made him feel fiercely protective.
Standing there with his gaze on the glowing planes of her face, Luke took a solemn vow. Nothing ugly or painful must touch her, not now, not ever. He would see to that, no matter what he had to do to prevent it.
The conference agenda included a series of workshops. One of them, taught by April, was on career planning. Luke tagged along. The subject was apparently popular since the room was filled to capacity. By the time the session ended, Luke had a much better idea of how April spent her time, also of the dedication it had taken to get to her present position and the hard work she put in to stay there.
A number of attendees approached her with different comments and questions. She answered them with patience and humor, even those from a desperate-looking young woman with long black hair straggling down to her waist, skeletal hands, and a manuscript in her arms that was the size of a feather bed. She kept thrusting the bundle of paper at April as if she expected her to take it and read it before the end of the day, then send it off with a glowing recommendation for publication.
Luke was thinking of stepping in when April, glancing beyond the importuning would-be author, suddenly touched the young womanâs arm. âHere is someone who can help you,â she said kindly. âSheâs a freelance editor for a local publishing house who enjoys helping writers who are just starting out.â April raised her voice a bit. âOh, Muriel, hereâs someone in need of your services.â
The person April was addressing turned slowly to face her. A cornered expression hovered in the womanâs hazel eyes and her movements were jerky, as if she had to force her angular, big-boned body to answer her commands. Pushing flyaway blond hair back from her face with one hand in a nervous gesture, she inquired, âAre you talking to me?â
As Luke watched, April explained the would-be authorâs situation to Muriel. The freelance editor did not look happy to have a prospective new client. With a shrill edge in her voice, she said, âDarling April should have told you that I conduct how-to-write seminars as well. Perhaps youâd care to sign up for one?â
âOh, I donât need that,â the woman said as she reached out and caught the editorâs arm as if grasping a lifeline. âBut if you would only give me a few minutes, Iâm sure I can convince you to take a chance on my book.â
âThe publishing house I work with doesnât do romance novels.â The tone was as blunt as the words.
âI can write anything you want!â
âLocal history?â
âOf course.â
The answer was given so blithely that it was obvious even to Luke that the unpublished author would have replied the same if the editor had asked for a treatise on the flora and fauna of the Amazon basin. Without pausing, she launched into a spirited description of her romantic opus interspersed withquestions that indicated she suspected Muriel of having New York publishing connections that she hadnât divulged.
Glancing at April to see what she thought of it all, Luke caught sight of a crooked smile she was trying to hide. The minute she saw that heâd noticed, color stained her cheekbones and she turned sharply away. A second later she was out of the room as if she were being chased, stopping for nothing and no one.
Luke was still staring after her when he heard a throaty chuckle at his elbow. As he glanced down, the woman beside him gave him a friendly nod. âSneaky,â she said quietly, âbut effective, wouldnât you say?â
âExcuse me?â
âOh, my mistake. Something about your expressionâwell, I thought you knew what was going on.â
âI donât, but Iâd like to,â he said frankly. âIf youâd be kind enough to enlighten me.â
The woman, in a purple dress like some kind of
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