LITMIR.BIZ

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      LINDA TURNER

      began reading romances in high school and began writing them one night when she had nothing else to read. She’s been writing ever since. Single and living in Texas, she travels every chance she gets, scouting locales for her books.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      Engulfed in darkness, the man sat alone in the privacy of his small den and watched, transfixed, as the opening credits of the movie rolled onto his big screen TV. In the background, street shots of New York City flashed lightning quick, then there she was, just as he’d known she would be, smiling at him from the television. Angel Wiley. His angel. The woman he was born to love.

      From the moment he’d seen her in her first movie, she’d lit up the screen with her innocent, virginal beauty. Her part had been a small one that hadn’t consisted of more than ten lines, but he’d hung on her every word. And just that easily, he’d fallen in love.

      He was a man who believed strongly in destiny, and there was no question in his mind that it was Fate that had led him to see that particular movie that day. Angel Wiley was meant to be his. Deep in his heart, he knew that, accepted it, looked forward to the day he could claim her as his own.

      At first, of course, she hadn’t known he existed, so he’d had to be content to worship her from afar. He dreamed of her, fantasized about her, and even quit his job and moved to Hollywood so he could be near her. He’d long since given up hope of ever meeting her when Fate once again stepped in and he ran into her quite by accident outside a restaurant in Beverly Hills. It was a meeting he would never forget.

      Staring at her image on the TV screen, he smiled dreamily in remembrance. They hadn’t had time to speak so much as a word to each other before her friends had swept her away, but no words had been needed. There’d been a spark, a flash of recognition between two souls, and she’d been as aware of it as he had. Nothing had been the same since.

      She was all he could think of, but he couldn’t just walk up to her and ask her out, not when she was the brightest new star in the Hollywood sky. She was naturally leery of strangers, and as far as she was concerned, that was all that he was to her. He knew differently, of course, but it would take time to convince her that he was the man of her dreams. So he’d had to content himself with following her home that night to get her address. Then he’d begun to gently woo her with cards and candy and flowers.

      Just thinking about how delighted she must have been the first time he surprised her with roses made him smile. Although he’d never spoken to her, he knew his angel was a woman who would love flowers. And romantic gestures. She was sweet and loving and innocent and just looking for her knight to come racing up on his charger and sweep her off to happily-ever-after.

      And he was her knight. He’d known it the first time he sat in a darkened theater and gazed up at her angelic face. And soon, she would know it, too. When the time was right.

      Chapter 1

      The woman who opened the door to Angel Wiley’s soft knock was tall and spare, with a wrinkled face as stern as a ship captain’s. But at the sight of the visitor standing on her front porch, a delighted smile broke across her firm mouth and good humor danced in her sky-blue eyes. “There you are! And looking just as pretty as you do in the movies! Come in, come in, and make yourself at home. We don’t stand on ceremony in this neck of the woods—never have. Most folks are just like family.” And not giving Angel time to object, she pushed open the screen door, pulled her inside and hugged the stuffing out of her.

      Surprised, Angel laughed and returned the hug. She’d long since accepted the fact that because people felt like they knew her from her movies, they felt free to treat her like an old friend. “Mrs. Henderson—”

      “Myrtle, dear,” the older woman corrected her easily as she released her. “Mrs. Henderson was my mother-in-law, and that woman was meaner than a wet hen. Everybody in the county calls me Myrtle.” Glancing past her through the screen door, she frowned in disappointment at the sight of the Ford Taurus sedan sitting at the curb. “Is that your car? I thought you’d have a limo. Garrett Elliot does. I saw him driving around the square just this afternoon.”

      Angle didn’t doubt it. She and her costar had worked together once before, to her regret, and she knew for a fact that Garrett didn’t go anywhere without a limo and entourage. Spoiled and insecure, he thrived on the trappings of stardom and the sense of self-importance it gave him. The more looks he drew, even in a backwater little town like Liberty Hill, Colorado, the happier he was.

      She, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She hadn’t gone into acting for the fame, but for the work itself. She loved it, loved creating a believable character that came alive on the screen. But the work had its drawbacks, and

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