How I Met My Husband: The Real-Life Love Stories of 25 Romance Authors Read online

  How I Met My Husband:

  The Real-life Love Stories of 25 Romance Authors

  Edited by Michele Stegman

  Copyright 2012 Michele Stegman

  Smashwords Edition

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the authors, and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy and also discover other works by these authors. Thank you for your support.

  Thanks to Jennette Marie Powell, the cover artist who also resized book covers and gave me a lot of other help with this book.

  How I Met My Husband: True-life love stories from 25 romance authors

  This book started out as a series of blog entries on my website (www.michelestegman.com). My husband read them and said, “This should be a book!” So, with the permission of the various authors, I put their stories into this book. I have also included book covers and excerpts from their books.

  Enjoy!

  Table of Contents

  Michele Stegman: A Book of Life and a Trick

  Jennette Marie Powell: Looking for Mr. Goodwrench

  Athena Grayson: The Game of Love

  Brenda Hiatt: Halloween Hooker

  Gwen Williams: A Good Friend

  Nancy Morse: Grandma’s Wisdom

  Meredith Bond: Not So Awful After All

  Cassandra Carr: Friendship to More

  Janet Fox: He Had a Stake in the Outcome

  Margaret Caroll: A Walk Through the Plaza

  Lyn Cote: The Light that Illuminates

  Patricia Lieb: Lumps in the Mattress

  Judy Lynn Hubbard: Destined

  Eileen Cook: Christmas Tree Magic

  Mary Campisi: I Found Love at the Grocery Store

  Julie Lence: Traitorous Dealings

  Nikki Duncan: Love in the Lunch Line

  Diane Burton: Intervention

  Jenna Ives: Only an Englishman Would Do

  Angela Britnell: A Wren in Denmark

  Cris Anson: They Danced into My Heart

  Beate Boeker: Around the World to Find Love

  Victoria Roder: I wouldn’t Have Married You if I Didn’t Love You Kind of Guy

  Cindy Spencer Pape: The Geek and the Townie

  Janis Susan May Patterson: Love Begins Late

  Michele Stegman

  A Book of Life and a Trick

  At the urging of a neighbor, I joined a local play group and got a part. When I went to the first rehearsal, music was playing and some people were dancing. There was one skinny guy in baggy clothes and he was dancing rather poorly, but he had the biggest smile on his face and I was instantly attracted. We talked briefly and he showed me his “Book of Life,” a scrapbook filled with quotes and pictures that showed me he was someone who loved life and people. This is the one, I thought.

  I flirted with Ron for two years but he wasn’t interested in dating a shy, quiet person like me. One day I was again at the town hall to rehearse a play and he was there to rehearse a different one. I knew he was in that room and kept hanging around outside the door wondering what excuse I could find to go in and talk to him when he came out. He later told me it was because the guys he was with were saying what great legs that woman out there had and he suddenly realized he knew me. Being the outgoing guy that he was, he came out to say hello.

  He had just come back from a trip to Greece and I mentioned that I had just finished taking a year of Greek. That seemed to impress him, but not enough. I thought that if I could just get him to my house to show me his slides of Greece, he would feel obligated to ask me out and I would at last get that date with him. He fell for it.

  Ron was so happy to come to my house and show his slides to someone who really wanted to see them. Ron was an hour and a half late. I was heartbroken–until he came in the door with that big smile of his that never seemed to leave his face. When he was ready to leave I remember him standing by the door behind a waist high divider fumbling with his keys. Here it comes, I thought. He’s going to ask me out. I could tell he didn’t want to ask me, that he was hoping I’d say no. But I said yes and we made plans for the next weekend.

  For someone who was so reluctant to ask me out, he sure planned a wonderful date. He even had a theme for the evening–the views of the city. We went for drinks at a restaurant that overlooked downtown. Then to a park with a wonderful view of the city. We ended at the airport for dinner watching planes land and take off. We sat in his car in the airport parking lot and talked. I kicked my shoes off and felt so comfortable with him. I felt I could be myself. He must have felt comfortable, too, because he asked me out again, and again. We started seeing each other almost every day and decided to get married.

  He took me back to that park overlooking downtown to put the ring on my finger. Just as he slid it into place, a huge meteor streaked across the sky and burst into pieces over the city. We were married in a small ceremony 13 months after that first date. We have had our disagreements over the last 42 years but we have never had a fight. I am a better person because of Ron and he always makes me feel good about myself. He still wears that big smile and I don’t think anyone would recognize him without it.

  About Mr. Right’s Baby

  Mr. Right’s Baby: He wants to marry her. If she knew why, she just might walk away forever. www.michelestegman.com/books

  Excerpt from Mr. Right’s Baby

  Her desk was still empty. Surely she wouldn’t miss today. Not after he had waited so long. With a smile, Adrian Wright stood by the door of the first grade classroom welcoming each student who entered, a hand on the head to ruffle the hair of the boys, bending to help pick up dropped lunches or hair barrettes, answering the inevitable question of, “Are you Mrs. Sandy’s substitute?” at least twelve times. But still she did not come. The clock was moving steadily toward eight and the room was fast filling up, but her desk was still empty—except for a well-chewed, fat, red pencil in the groove at the top. Her name, stuck onto the front of the desk at the beginning of the school year with sticker paper, was badly frayed from eight months of chairs and desks bumping, and stained from several dribbles of watercolor, but it was still legible. Carly Simmons.

  The students were putting lunches in the coatroom, emptying book bags, putting homework papers on Mrs. Sandy’s desk. They were talking and laughing freely, but were quiet and orderly. Mrs. Sandy had taught them well. About half of them had hair ranging from almost pure white to tow heads to light brown. The other half were dark-haired, dark-eyed Hispanics. Carly wasn’t Hispanic, but he thought she would have dark hair. Like his.

  The corridor was clearing as kids made a last minute dash for their classrooms. There were only three or four children left and they were older, third or fourth grade. Adrian grasped the doorknob to close the door. Maybe tomorrow, then. Maybe she would be here tomorrow.

  A little girl suddenly came skidding around the corner of the hallway, long, dark braids flying, one of them already loose, the red ribbon dangling. She charged straight toward Mrs. Sandy’s classroom doorway and straight into his heart. It was her

  She was perfect. She was just as he had imagined her ever since he had learned of her existence six months ago. Her hair was, indeed, black like his. Black and shiny, and he wanted to touch it to see if it was as soft and silky as it looked. He held out a hand. He had patted the other kids on the head as they came in. But this time, his hand was shaking too badly so he let it drop. It wasn’t jus
t his hand that was shaking. He thought his legs might crumble beneath him if he weren’t gripping the doorknob like an anchor in an emotional storm.

  Carly caught herself with one hand on the doorframe and looked up at him, a big smile showing a perfect row of baby teeth she hadn’t yet lost. “Are you Mrs. Sandy’s substitute?” she asked.

  Adrian tried to swallow the golf ball that had suddenly lodged in his throat. Unsuccessful, he merely nodded. Carly skipped on into the room, thumped her book bag onto the seat beside her desk, and started putting her books into her desk. Several girls gathered around her, one of them pointing out Carly’s loosened braid. Carly pulled the elastic band from the end of her other braid and loosened it as well, leaving her hair in two, nearly waist length ponytails slightly waved from being held briefly in braids.

  She was beautiful. He wanted to go right in there and scoop her up, and give her the seven years of hugs he had missed out on giving her. He wanted to feel her arms around his neck and hear her call him “Daddy.”

  But the little girl putting her homework paper on the teacher’s desk had no idea he was her father. Maybe she didn’t even know she had been adopted, given up without her father’s knowledge or consent. All she knew of him was that while Mrs. Sandy was out having a baby, he was her substitute for the three weeks left of the school year. She didn’t even know his name.

  Adrian took just a moment to compose himself, gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath, before he had to go in there and treat her like any other child.

  “First day jitters?” Mrs. Webb, the kindergarten teacher next door, was just reaching out to shut her door when she saw him. She smiled and shoved an unruly mop of blond curls off her forehead. “You’ll do fine,” she assured him. “I’ll be right here if you need me. But Carly Simmons can help you out with classroom routine. She’s a great kid.”

  “Carly.” He could barely get the name out, but managed a smile “I’ll remember. Thanks.”

  She nodded and closed her door, calling to an Edward to stop bouncing a ball.

  When Adrian closed his own classroom door, he turned to find Carly standing there waiting for him. “Can you tie this for me?” she asked, pulling at the ribbon that still dangled from her ponytail. It had been tied over an elastic band that still held the ponytail in place.

  Adrian it was a wonderful gift she was giving him, the right to tie a bow in her hair. Adrian took the ribbon, the backs of his fingers touching her hair. She tilted her head to give him better access and he tried to keep his hands from shaking as he performed this small service for her.

  “Thank you,” she said, reaching up to touch the slightly crooked bow before skipping to her seat.

  “Thank you,” he almost said before changing it quickly to, “You’re welcome.”

  Adrian took up a piece of chalk, called the class to order and turned to write his name on the board. “This is my name,” he told the class, “Mr. Wright.

  The rest of the class simply nodded and sat waiting for him to continue, but he heard an audible gasp from Carly. Her eyes widened and her hand shot up.

  “Yes?”

  “Is that really who you are?” she asked. “Are you really Mr. Wright?”

  Puzzled by her attitude, Adrian laughed and assured her that he was really was Mr. Wright. Then he passed out a math worksheet Mrs. Sandy had left for him and started the day.

  For Adrian, the day spent with his daughter was a joy almost too painful to accept. He knew he gave her more attention than he gave anybody else. But he couldn’t help it. He watched her add teeth marks to her pencil as she worked. He watched her play kick ball at recess. He watched her line up and go down to the cafeteria clutching a pink Barbie lunch box.

  At lunchtime, he looked at her school records. It was just as the detective who had found her told him. Mother’s name: Kathryn. Father: Brent, deceased.

  By two-thirty, he had had about as much joy as he could hold for one day. His daughter seemed healthy, happy, and well-adjusted. She was outgoing and friendly, and very intelligent. He still wanted to know about her home life. What kind of mother was Kathryn Simmons? Loving? Gentle? Stern? Strict?

  And somehow, he wanted to be a part of Carly’s life. Unlike the woman who had given birth to her, there was no way he could just walk away from her.

  As he led the class out to the buses, he allowed himself to pat her on the head, small compensation for all the good night kisses and bedtime stories he had been denied. She looked up at him. “My mom is supposed to pick me up. I hope she comes.”

  An alarm went off in Adrian’s heart. Was her mother unreliable? Irresponsible? “Does she usually pick you up?” he asked.

  Carly nodded, anxiously scanning the cars lined up in front of the school next to a row of yellow buses. “There she is! She came!” A wide smile of relief played over her face as she pointed to a sporty red car just rolling to a halt at the end of the line.

  Adrian’s brows crunched together at the sight of that car. He had envisioned a Toyota mini van or a Ford Escort. What was the mother of his child doing jaunting around in a flashy sports car? A flashy red sports car.

  “Come on! You’ve got to meet her!” Carly was tugging at his hand, urging him toward the car. And her mother.

  He definitely wanted to meet this woman.

  “Just a minute, Carly. I have bus duty.” He squeezed her hand holding her there, savoring the tang of joy that surged through his heart as her trusting fingers clasped his.

  One boy jostled another getting on the bus and Adrian pulled him aside, holding his shoulder, making him wait until last. The boy fidgeted, Carly kept jumping up and down, but Adrian was the most impatient of all. At last the bus was loaded, the boy leapt up the steps, and Adrian let Carly tow him along toward that red car.

  The door swung open even before Carly reached it, letting out a blast of rock music along with a stream of cold air. She tossed her book bag and lunch box behind the seat and bounced in. “Mom! I found him! I found Mr. Right. Now you can get married!”

  Adrian’s brows arched. Looking for Mr. Right, huh? So she was man hunting. Adrian bent down to get his first look at Kathryn Simmons. By this time he was expecting a barracuda with long red nails impatiently tapping the steering wheel.

  She was not what he expected. She was worse. A dirty white gym shoe with a toe poking out sat on the brake. The leg was shapely enough to give Adrian’s loins a lurch, except that there was some unidentifiable smear of sludge on the calf and a half-healed scrape on the knee. A slash of rusty brown cut across both thighs and a smudge of black grease went from thigh to a pair of cut off jeans that looked like they had been run over by a herd of cattle. There was a spate of bare midriff topped by an unwieldy pair of what Adrian could only think of as boobs, large and round and barely held in check by a once white shirt tied across the ribs. A strand of shoulder length blond hair streaked by sun and grime fell from a lopsided ponytail only tentatively held in place by a yellow elastic band. Her face, with its pug nose, softly rounded pink mouth, and wide blue eyes would have been more attractive without dirty brown and black streaks.

  Adrian gritted his teeth and managed to be polite. “Hello, Mrs. Simmons. I’m Adrian Wright, Mrs. Sandy’s substitute for the rest of the year.”

  Kathryn Simmons jabbed at the radio, cutting off the din, curling her fingers into fists and crossing her arms to hide broken nails lined with black. At that maneuver, her boobs threatened to escape and she shifted, risking a quick tug to her shirt before hiding her hands again.

  “See, Mom? Mr. Right! I found him!” Carly was on her knees on the seat.

  “Oh! Oh no, Honey! I didn’t mean...” Mrs. Simmons’s blush didn’t stop at her face. It traveled down her throat right down to the curve of those awesome boobs. She looked at Adrian, horrified. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t understand. I...” She swallowed hard and nodded her head. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Wright.” She put the car into gear and Adrian took the hint to move back.


  Adrian watched the car fade into the traffic. Well, not fade. Not that car. A helpless trepidation stole over him and he wondered about the wisdom of leaving his daughter in the care of Mrs. Kathryn Simmons.

  You can purchase Mr. Right’s Baby at:

  Smashwords

  Amazon

  Visit Michele’s Website for information and excerpts from all her books: www.michelestegman.com.

  Jennette Marie Powell

  Looking for Mr. Goodwrench

  I was supposed to go out with someone else that night. I’d met him a week earlier, through my friend Sue, and exchanged numbers. But talking with him a couple times was enough to convince me we’d both be wasting our time and money. The deepest conversation I could expect was what we liked to watch on TV (me: not much), and he’d said some things that made it obvious he was really only after one thing. So I called and cancelled.

  It was the night before Labor Day, and our city had a great fireworks display. I went with Sue, and afterward, we stopped at a bar called Donnie’s Place for a couple beers. Sue was a regular there, and immediately saw someone she knew. We sat down with the guy (ironically, named Donnie) and his friend, but before I knew it, Sue was halfway across the room talking to someone else she knew.

  Had this happened a few months earlier, I would have sat there like a blubbering idiot, then made some excuse to join Sue. But I was a Dale Carnegie graduate (you know, the “How to Win Friends and Influence People” guy), and I decided to put what I’d learned to use. “So, what do you guys do for a living?”

  I don’t remember what the other guy said, but Donnie was a mechanic at a nearby Pontiac dealership.