Kiss of Pride by Sandra Hill Page B

stupidly said the first thing that came to mind. “Your hair doesn’t look so red when it’s wet.”
    “I do not have red hair,” she said indignantly. “I have strawberry-blonde hair, I’ll have you know.”
    He smiled. Peaches, apples, and strawberries. Can anyone say fruitcake? “Having red hair is a bad thing?”
    “Hah! Try having red—rather, strawberry-blonde hair—as a kid and being teased all the time. ‘Red head, peed the bed!’ Or ‘Red head, never wed!’ ”
    “Huh?”
    She ignored him and studied his list, reading aloud, “ ‘Reframe dungeon into dormitory with flat-screen TVs and game room. One large bathing room with six shower stalls, six toilet stalls, and sinks.
    “ ‘Rewire entire castle, indoors and out, including security lighting. Refit the other eleven bathing rooms with fixtures: toilets, sinks, showers, tubs.
    “ ‘Refinish floors, tile bathrooms, painting.’ ”
    “How about furnishings?”
    He groaned.
    “Won’t you at least have to provide beds and mattresses for all those rooms? A dining room table and chairs? Living room furniture? Lamps and ceiling lights? Bed linens and towels?”
    He groaned again. “ ’Tis impossible!”
    “Hey, you’re the one who believes in miracles.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “Honey, you have just met Ms. Super Shopper. I can spot a bargain at one hundred paces. With an unlimited budget? Be still my heart! Plus I have great taste.”
    He smiled. “You would be willing to help me?”
    She nodded. “You should smile more often. You’re handsome when you smile.”
    And I am not handsome all the time? he wondered with consternation, foolish pride rearing its head, then immediately chastised himself, Look where my appearance has got me thus far.
    Her face turned a light shade of pink, a wonderful complement to her red . . . uh, strawberry-blonde . . . hair, which was incidentally now forming unruly waves.
    Oh crap! First, fruit gets my sap running. Now colors. What next? “Why would you help me?”
    “Tit for tat.”
    He didn’t like the sound of that. “Explain yourself, wench.”
    “You mentioned something about St. Michael the Archangel and perhaps being able to tell where my daughter is.”
    Uh-oh!
    With much reluctance, he conceded, “I did.”
    “Great!”
    Great for whom? So that’s why she was being so amiable.
    Mike is going to kill me. Again!

Five
    Have credit card, will travel . . .
    Transylvania feature, Kelly      Page 1
    Draft Two
    With the world spinning out of control, crime rampant, jobs disappearing, and the economy tanking, angels sent to the rescue would be a boon to mankind. But angels don’t really exist. Do they?
    The residents of a castle in Transylvania, Pennsylvania, known more for vampires than angels, would beg to differ . . .
    “Hey, Ben,” Alex said into the cordless phone she held to her ear in Vikar’s office while he was off giving the contractor a tour and signing contracts. It appeared that money did truly talk. The job would be done in one week, or the guy wouldn’t be paid.
    “Alex! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.”
    “Sorry. Here’s the landline telephone number in case my cell isn’t working.” She gave him the number because, even when she’d plugged her phone into a kitchen outlet this morning, she still didn’t get any bars.
    “I thought you were staying at some bed-and-breakfast.”
    “I was, but when Lord Vikar invited me to stay here at the castle, I decided to go with the flow.”
    “Are you sure that’s wise?”
    Probably not. “What could go wrong?” More than already has.
    “Is there a story there?”
    “Oh yes! Definitely.” The question is what.
    “Tell me.”
    “First of all, Transylvania itself has got to be the nutcase capital of the world. It could make a fun feature.”
    “And? I can tell there’s more.”
    She hesitated, not sure how much to tell him. Oh hell! He wouldn’t believe her, anyway. “The