Angels And Elves

Dear Reader,

Beginning with the Baby Bet series, I am delighted that I will be bringing you my stories using my real name of Joan Elliott Pickart. I hope you’ve enjoyed the books I’ve written for Silhouette as Robin Elliott, but it’s time for Robin to step aside and allow me to come into your homes.

I’ve received many letters over the years asking me how I came to choose the name Robin Elliott. I have three daughters: Tracey, Robin and Paige. As a mother, I could never pick one over the other, so I asked the editors at Silhouette to do it. Since the names Tracey and Paige belong to other authors, I was told “Welcome to Silhouette, Robin Elliott!”

Many years and many books have passed since that day, and I want to thank you for all of your wonderful and continued support. You, the loyal readers, are the ones who make it all possible. All of you—around the country and the world—are very special to me.

Warmest regards,

Joan Elliott Pickart.

Angels and Elves

Joan Elliot Pickart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my then-agent, Robin Kaigh, and for my now-agent, Laurie Feigenbaum. Thank you, friends.

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Prologue

Forrest MacAllister stopped in the doorway to the living room and looked at the woman stretched out on the sofa with pillows propped behind her back to allow her to sit up. She was deeply engrossed in the novel she was reading, and was unaware of Forrest’s presence.

Andrea, he mused. His baby sister was a beautiful woman. Her auburn curls were in fetching disarray, and her dark brown eyes were clear and sparkling. The best part, though, was the pure joy, the happiness-to-the-maximum that he could actually feel emanating from her.

She also had, he decided, the largest, roundest stomach he’d ever seen. Twins definitely took up a lot of space in a pregnant lady. Yep, his baby sister was definitely awaiting the arrival of her own babies. Big time.

“So what’s new, kid?” he asked, breaking the serene silence in the room.

Andrea’s head snapped up and a smile instantly appeared on her face.

“Forrest! Oh, my gosh, you’re really home. Give me a million hugs. I didn’t hear you come into the house.”

“John let me in as he was leaving,” Forrest said, crossing the room. “Your husband is looking like a proper and prosperous Yuppie.” He leaned over and hugged her, then straightened again to meet her gaze. “This is very efficient. I can hug three people at once.”

Andrea laughed. “Aren’t I awful? I’m impersonating a beached whale. And now I’m confined to either bed, sofa or chair, so these little darlings don’t arrive too soon.”

“You look fantastic.”

“Fat. The word is fat. Sit, sit. I want to look at you until I’m cross-eyed. Oh, Forrest, I’m so glad you’re back from Japan in time to be here when the babies are born. A year is much too long for you to be away. We all missed you terribly.”

“I missed you, too, but it was quite an experience, and one I’ll always remember. Japan is beautiful, Andrea, it really is. And it was a tremendous challenge to design a house that would blend in, yet have all the features the client wanted.”

“Your letters were super, even if you still can’t spell worth a darn,” she said.

Forrest chuckled. “Spelling is a hopeless endeavor for me.” He yawned. “I have jet lag so bad I don’t even know what day it is. I came straight here from the airport, but Mom and Dad are going to have to settle for a phone call until after I get some sleep.”

“And our brothers. You’d better call them, too. Michael and Ryan are so glad you’re coming home for good.”

“That’s enough travel for me for a while. Listen, I really do need to get some sleep. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were doing all right. You’re staying put like the doctor said, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I’m grumpy and bored, and my darling John has the patience of a saint. But I’m following orders so that the twins have every chance to be healthy.

“Forrest, before you go I’d like to talk to you about something. It won’t take long.”

“Fire away.”

“Well, you know that my favorite author is Jillian Jones-Jenkins, and that I met her several years ago at Deedee Hamilton’s store, Books and Books. We’ve all become good friends since then.”

Forrest nodded. “Jillian writes those gooey romance novels you read.”

“Don’t start. It’s extremely bad form to hassle expectant mothers. Anyway, Jillian is arriving home tomorrow from a lengthy autographing tour and is doing a signing at Deedee’s store as a special favor. Forrest, please, would you go to the store, buy Jillian’s new book, and have her autograph it for me?” Andrea begged.

“Why? Deedee will be right there. Can’t she do it? As far as that goes, Jillian could bring you a copy. Since you’re friends, and you can’t go out, surely she’ll come visit you.”

“Well—” Andrea smiled brightly “—there’s a little more to it than that.”

“Uh-oh. Not good,” Forrest said. “You have that look in your eyes that says you’re up to something. Ever since we were kids, that gleam got me in trouble.”

“Forrest, Forrest, this is me, Andrea, your adorable, sweet little sister. I’m simply asking you to do me a teeny-tiny favor.”

“Spare me,” he said, rolling his eyes heavenward. “I’ve fallen for your innocent routine so many times, it’s a crime.”

“Keep an open mind,” she said. “You’re not going back to work for a bit. Right?”

“Right,” he said, eyeing her warily. “I’m planning to take a couple of weeks off. I usually worked seven days a week in Japan.”

“Perfect. You see, Deedee and I are very worried about Jillian. She’s been on this exhausting tour and she was tired even before she left. Why was she tired? I’m glad you asked.”

“I didn’t.”

“Hush. Jillian seems to have forgotten how to relax, have fun, have a proper balance of work and play in her life. She’s gotten so caught up in deadlines and her writing schedule, that we hardly see her. We can’t pry her out of the office in her house.”

“And?”

“Remember when the four of us were kids and Mom would periodically say it was time for her Angels and Elves to get busy?”

“Yeah, I remember. We’d mow the lawn for an elderly couple, run errands for a shut-in, you’d baby-sit for free for a new mother, stuff like that. Every few months we did Angels and Elves assignments.”

“Exactly. Forrest, Deedee and I are asking you to make Jillian Jones-Jenkins your Angels and Elves assignment. Take her out, have fun, get her to relax and enjoy life again. Hopefully she’ll realize how narrow her existence has become.”

“Oh, man,” Forrest said, frowning, “are you kidding? That’s nuts, Andrea. I don’t even know this woman. You expect me to convince her to get her priorities back in order? That’s the dumbest Angels and Elves assignment I’ve ever heard.”

“It is not. It’s custom-made for you. You have some free time right now. You’re handsome, charming, intelligent, all that jazz. And you know how to show a woman a good time. Heaven knows, you’ve got women chasing after you like bees to honey.”

“Flattery will get you nothing.”

“Don’t say no. At least promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Andrea...”

“Please?”

“Okay, okay,” he said, raising both hands. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

“For about five seconds. Then I’ll say no.”

“Darn it, Forrest, don’t be so difficult. Look, go to Books and Books tomorrow and buy Jillian’s new novel for me. You can meet her at the same time.”

“Then I’ll say no. Andrea, has it ever occurred to you that Jillian might not appreciate the sneaky little program you and Deedee are putting together here?”

“It’s for her own good. Deedee and I really are concerned about her. She won’t know you’re on an Angels and Elves assignment. This is a very humanitarian mission I’m asking you to undertake, Forrest.”

He got to his feet.

“I’ll go buy the book,” he said, “and meet Jillian. Beyond that? I’m not promising anything. I’m thirty-two years old. A person would think that I’d have learned by now that your schemes always spell trouble for me in big, bold letters. I shouldn’t be going anywhere near Deedee Hamilton’s store.”

“But you will, and you’re wonderful, and I adore you, and I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, laughing, “and you’ve been able to wrap me around your little finger since the day you were born.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Bye for now, brat. Take good care of the dynamic duo you’re toting around in there.”

“Bye, Forrest. And thank you.”

* * *

Andrea waited until she heard the front door click shut behind Forrest, then snatched up the receiver of the telephone that had been placed on the coffee table within her reach. She pushed buttons in rapid succession.

“Deedee? Forrest was just here. He wouldn’t give me a definite yes, but I talked him out of a definite no. Here’s the setup. Forrest will come to your store tomorrow to buy Jillian’s new book for me and...”

One

B est wishes, Jillian Jones-Jenkins.

Jillian stared at the words she had just written with the appropriate flourish on the title page of the book in front of her.

The flowing handwriting was nothing more than a series of fancy squiggles that had no meaning. She was so thoroughly exhausted that she was beyond being able to recognize even her own name.

She blinked and shook her head slightly, striving to concentrate. She managed to produce a weak but passable smile.

“There you are.” She handed the thick, hardcover book to the beaming woman standing on the opposite side of the lace-cloth covered table. “I sincerely hope you enjoy Midnight Embrace.“

“Oh, I know I will,” the woman said, clutching the treasure to her breasts. “I’ve loved all your books, Miss Jones-Jenkins. I read them over and over. They’re such wonderful stories. So romantic, so touching, so filled with love.” She sighed. “Oh, dear, I do go on and on, but I want you to know how much pleasure you’ve brought into my life with your work.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Jillian said. “I hope I never disappoint you.”

The woman moved away and another stepped forward, presenting a book to be autographed. Jillian opened it to the title page, then hesitated, her gaze sweeping over the expanse of the bright, cheerful, well-stocked bookstore.

The man was still there.

He was watching her, she was certain of it.

Jillian, stop it, she admonished herself in the next instant. Tired was tired, but this was a step beyond. If anyone looked at her crooked, or said the slightest cross word, she’d probably burst into hysterical tears like a toddler in need of a nap.

Therefore, she decided, it went without saying that she was overreacting to the presence of the man. He was the only male in the store, and each time she looked in his direction, he was watching her. She was the constant target of his scrutiny, his gaze never seeming to wander from her.

She wrote the name recited by the woman in front of her, then signed her own by rote with the usual flair. Her smile was beginning to feel pasted to her face like a plastic mask.

The man, she mused, as she vaguely heard herself thanking the woman for her loyal support, was extremely handsome. He was about six feet tall, had thick, dark auburn hair, was well tanned, and had just-rugged-enough features. His eyes were brown as best she could tell, but he’d stayed too far away from where she was seated at the table to be certain.

“You want me to write, ‘Merry Christmas, Margaret’?” Jillian asked the next patron. “But this is only February.”

“I know, dear.” The woman smiled. “I’m shopping early for the holidays in December. That way I feel Christmassy all year long.”

“Oh, I see,” Jillian said, with a mental shrug.

Whatever floats your boat...dear, she tacked on in her mind. Now where was she in her mental inventory of the tall, handsome stranger skulking in the aisles?

Oh, yes...he was in his early thirties. His nice build was shown to advantage in expensive charcoal-gray slacks and a black V-neck sweater over a white dress shirt worn open at the neck. It was appropriate apparel for Ventura, California, at this time of year.

“I hope Margaret likes the book when she reads it next Christmas,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” the woman said. “Of course, I’ll read it now. I wouldn’t dream of waiting that long for one of your stories.”

Jillian laughed. “Happy February to you, and Merry Christmas to Margaret.”

“Oh, aren’t you a sweet girl?” the woman said. “It was so delightful to meet you, dear.” She hurried away.

Delightful? Jillian thought. No, delightful would be a long bubble bath, with soft music playing on the stereo. Then she would slip between crisp sheets on her bed, burrow into the pillow, snuggle beneath the blankets, and sleep, sleep, sleep. Now that scenario was delightful.

Deedee Hamilton, the attractive woman in her early thirties who owned Books and Books, stepped closer to the table.

“Let’s keep the line moving, please, ladies,” she said pleasantly. “It’s getting late, and we don’t want to detain Miss Jones-Jenkins past regular store hours. She has just returned from an exhausting ten-city book-signing tour, and was good enough to come here before she went home and collapsed. So, let’s hurry right along, shall we? Next?”

Bless you, Deedee, you’re a wonderful friend, Jillian thought, accepting the book the next woman handed her. Jillian Jones-Jenkins was tired to the point of being numb. Jillian Jones-Jenkins was— Good grief, she was thinking of herself in the abstract, as though she were a character in one of her books. She desperately needed to crawl into bed and not reappear for at least twenty-four hours.

Ten minutes later, Deedee once again came to the table.

“I’m going to close the store now,” she announced to the remaining customers. “I’ll unlock the door and let each of you out after you’ve had your book autographed. If any of you are making other purchases as well, please step up to the register.”

Ah-ha, Jillian thought, it was truth time. The man—the Handsome Hunk, aka H.H.—was going to have to put up or shut up. His skulking-in-the-aisles routine had just been called to a halt by Deedee.

Jillian inwardly sobered, although her forced smile remained in place.

She should not be taking the presence of the loitering man so lightly. She had writer friends who had been bothered and actually frightened by mentally off-balance men convinced that a woman who wrote love scenes was automatically available to participate in real sexual encounters. Because she was exhausted to the point of being giddy, she hadn’t given the man serious enough attention. There was a reason for his having been in the store for such a long time, wandering around, and watching her. She was going on red alert as of that very moment.

She glanced up, only to realize that the man had moved again. A visual sweep of the store found him in the cookbook section, his nose in an open cookbook. Oh, dear heaven, it was upside down!

A shiver coursed through Jillian, and her smile slid off her chin, despite her efforts to keep it firmly in place. She handed the book she had just signed to the smiling woman, who grasped it eagerly. Only one more customer waited to have a book autographed.

One more, Jillian thought, then the man was going to have to do something. But what? Oh, Lord, what was he going to do?

* * *

This was it, Forrest MacAllister thought. Time had run out. He had to do it now.

He glanced at the cookbook he was holding, then did a quick double take as he realized that he was holding it upside down. Slamming it shut, he shoved it back onto the shelf.

Get it together, MacAllister, he told himself firmly. The situation was as good as it was going to get. The witnesses were pared down to the minimum. He had to do what he’d come here to do—have Andrea’s copy of Jillian’s novel autographed.

Jillian Jones-Jenkins was certainly attractive. The spokeswoman for the store, who was probably Deedee Hamilton, had confirmed what Andrea had told him yesterday—Miss Jones-Jenkins had just returned from an exhausting book-signing tour. Well, if that was what the lovely author looked like totally exhausted, she’d be unbelievable when fully rested.

Yes, Forrest decided, she was stunning, tired or not. Her wavy, dark brown hair fell gently to just above her shoulders. She had delicate features, sensual lips, and big, gorgeous, gray eyes framed by long black lashes. Those eyes were fantastic.

At one point during his vigil she’d stood, apparently to relax stiff muscles, and he’d had a delightful view of a slender, yet ultrafeminine figure shown to perfection in a dusty rose suit with a straight skirt, thigh-length jacket, and pale pink silky blouse. She was fairly tall, maybe five-six or -seven, and was, he guessed, about thirty years old.

All in all, Forrest mentally rambled on, she was a lovely representative of the female species.

He sighed.

What Jillian Jones-Jenkins did, or did not, look like had nothing whatsoever to do with why he was there, or the fact that he couldn’t stall any longer.

Then there was the nagging problem that Andrea, nutsy little sister that she was, wanted him to take on Jillian Jones-Jenkins as an Angels and Elves assignment. Andrea definitely had too much time on her hands. Her idea was crazy, totally bizarre.

He’d get the book signed by Miss She-needed-to-lighten-up-and-have-some-fun Jillian, deliver it to his sister, and tell her in no uncertain terms that her request was hereby rejected and his answer was an irrevocable no.

“Thank you so much,” Jillian said, handing over the signed book. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will,” the woman said. “Thank you, Miss Jones-Jenkins. I can’t begin to tell you how exciting it was to meet you.”

“Good night, and come again,” Deedee said. She unlocked the door and the woman said goodbye with an added promise to shop there often. “Christy,” Deedee said to the teenager behind the cash register, “off you go. You did splendidly under the gun. That was really quite a crowd we had in here.”

Gun? Jillian thought, swallowing a near-hysterical bubble of laughter. Deedee could have gone all week without saying the word gun. Oh, Lord, the man with the gun, who read cookbooks upside down, was starting toward her. He was stalking. Yes, perfect word. He had a smooth, athletic gait that was like a panther stalking his prey.

And she was the prey.

And he had a gun.

No, no. Wait. She had to calm down. The man didn’t have a gun. Well, not that she knew of, anyway. Her exhausted brain had simply transferred Deedee’s innocently spoken word into a sinister plot. No, there was not a gun. Was there?

He was getting closer, she thought, feeling another shiver whisper down her spine. His eyes really were brown. Beautiful eyes. In fact, he was an all-around beautiful man. What a shame that he was a sex maniac, who was about to kidnap her and...

Jillian jumped to her feet and grabbed the only weapon available to her—the pen she’d been using to autograph the books.

“Stay back!” she yelled, thrusting the pen toward him. “You come one step closer, you fiend, and I’ll...I’ll ink you to death!”

Forrest stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock.

“Pardon me?” he said.

“Jillian?” Deedee called out. She finished locking the door after an exiting Christy, then went to Jillian’s side. “What’s wrong?”

“This...this villain has been skulking in the aisles for over two hours.”

“Villain?” Forrest repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Skulking?”

“Don’t you move.” Jillian whipped the pen back and forth. “Deedee, call the police. Quickly. Go to the telephone and—”

“Hey, now wait a minute,” Forrest said.

“Jillian,” Deedee said, “sweetie, you’re so tired you’re not thinking clearly. I’m certain that Mr.—?” She raised her eyebrows questioningly as she looked at him.

“MacAllister,” he answered quickly. “Forrest MacAllister, but feel free to call me Forrest.”

“Right,” Jillian said, with a very unladylike snort of disgust. “You probably made up that name the very second Deedee asked you, you miscreant.”

“Miscreant?” Forrest said. He looked at Deedee with a frown. “Does she always talk like this? ‘Villain? Skulking? Miscreant?’”

Deedee shrugged. “She writes historical novels. The jargon of the era sort of...well, sticks to her at times, especially when she’s exhausted or stressed.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Fascinating.”

“Deedee!” Jillian shrieked. “Would you please call the police?”

“Calm down, Jillian,” Deedee said gently. “Let’s listen to Mr. MacAllister, Forrest’s, explanation of why he was ‘skulking,’ shall we?”

“Would you stop being so condescending?” Jillian said, through clenched teeth. “You’re treating me as though I’m a four-year-old throwing a tantrum.”

“Then quit acting like one,” Forrest said, glowering at her.

“Well!” Jillian said indignantly. “You’re not only a cad, you’re a rude cad to boot.”

“Cad?” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I don’t believe this. A rude cad.” He burst into laughter, then grinned at Jillian. “You’re really something.” She was enchanting, absolutely delightful, as well as being extremely beautiful. “I’ve always had a fondness for the old-fashioned. You, however, take that premise beyond the scope of my imagination. You’re an intriguing woman, Miss Jones-Jenkins.” His smile faded, and he looked directly into her eyes. “Yes, very intriguing.”

Jillian opened her mouth to retort, then snapped it shut as she realized she had no idea what to say. A tingling sensation danced along her spine and across her breasts before settling low within her. The warm, brown pools of Forrest MacAllister’s eyes seemed to be holding her immobile, unable to think clearly, hardly able to breathe.

Dear heaven, she thought hazily, what was this man doing to her?

Not a thing, she mentally answered herself in the next instant. He was just a man, nothing fancy. He put his pants on one leg at time, just like any other man.

Actually, it wasn’t a good idea to be focusing on the subject of Mr. MacAllister’s pants, Jillian admonished herself.

But, good gracious, he was gorgeous. There was a blatant masculinity about him, an earthy aura that shouted the fact that he was male. Dear heaven, was he ever male. And those eyes, those pinning-her-in-place brown eyes were—

Jillian, stop, stop, stop! she scolded herself. She was overreacting to everything because she was exhausted. She’d had enough of this nonsense.

She tore her gaze from Forrest’s, and dropped the pen onto the table.

“Oh, perdition,” she said, throwing up her hands. “This is ridiculous. Just what exactly is it that you want, Mr. MacAllister?”

You, Forrest thought. Jillian’s big gray eyes were incredible. He felt as though he were being pulled into their fathomless depths, into a sensual fog that caused heat to rocket through his body and coil low and tight within him.