on his face as if to say, “I’m not scared of anyone or anything.” Something in his brave countenance called to the squeaky mouse inside her.

A rap at her door had her stuffing the magazine under the covers. She didn’t want her aunts in on the secret that Cammie Jo, serious academician, had a soft spot for a frivolous women’s magazine featuring silly articles on sex and love and romance.

She pushed her thick, black-frame glasses up on her nose, tucked an escaping hank of dishwater blond hair back into the loose bun piled atop her head.

“Come in.”

The door opened and her three great-aunts, whom she shared a home with near the University of Texas in Austin, peeked their heads in.

“Guess what?” Aunt Coco asked in a teasing singsong.

“It’s so exciting.” Aunt Hildegard’s blue eyes, the same color as Cammie Jo’s, twinkled.

“You won!” Aunt Kiki squealed and clapped her hands, unable to stand the suspense any longer.

“Won?” Cammie Jo blinked. “Won what?”

“The contest.”

“What contest?”

“The one in the magazine you love so much. You know, the one with the bachelors. The one giving away the free vacation.”

“But I never entered the contest,” Cammie Jo protested, realizing she was busted.

A sinking sensation plunged into the pit of her stomach at the same time a strange euphoria said hello to her heart. She thought of the brief passage she’d scribbled on a piece of scrap paper and tucked between the folds of the magazine, never meaning to send the thirty-words-or-less essay.

I want to go to Alaska because I’m very timid and more than anything in the world I long to be brave. If Alaska can’t save me, nothing can.

“We found your entry and sent it in for you.”

“No.” Cammie Jo shook her head.

“Yes.” Her aunts nodded in unison.

She would give anything to see the place of her intrepid mother’s birth, but she was terrified of flying, nervous around strangers, fearful of new situations, scared of wild animals, anxious when she got too far from home and apprehensive about making a fool of herself.

“I can’t.”

“We accepted for you. The plane tickets arrived in today’s mail.” Aunt Kiki handed her an envelope. “You leave tomorrow.”

“I can’t leave tomorrow!”

“Yes you can,” Hildegard interjected. “We already packed your bags. And I had your contact lens prescription renewed.”

“But I don’t like wearing contacts.”

“You need to play up your assets, dear. I even ordered a new color for you to try. Emerald green.”

“I didn’t write the entry because I was husband-hunting. I just want to visit Alaska.”

“And now here’s your chance.” Aunt Kiki winked. “You’re out of school for the summer, you have no excuses.”

“I have to finish my dissertation.”

“Which isn’t due until October.”

Cammie Jo shivered and stuffed her hands into the oversize pockets of her gray, shapeless jumper. “You guys know I’m too shy to travel. Fear kept me from mailing the essay myself.”

“But you want to go, don’t you?” Hildegard coaxed.

In the answer to that question lay the central paradox of Cammie Jo’s life. In spite of her inherent timidity, in spite of her natural reserve around people, in spite of the fact she spent her days cocooned in the cozy academic milieu of a graduate assistant, Cammie Jo longed for adventure. She craved to be brave, but deep inside she was nothing but a bashful wimp.

Her aunts exchanged glances.

“It’s time to tell her,” Aunt Coco said.

“Tell me what?”

“About the treasured wish totem,” Hildegard replied.

“The treasured what?”

Aunt Hildegard nodded at Coco. “You’re right. Fetch the amulet.”

Cammie Jo worried her bottom lip with her teeth while Coco disappeared. After a few minutes she returned with a gray metal lockbox and key.

Aunt Hildegard whispered, “When your mother realized she wasn’t beating cancer, she gave us this necklace, but made us promise not to let you have it until you were mature enough to handle the powerful magic.”

“What magic?” Cammie Jo didn’t understand.

“Open the box,” Hildegard urged. “There’s a letter from your mother.”

Her fingers trembled as she flipped open the lid and stared down at the whalebone necklace resting there. Attached to the bone beads was a hideous totem carving.

“Uh, gee,” Cammie Jo said, overcome with an urge to wash her hands. “It’s…”

“Vulgar. We know. But the totem’s crudeness is beside the point.” Aunt Kiki placed a hand on her shoulder. “Read the letter.”

Cammie Jo unfolded the yellowed notepaper. Her mother’s delicate script jumped out at her.

My dearest darling daughter,

By the time you read my letter many years will have passed since I held you in my arms.

I am passing on to you the only thing of value I have to bestow. The treasured wish totem has magical properties beyond the reasoning mind, but the power is very real. I instructed your aunts not to give you the necklace until you were old enough to know your heart’s desire. Whatever you wish for will come true. But there are conditions. You only get one wish for a lifetime, you must keep the necklace on your person and you must not tell anyone about the secret.

The doctors told your father and I that we could never have children. I wished on the totem for a beautiful, healthy baby, and look what I got!

Think about your wish long and hard, then ask for it. Believe, my darling and the world is yours!

Love forever,

Your Mother.

Blinking back tears, Cammie Jo reread the letter three times. “Omigosh.” She turned the necklace over in her hand. “Omigosh.”

Her mother had worn this odd jewelry, had believed in its peculiar magic. Well, if the necklace worked for Mama, maybe it would work for her. Cammie Jo steeled herself, then slipped the ugly thing over her head.

The totem rested between her breasts and a strange warmness, as if it had been lying in the sun instead of stored in a lockbox for fifteen years, heated her skin through the material of her blouse.

“Should I make my wish now?”

“No!” her aunts exclaimed.

“You must wait,” Hildegard cautioned, “until you know for sure what you want most. Once the wish has been made there’s no going back.”

“Remember, you can’t tell anyone else about the totem or it will defuse the magic.” Aunt Coco shook a finger.

“And don’t forget,” Aunt Kiki admonished. “Be careful what you wish for, because you will get it.”

1

“FIRST TIME IN ALASKA?” Mack McCaulley asked to make conversation.

It was three twenty-seven on a gorgeous Tuesday afternoon in late June, and they had been in the air for fifteen minutes. His passenger had yet to utter a single word. He was beginning to wonder if she was mute.

The petite young woman wedged beside him in his Beaver floatplane, dubbed Edna Marie after his beloved grandmother, bobbed her head.

An overabundance of clothing—upturned coat collar, turtleneck sweater, wool knit toque—almost swallowed up her round little face. And what the clothing didn’t obscure of her features, the thick glasses did.

When he had picked her up at the Anchorage airport, she’d reminded him of a nearsighted marshmallow, so swaddled was she in goose down. She had dressed for a winter in Antarctica, not a balmy sixty-degree day in Bear Creek.

No telling what kind of figure she possessed beneath the many layers. Not that he was interested.

Actually, she seemed more Caleb’s type. Quiet, studious, introverted. Mack could tell with one glance she was much too timid to make a good Alaskan wife. At least for him. He considered fortitude the number one quality he required in a mate, and this woman was about as brave as bumbling deputy, Barney Fife, from the old Andy Griffith Show.

She had inched into the plane, clutching at whatever handhold she could find as if she believed the metal might collapse beneath her insignificant weight. And when he’d placed a hand on her shoulder to help steady her, she’d gasped out loud at the casual contact.

What? Had she thought he would ravish her on the spot? Maybe he should tell her he always toasted his marshmallows before eating them.

In the ensuing moments since takeoff she had been staring at the floorboard, her hands clenched in white-knuckled terror.

“Uh-huh,” she spoke so quietly, Mack had to tilt his head and lean in her direction to hear. She had taken so long to respond he’d almost forgotten the question.

Thank heavens not all the women who’d shown up in Bear Creek following their advertisement in Metropolitan magazine were this uncommunicative. Mack smiled at the thought of his last fare. A foxy redhead with a killer figure who’d pressed her cell phone number into his hand and whispered, “Call me.”

Now, she’d seemed very adventuresome. Mack exhaled audibly. Yep, he and his three friends were in for a hot, hot summer.

Er…better make that two friends. Quinn was already spoken for, having courted and caught Kay Freemont, the beautiful reporter Metropolitan magazine had sent to cover their story.

And this particular bachelor’s curiosity was not piqued by the geeky lass beside him. He would be more than happy to dump her at Jake’s B&B and head back to Anchorage for another bunch of bachelorettes. His next passengers were sorority sisters from the University of Las Vegas. Those women had to be livelier than this one.

And he craved liveliness in his mate. He wanted an exciting wife who would embrace Alaska with all her heart and soul. A best friend. A woman who loved long dark winters and relished active sunny summers.

To Mack, fearlessness was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

In his pocket, he kept a “wife” list—an itemization of his future spouse’s ideal qualities. The list reminded him not to get sidetracked by a pretty face or a sexy body that turned out to have a couch potato soul, as he had in the past. As the last surviving McCaulley male he was serious about getting married and having kids. And he was very specific about what he wanted.

“But my mother was born in Alaska,” Miss Marshmallow whispered after a silence so long he jumped when she spoke. “She was a bush pilot like you.”

He almost didn’t catch the last bit. “For real?”

The woman bobbed her head.

“Where’s your mother from?”

“Fairbanks.”

Well, that explained her overdressing. Fairbanks, nearer to the Arctic Circle, was much colder than the southern coastal region.

“So you’re an Alaskan by proxy.” He smiled. Poor thing. He felt kind of sorry for her. He had a sneaking suspicion if he yelled “boo” too loudly she would faint dead away from fright.

“I guess so.”

“Your mom let you come here all alone?” Mack could have sworn she wasn’t any older than sixteen.

“Both my parents passed away when I was a kid.”

Way to go, McCaulley. Open mouth, insert size thirteen-and-a-half boot.

“Oh, wow. I mean, I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Did your folks die at the same time?”

“No. A car crash killed my dad when I was six.”

“That must have been terrible.”

She nodded. “My mom was so grief-stricken she didn’t take care of herself. The doctors refused to say losing the love of her life caused her cancer to grow, but I know better. She and my dad were true soul mates. She even gave up Alaska and her life as a bush pilot for him.”

“Your mom sounds like a hell of a woman.” Too bad the daughter hadn’t inherited any of her mother’s moxie.

“She was.”

“So you’re an orphan.”

“My three doting great-aunts raised me. So I never felt like an orphan. But I miss my mom.”

Her voice had gotten stronger as she spoke. She had the cutest little drawl. Mack had flown enough tourists in his day to pinpoint her heritage as Texas. Or maybe Oklahoma.

“It’s nice. That you’re not all alone, I mean.”

Geez, he sounded like an idiot. Good thing Miss Marshmallow wasn’t potential mate material. With these brilliant and insightful comments falling from his silver tongue, she would drop him like a stone and he couldn’t blame her.

“How about you?” she ventured in a whisper. “Are your parents still alive?”

“My father died last year. My mother?” He shrugged, not wanting to talk about his childhood. “She left me and my dad when I was eight. Couldn’t handle the Alaskan winters any longer. She lives in Georgia with husband number five or six, I forget which.”

“Do you ever see her?”

“Not much. She hates Alaska. Says the wilderness scares her.” He rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t have much staying power when it comes to relationships.”

“Maybe you should reach out to her. She could be lonely.”

Mack hooted. “She’s invited to a different party every night. I seriously doubt she’s lonely.”

“She hurt you when she left, didn’t she?”

Mack angled her a look. “Funny,” he snapped. “You seem too shy to be the nosy type.”

“I’m not. I mean…oh drat…how much longer until we reach Bear Creek?” she mumbled.

He’d cut her off short. Not very nice of him. Especially when he recognized that conversation did not come easily to her. But he didn’t want to discuss his erstwhile mother.

“About thirty minutes,” he said more gently.

“Oh.”

“Name’s Mack, by the way.” As a way to apologize for his rudeness, he stuck out a hand. “Mack McCaulley.”

She stared at his palm and hesitated a moment before slipping her slender hand into his, then pulling away as fast as she could.

What? Did he have cooties?

“I know who you are. I recognized your picture from Metropolitan magazine. Page 110. The four of you guys are sitting around without shirts on.”

“Ah, the infamous ad.”

She stared at his chest then, as if recalling how bare he looked in that confounded advertisement and her cheeks darkened to bright crimson.

“You’ve got the advantage because all I know is your last name.” He tapped his log book lying on the seat between them. “What’s your given name?”

“Cammie Jo.”

Had she said Tammie Jo? He couldn’t be sure, she had such a soft tone, but the name suited her. Old-fashioned, sweet, innocent. For no good reason, he had the strangest urge to wrap his arm around her to protect her from the big bad world.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, too.”

She smiled and met his eyes at last, although she immediately glanced away again. But that rapid-fire smile did dazzling things for her—let’s admit the facts folks—rather plain-Jane face.

Mack returned his attention to business as they neared the mountain range that almost surrounded Bear Creek. Like most of the numerous mountains in Alaska, this cluster had no official name, but the locals called them the Tlingit Peaks for the original natives who’d inhabited the area.

He angled the nose of the floatplane upward as the majestic blue hunks of snowcapped jagged rock drew nearer. She sucked in her breath with an audible whoosh. Turning his head to look at her once more, Mack discovered she had her eyes clenched shut.

“Afraid of flying in small planes?”

Cammie Jo nodded and swallowed hard. “Any planes.”

It had taken a strong dose of Aunt Hildegard’s home-brewed chamomile tea and a meditation tape to even allow her to set foot on the dawn flight from Austin to Dallas/Fort Worth and then on to Anchorage. If she hadn’t wanted to see Alaska so badly, nothing would have persuaded her aboard.

And planes weren’t the only things that frightened her. Top on her list of phobias? Making small talk with handsome strangers. And not just any handsome stranger but the very bachelor she’d been fantasizing about.

Being here with him was too cool and too cruel. Out of all the bush pilots in Alaska, how had she ended up with the object of her affections?

Of course she hadn’t the faintest notion of competing with other women to become this man’s wife. Because of her shyness, she feared she would never find her true love the way her mother and father had found each other.

How she wished she was gutsy enough to flirt with him.

Ha! That would be the day.

She knew Mack wasn’t impressed with her. Men never were. He’d barely even glanced at her when she’d sidled up to where he’d stood in the airport, holding a placard with her last name written in a bold masculine hand.

But what about the treasured wish totem nestled in the bottom of her handbag, waiting for her to come to a decision? What if the necklace worked? She could wish for anything.

Bravery.

A husband.

True love.

Wishing doesn’t make it so, Cammie Jo. There’s no proof the necklace is anything more than suggestive jewelry.

No proof at all, except for the letter her mother had penned to her on her deathbed.

How she wanted to believe in the mystical power.

Mack’s gaze on her was disconcerting. Frankly, everything about him disconcerted her.

His outdoorsy, masculine scent when she was accustomed to delicate, feminine aromas like lilac and lavender and rose. His husky masculine voice when the dulcet, ladylike murmurs of her three aunts most often graced her ears. His stubble-darkened jawline when she was used to…well, okay, so Aunt Kiki did have a bit of a five o’clock shadow, but not when she regularly used her depilatory cream.

Anyway, he represented an alien creature, from the corded muscles of his wrists and forearms to his disheveled brown hair to his proud aquiline nose.

And in his presence Cammie Jo was as tremulous as a bunny rabbit at a hoot owl jamboree.

She turned her head to look out the window, but the closeness of the mountains in conjunction with the smallness of the plane unnerved her almost as much as the man beside her. She shifted in her seat and tried to cross her legs, not an easy feat in the many layers of puffy clothing she wore.

Accidentally, she kicked the handset mounted on the dash. The two-way radio slipped from its mooring and crashed to the floor of the plane.

Shy klutz, thy name is Cammie Jo.

“Omigosh. I’m so sorry.” She reached for the handset at the same time Mack leaned over and their heads cracked together.

“Ow!”

“Ouch, ouch, ouch.” She rubbed the bump on her noggin. Mack was wincing and doing the same.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. Without thinking, she reached out to touch the red angry welt forming on his forehead but he drew back.

“I’m okay.” His voice was gruff; his gaze fixed on a spot outside the windshield.

Mortified, she shrank into her seat.

Remember why you came here, she scolded herself. Not for love, not for romance, not to snag yourself a handsome bachelor but to face your fears, visit the land of your mother’s birth and to have a grand adventure.

And if she couldn’t face her darkest dreads? Cammie Jo gulped. She would no doubt end up single for the rest of her life, living in the same old house in Austin, teaching college and pining for what might have been.

No. She refused to hide from life any longer. So what if she had embarrassed herself in front of Mr. I’m-Too-Sexy-For-My-Shirt Bush Pilot. Big deal. She would live. No point putting the guy on a pedestal.

She might not be sexy and brave and graceful and totally feminine from her head to her toes, but she was whip-smart. She had maintained a perfect 4.0 GPA all through undergraduate school and a 3.9 during her graduate studies in information science.

So there. Pffttt.

She warmed to the subject. Who was he anyway? Sitting there looking so accomplished, so tough. Her own mother had been a bush pilot. How hard could flying a plane be? The guy wasn’t a brain surgeon or nuclear scientist. In fact, if she wasn’t so scared of flying, she could become a pilot if she wanted.

Oh yeah, dead easy to be courageous inside her own head.

On the outside was another story.

Do something brave, stare out the window, study the landscape. Imagine you’re piloting the plane.

Cammie Jo forced herself to look out the side window and wished she hadn’t.

The mountains were so very close and it looked as if Mack flew straight at them.

Her breath took its sweet time strolling from her lungs. Her pulse crescendoed in her ears.

I won’t look away, I won’t, I won’t. I’m brave. I’m strong, I’m invincible. I’m intrepid Camryn Josephine.

The nose of the plane dipped. The wing wavered. Startled, Cammie Jo’s eyes widened.

Was this normal?

She peeked over at Mack. He looked calm and controlled, but of course he would. He was the pilot. He wasn’t supposed to let on if things were bad.

The plane dove down, down, down in a rapid descent, falling into a small valley hidden between the massive mountains. She stared at the control panel, some gizmo spinning wildly as if they were in deep trouble.

Calm down.

But she couldn’t. Her stomach scraped the roof of her mouth. The sheer face of a mountain lay mere yards away. She spied trees and other vegetation and hey, was that a mountain goat?

Down, down, down. Almost at a ninety-degree angle. It couldn’t be normal to slip in so steep. Something had to be malfunctioning. She fisted her hands, fought for self-control and failed.

Aiyeeh! We’re gonna crash! Mayday! Mayday! Oh, shoot, I didn’t want to die a virgin.

Freaked out of her wits, Cammie Jo spun in her seat, unbuckled the belt, dove sideways and plowed her head into Mack’s lap.

Seconds later, when the plane leveled out and it became clear they weren’t crashing, Cammie Jo realized she had her face buried snugly in a strange man’s crotch.