Run To You

hand away. She never thought she’d meet Sadie and had stopped thinking of her until the night Beau had appeared in Ricky’s parking lot looking like a ninja/spy.
    Seven days. She turned onto her back and her eyes slid shut. Seven days ago she’d thought her life had been blown apart, and she supposed it had.
    Perhaps for the better. If nothing else, she’d met her sister and a six-foot Marine who made her feel things she’d never felt before. He made her heart feel all warm and her skin all tingly. He made her feel safe and gave her courage when she’d always relied on her own strength.
    It wasn’t until she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake, that she realized she’d fallen asleep.
    “Stella, come downstairs and eat something.”
    Her eyes fluttered open and for several confused moments, she thought she was in a hotel room with Beau.
    “Come downstairs and eat,” Sadie said. “The boys are all here to shoot skeet.”
    “Boys?”
    “Vince and Blake and Beau.”
    She was at the JH with her sister. “What time is it?”
    “Three.”
    Stella sat up. “In the afternoon?”
    Sadie laughed. “You’ve been out for a while. Probably the tequila.”
    That and the past seven days, added to the last two nights when she’d slept very little.
    Quickly, Stella showered and dressed in the jeans skirt and blue plaid shirt she’d found in New Orleans. She matched them with her blue panties and matching bra and her jeweled flip-flops. She put on some mascara and lipstick, and with her hair still damp, she moved past the old portraits hanging in the hall and down the front stairs to the entrance.
    Beau stood in the living room in front of fireplace, and her heart and feet stopped at the sight of him. The light from the antler chandelier shone on his strong profile and blond hair. He stared up at the horse painting and looked so handsome and sure—so man —that she couldn’t believe she’d ever found skinny guys with Mohawks and eyeliner in the least attractive. He wore a black T-shirt and beige cargo pants and his big watch around his wrist.
    “I’m glad you’re here,” she said as she walked into the room. “You left without saying good-bye.”
    He looked across his shoulder at her, his gray eyes taking her in from her head to her toes, warming every place they touched. “Sorry.”
    “Did you miss me?”
    He smiled. “Of course, honey.”
    Honey? He’d never called her honey before. She liked Boots better. “I missed you last night,” she said just above a whisper.
    He turned to face her and took her hand into his warm grasp. His deep voice lowered. “What did you miss most?”
    “Your mouth sliding south to my—” She stopped as he raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. There was something different about the gray eyes looking back at her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but his face looked a bit fuller. A scar dented his chin and she pulled her hand away. “You’re not Beau.”
    He shook his head. “Blake Junger, and you must be Stella.”
    Lord, had she just said something about Beau’s mouth sliding south? To his brother? The resemblance to Beau was spooky and raised the hair on her arms. Like when one of Abuela’s woo-woo predictions came true. “Yes.”
    “No wonder he doesn’t want to talk about you.”
    Except for the scar and the indefinable something about the eyes, they were a carbon copy from their blond haircuts to the sound of their voices.
    “You’re as beautiful as your sister, Sadie.”
    “Thank you.” She smiled up at him. “And you’re as handsome as your brother.” Probably more charming, too, but his voice didn’t make her all tingly like Beau.
    “Stella,” Beau said to her as he entered the room. “Sadie is looking for you. She made sandwiches.”
    She turned toward him and didn’t even try to hide her smile. “I’m starving.”
    His gray eyes looked her over much like his brother had, but instead of a little warm feeling, every place his gaze touched caught fire. “I see you’ve met my brother.”
    She glanced from one to the other. It was kind of like a science fiction movie about clones. They were even dressed alike. Freaky. “Beau tells me he’s the good twin. Is he?”
    “Depends.” Blake shrugged one big shoulder and raised his gaze to his brother. “Good at what?”
    The two stared at each other, the loaded question hanging in the air. Neither spoke, and it was as if they had some sort of twin telepathy. The air grew