Cinderella and the Major Read online

  Cinderella and the Major

  By

  Cynthia VanRooy

  Copyright © 2017 Cynthia VanRooy

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction of this work, in whole or part, in any form is forbidden without written permission from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Crownport Publishing

  http://www.crownportpublishing.com

  P.O. Box 2267

  Imperial Beach, CA 91933

  Cover design Dar Albert

  www.wickedsmartdesigns.com

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  Island Heat

  L.A. advertising executive Giselle D’Amato’s life is a train wreck. She caught her fiancé cheating and her job disappeared along with the man. The inheritance of her great-aunt’s house on Oahu’s North Shore offers a sanctuary—until she gets there. The house has become a derelict fixer-upper and her nearest neighbor and co-inheritor is breath-stealing hot, but hostile.

  Burnt-out photojournalist Stoney Breeden just wants the world and his annoying new neighbor to leave him alone. His tropical beach paradise is threatened by the woman who wants him to feel again. Is the heat between them the start of something real or heartbreak waiting to happen?

  Go to:

  http://www.CynthiaVanRooy.com

  Chapter One

  Harmony McMahon took another sip of Chardonnay and contemplated the current bid on the winery tour. She made it a point every year to buy something at the annual fundraiser in support of Amanda’s Place, a local women’s shelter. She had supported the shelter for a number of years, the last three as a board member. Deciding to give the winery tour a pass, she shoved her glasses higher on her nose and moved on to study the other offerings of the silent auction.

  Her brain wasn’t fully engaged in the task at hand. It was too busy turning over her current problem. When she had RSVPed six months earlier that she would be attending her ten-year high school class reunion, it had seemed so far in the future. She had blithely assumed time would turn her into a different person. News flash—she was still the same nerd she’d always been. And the reunion loomed just a few weeks away.

  Why was she even going? It wasn’t like she had any close friends she’d be reconnecting with. Her IQ and fascination with all things computer had made her a misfit from the get-go. The popular girls’ table at lunch had been as distant from her as the moon.

  When her widowed father had married Jolene shortly after Harmony’s twelfth birthday, she had been excited about the prospect of having a mom again who even came with a built-in twin sister—sort of. That was, until her father moved them to Jolene’s home town two hundred miles away. And step-sister Brittany was twelve-going-on-twenty. Starting at the new school was intimidating, and Harmony was slow to make new friends.

  Jolene had insisted Brittany include Harmony in all her school activities. To her credit, Brittany had tried. Jolene and Brittany had both tried to help Harmony become more of what they each were−outgoing, popular and pretty. All three of them had finally given up, exhausted from the effort. Harmony was content with the benign neglect from Jolene thereafter.

  Her father was affectionate, and the two of them still got together for lunch every few months when he was in town for business. She saw Jolene and Brittany when she went back for Christmas, but otherwise not. There was no rancor; they just never had anything in common to talk about.

  So why did she want to revisit her high school days? Because she wanted to show off how far she’d come since then? Not a very noble motivation, but she forgave herself. She was only human.

  She took another sip of wine and noted a makeover was being offered by Style for Now, the salon owned by Samantha Modena, one of the other board members of Amanda’s place. Harmony’s mouth flattened. She wouldn’t be placing a bid on that. Samantha was a stylist, not a magician.

  Harmony figured she didn’t have enough raw material to work with unless fuzzy, dishwater blond hair above a blah face with all-too-ordinary features had suddenly become trendy. She flashed on a memory of Brittany in high school. With her creamy-pale skin and dark hair, she had been told more than once she was the image of a young Elizabeth Taylor. She had even gotten purple contacts to further that impression. Harmony had gotten glasses so she could better see the computer screen. She shook her head. Not even a magician.

  She checked out the other items up for bid and finally put a generous offer on a dinner for two at a hip new Japanese-Mexican fusion restaurant. While the combination of sushi and salsa didn’t sound all that appetizing, it would be interesting. She’d make Arnie, best buddy and fellow Mensa member, go with her. He owed her.

  She’d been counting on him to go to the reunion with her, but two months earlier he’d finally worked up the nerve to ask out the barista he’d been all but stalking. He’d had to switch to decaf because all the caffeine had begun to give him the shakes.

  Now he and the barista were an item and she had insisted he accompany her to a concert the same weekend as the reunion. He’d abandoned Harmony with less thought than it took to order a caramel macchiato. The big brain in Arnie’s skull was exceptional, but apparently, his little brain was pretty much like every other man’s.

  “Looks like we have another great selection of goodies this year.”

  Harmony glanced up from the bid sheet she’d just signed her name to and smiled at Samantha. “Yes, it does.” She looked around the room crowded with people listening to the quiet jazz quartet, drinking, nibbling hors d’oeuvres, and spending money. “A great turnout. Amanda’s Place should come out of this well-fixed.”

  “For sure.” Samantha’s gaze took in the well-heeled attendees before coming back to Harmony. She seemed to focus for a moment on the mass of hair Harmony had scrapped back ruthlessly into a ponytail before smiling into her eyes. “Thank you for donating the site build again. That always brings a great price.”

  Harmony shrugged, uncomfortable with the discussion. Social niceties frequently felt like a foreign language. “I’m glad I can help.”

  The president of the board and host for the evening announced the silent auction would be closing in five minutes, and they would move into the big ticket items.

  Samantha flashed a grin. “I have a personal interest in one of those. Wait ‘til you hear.” With that cryptic remark, she was off to socialize with someone else, leaving Harmony to brood again on the upcoming reunion.

  The host introduced their guest auctioneer, Janice Reynolds, a popular radio personality who had done this for the shelter for several years. She was great fun and always coaxed hefty bids from the crowd. As the evening progressed through the good-natured bidding on ski trips, spa weekends, and balloon rides, Harmony sampled marinated mushrooms, brie with blackberries, and dainty skewered meatballs. She washed them down with sips of wine and listened with half an ear.

  She finished her wine and set her glass down, preparing to leave. She had forgotten to feed Cookie the evening ration of canned food. She had taken the can out of the pantry and then been distracted by a phone call. By the time she got off the phone, she was running late and rushed out the door.

  She was at the auction with a glass of wine in her hand by the time she remembered Cookie. Harmony’s frequent distractions were the reason for the pink sticky notes that papered the front of her refrigerator. She didn’t worry the cat would go hungry. There was dry food in her dish. The animal just preferred the evening treat of canned tuna.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen, we ha
ve something different this year, and I think you’ll agree, unique.” The change in tone of Janice’s voice piqued Harmony’s interest.

  “This offer comes courtesy of Major Conner Talbot of the U.S. Marine Corps, who happens to also be the brother of our own Samantha Modena.”

  Janice waved her hand toward where Samantha stood beside a tall, dark-haired man with the good looks of a catalog model and none of the effeteness. He gave the crowd a half-smile and sketched a salute.

  “With Conner,” Janice said, “you’ll take in a performance by the United States Navy Precision Flying Team, better known as the Blue Angels.” A murmur of excited interest rippled through the crowd.

  “But . . .” Janice teased, “what makes this really special is that with Conner, because he has contacts we mere mortals lack, you’ll also get a behind-the-scenes look at what it takes to put on an airshow of this caliber and be introduced to a number of the Blue Angels. At the end of the day, Conner will treat you to a steak dinner at Shelby’s, one of San Diego’s finest steak restaurants.

  “This offer is open to guys and gals both, anyone who would like the chance to see the Blue Angels in action and enjoy a great steak grilled to perfection. We’ll start the bidding at five hundred dollars.”

  As the bidding quickly climbed by fifty-dollar increments Harmony checked out Samantha’s brother. His strong jaw was clean shaven, not sporting the current style of a two-day shadow. She might have suspected he was military by his bearing.

  His broad shoulders were squared, and although his posture was relaxed, there was an air of alertness, of readiness for action about him. He wore a navy blazer, pale blue button-down shirt, and gray slacks, but it was easy to picture him in a uniform. He would be seriously impressive material.

  At the last thought, her eyes widened. Arnie would have been an escort, but he was almost as socially handicapped as she was. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to walk into the ballroom at the reunion on the arm of Major Conner Talbot and got a little dizzy. Oh, to be able to blow away all the people who had made her feel awkward, ugly, and hopelessly not-cool. Harmony had just discovered she was not above basking in reflected glory.

  She observed the bidding for a moment. Everyone but two men and a woman had dropped out. She felt a pang of guilt for what she was about to do. They all looked like they were really excited about the Blue Angels. But, hey, the Blue Angels gave a performance in San Diego every year. They’d have another chance. She on the other hand . . .

  Harmony had no intention of dragging out the bidding process and becoming part of the show. She would end this now.

  “Five thousand,” she called out, raising her paddle.

  Chapter Two

  Every head in the room including Connor Talbot’s swiveled toward the person who had placed the exhorbitant bid.

  Conn checked out the woman who had just bid an outrageous amount of money for a day with him and the Blue Angels. Colorless was the first word that came to mind. Her light brown hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail that fluffed out behind her head like a lamb’s wool duster.

  Big-framed, brainiac glasses sat on her small nose and overwhelmed her face. Although her sleeveless, long knit dress skimmed her curves nicely, and its wide neckline exposed delicate collarbones, the gray-brown shade looked like mud.

  “Five thousand dollars? Are you sure?” asked Janice.

  The woman gave a short nod. “Yes. It’s for a good cause, right?”

  “That it is.” Janice had recovered from her surprise and resumed the auction with enthusiasm. “All right then! Do I have any other bids?” She looked hopefully to the last three bidders, her gaze traveling from one to the other, but they shrugged or shook their head.

  “In that case, going, going—last chance here folks.” She paused and glanced around the room to assure herself there were no last-minute further bids. “Gone! Sold to bidder number forty-three for five thousand dollars. See the cashier about paying.”

  “Wow,” Conn’s sister Sam murmured beside him. “I sure was not expecting that.”

  “Who is she?” Conn asked.

  “Harmony McMahon. She’s wicked smart and more well-to-do than she looks. She’s an app developer and has made a bundle at it already. She’s not even thirty yet. For the past five years she’s donated a site build for the auction.”

  Conn’s brows arched. “Impressive.”

  He had figured the day would appeal more to a man than a woman. He and the winning bidder would have a guy kind of day—watch loud airplanes do daredevil tricks, talk to the people who flew them, then have steak washed down with a few brews. But he was flexible, he could deal with a female.

  “She must be one hell of a Blue Angels fan,” he commented.

  Sam frowned. “I guess so. Who knew?”

  She turned from contemplating the winner to face him more fully. “I knew you’d come up with something great that would bring in a good contribution for Amanda’s Place. I just didn’t realize how good. Thank you for doing this, Conn. I guess I gave you a hard time?”

  He slanted her a sideways look. “You think?”

  She had nagged him relentlessly, claiming he had little else to do besides sit behind a desk pushing papers and answering the phone. Unless you counted what she called his exercise class, blithely disregarding the grueling, painful, and always exhausting sessions of physical therapy that were part of his rehab.

  “Better get this mission underway. I’ll go meet her and work out the details. Catch you later.”

  Conn started across the room toward where Harmony McMahon was settling up her bill, resisting the urge to favor his left leg. He bit down hard on the pain and forced himself to maintain a nearly-normal stride. He was stopped twice by people to thank him for his service. Not wanting to be rude, he paused to chat briefly each time and finally caught up to the winning bidder as she was leaving.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped and turned to him. For a moment he lost track of what he had intended to say. Behind her overlarge glasses, her wide eyes were a stunning azure blue. He hadn’t been able to see them from the other side of the room. They were the color of warm tropical seas and every bit as inviting.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, its corners turned up slightly in an inquiring smile. It wasn’t a wide mouth, her top lip was too short for that, but it had a marked cupid’s bow to it. Above her mouth, just to one side of the cupid’s bow, was a distracting dot, something between a mole and a freckle. The corners of her lips seemed to pull in slightly like the beginning of a pout . . . or a kiss.

  “Major Talbot, isn’t it?” Her voice brought him back from his musings.

  “Yeah, and please call me Conn. Sam told me your name is Harmony McMahon. I thought we should meet and work out the details—you know, where and when?”

  “Oh, I just assumed someone from the committee would contact me.”

  His smile slanted. “I think I’m that someone.”

  “That’s . . . good I guess. It makes it easier.”

  “It does?”

  “Um, yes.” She looked down, and then took a deep breath and turned those startling eyes up to meet his again. “I’m not really interested in seeing the Blue Angels. Well I am, but not now. That’s not actually why I bid on the day with you.”

  This was getting weird. “It’s not?”

  She shook her head and looked away as though searching the room for an explanation before meeting his gaze again. “No, and you can save your money. I don’t need the steak dinner, either.”

  A sudden thought occurred to him. His immediate reaction was denial, but after two second’s consideration, it seemed the only possibility.

  “Look, I don’t know what you think you just paid for, sweetheart, but the offer was for dinner, not after.”

  She blinked up at him, complete incomprehension in her gaze. This was the woman who was wicked smart? He quirked a brow and waited for her to catch up.

  He could see the mome
nt she did. Her eyes widened and a flush climbed from her neck over her cheeks. “Oh, no. No, no, that’s not it at all.” The horror in her voice was so complete he almost laughed.

  “Okay, now I think I’m insulted.”

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—ʺ

  “Relax. I get it. But I have to ask, if you don’t want to see the Blue Angels, and you’re not interested in dinner or sex, why exactly did you bid at all?”

  “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “Do you need to get home right away?”

  “Well, my cat needs . . . nevermind. No, I don’t need to get home. Well, I do, but not right away.” Conn sorted out the salient fact from her nervous babble and glanced around at the auction still going strong. “Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted, and you can tell me about it.”

  He steered her out of the Gaslamp club that was the event’s venue and into the quiet lobby bar of a hotel two doors down. By the time they were seated at a small two-person table he was more than happy to get off his feet, give his leg a rest, and release the pressure on his back teeth.

  Sitting that close to her, he was aware of her cologne, a fresh scent that brought to mind a summer meadow. A second, more subtle note teased with images of lying in the soft grass of that meadow together. He used the image to distract himself until the discomfort in his leg faded.

  He waited until the waitress had brought his longneck and Harmony’s wine before broaching the subject he had become increasingly curious about. He lifted his beer in a toast. “To long stories. Want to tell me yours now?”

  She appeared to study the table’s surface before lifting her gaze to his. “It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but I’m having second thoughts about the whole thing now.”