LITMIR.BIZ

       Cagney gasped. Stars filled her vision until she feared she’d pass out.

      The curtains opened, revealing the boy she saw in her dreams every single night. A boy life had chiseled into an incredibly gorgeous—and apparently filthy rich—man. A boy who had listened to her dreams, yet who’d left her in the hospital after the devastating crash without so much as a get-well balloon.

      A boy who’d broken her heart, and yet, despite that, the one person she’d never stopped loving.

      Jonas had returned.

      Dear Reader,

      Sometimes a teenage romance is simply puppy love, but every so often that first love truly is meant to last forever. My best friend, Terri, and her husband, Dan, have been together since high school—growing and changing and building a family together. They’re the inspiration for this story about Cagney and Jonas.

      Like Terri and Dan, Cagney and Jonas are absolutely meant for each other. Soul mates. Unlike my friends (thank goodness, huh, Terri?), Cagney and Jonas have to suffer heartache, distance and estrangement before they reach their much-deserved happily ever after.

      I hope you enjoy their journey back to one another, and I hope you find your happily ever after, whether in high school or later in life. I’d love to hear your soul-mate story. Please write me through my publisher, or via my website, www.LyndaSandoval.com.

      Hugs,

       Lynda Sandoval

      About the Author

      LYNDAL SANDOVAL is a former police officer who exchanged the excitement of that career for blissfully isolated days, creating stories she hopes readers will love. Though she’s also worked as a youth mentalhealth and runaway crisis counselor, a television extra, a trade-show art salesperson, a European tour guide and a bookkeeper for an exotic bird and reptile company—among other weird jobs—Lynda’s favorite career, by far, is writing books.

      In addition to romance, Lynda writes women’s fiction and young adult novels, and in her spare time, she loves to travel, quilt, bid on eBay, hike, read and spend time with her dog. Lynda also works part-time as an emergency fire/medical dispatcher for the fire department.

      Readers are invited to visit Lynda on the web at www. LyndaSandoval.com, or to send mail with an SAE (with return postage) for reply to PO Box 1018, Conifer, CO 80433-1018, USA.

      YOU, AND

       NO OTHER

      LYNDA SANDOVAL

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      This one is for Charles Griemsman,

       a kick-butt editor (in a good way)

       and my new friend.

      I live for your hearts and smiley faces!

       Prologue

       Twelve years ago …

      Cagney Bishop tensed when she heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive in front of their house. She’d become so attuned to her police chief father’s explosive and unpredictable behavior over the years, she could gauge the mood of the coming evening simply from how he opened and closed the doors.

      Engine killed.

      Door opened.

      SLAM!

      She winced, then quickly hid her sketch pad beneath her comforter, replacing it with a textbook and spiral notebook. She poised her pencil over the page and cocked her head to listen.

      Heavy stomps.

      Key in the lock.

      Door creak.

      SLAM!

      Her shoulders sagged. So much for tonight, but oh, well. Same crap, different day, right? She shouldn’t feel the least twinge of disappointment. After seven-teen-plus years, did she think he’d suddenly morph into a father worthy of a Hallmark card? Dream on.

      She snuggled farther into her upholstered headboard, as if she could somehow make herself a smaller target. No doubt he’d have words with Mom first, but eventually—like always—he’d wind up in her face for some trumped-up reason.

      Hang in there, she told herself, vying to shake off the never-ending pall of her home life and refocus on her goals for the weeks, months, years ahead. Prom, then graduation, then she’d finally—thank God—finally be off to college and out from under the chief’s oppressive regime. If she could just suck it up a few more weeks, which was nothing in the scheme of things. Even if it felt like an eternity …

      Her door swung open much sooner than expected and hit the opposite wall, but she didn’t react—a coping mechanism she’d honed to perfection over the years.

       Never let him see you sweat.

      After his last bout of fury, when he’d, yet again, thrown her door open so violently that the doorknob had punched into the drywall, she’d given up on the futile and repeated patch jobs. Instead, she stuffed the hole with a small, poofy pillow to soften future blows and prevent those loud, intimidating slams he seemed so fond of. Still, she wanted to yell have a little respect for my privacy—or better, go the hell away—but she never would.

      Despite the lack of clatter with today’s entrance, one glance into her father’s reddened face told her she was in for it. It didn’t help that he still wore his intimidatingly authoritative uniform, gun and all—not that he’d ever physically abuse any of them, but still. Sometimes she wondered if a punch would hurt less than his relentless, cutting words.

      Schooling her features into nothingness, she held his gaze. Waiting. Always best to take the defensive when dealing with an unpredictable force.

      When he didn’t speak, a dull thud started in her chest. He couldn’t have found out about her subversive prom plans, could he? She almost scoffed aloud, even as fear clawed up her spine. Who was she kidding? He could find out anything. He had an entire police force of spies and wasn’t afraid to use them, ethics be damned.

      “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said finally, through clenched teeth.

      Play dumb. Her gaze strayed to the books in her lap, then back to his face. “Homework, Chief?” Pretty pathetic that she couldn’t bear to call her father by anything but that. Any affection she’d felt for the man had died long ago. Dad? Daddy? Those words meant nothing to her. Some kids got lucky. Other kids got out.

      “Don’t get smart with me.” He yanked the little pillow out of the ruined drywall and whipped it across the room. “You know what I’m talking about.”

      Uh-oh. She managed a tight swallow. She probably did know.

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