Forbidden Lovers. Kimberley Troutte

shrugged again. “He didn’t say goodbye.”

      Well. There was that.

      She plopped down on the edge of the bed, between the women who’d been like sisters her whole life. In truth, they weren’t even real cousins since Julia was adopted. Still, the woman who raised her as her own child was Linda and Maria’s aunt, which made her their cousin. Everyone accepted her as a true relative.

      Her biological mother had abandoned her, she’d never met her father and the only guy she’d really loved had flown away.

      Matt had been the one person she’d trusted not to leave her behind. She’d given her heart and body to that boy. She’d finally told him she loved him and the next day he’d left for the Air Force academy. No letter. No call. She’d never heard from him again.

       Is it me?

      She took a choppy breath and her cousins both wrapped their arms around her.

      “You’ll mess up your nails,” she said softly.

      “Messes can be fixed,” Maria said.

      Not all of them. She closed her eyes.

      She’d never hold Matt again. Kiss him. Feel his fingers running through her hair, across her skin. Listen to the heart beating so strong and sure in his chest. No more Matt and Julia against the world. He was gone, his ashes scattered at sea.

      She’d suffered a brutal period of depression. Pain and loss had ripped through her with an extra pounding of betrayal. She’d imagined seeing Matt everywhere. A figure walking on the sand, a fast car speeding by, some guy going into Juanita’s—they’d all been Matt. Her mind and heart had been shattered.

      But she wasn’t alone. Her beautiful cousins and aunts had fought to save her. Hanging on with gentle, strong arms, they’d chipped away at the black night that had swallowed her whole. They’d forced her to blink open her eyes and see the love all around her. They’d helped her pull herself together to cherish the one gift her pirate had given her—the most beautiful and sweet treasure in the world.

      “Mama? Where are you?”

      “In here, Henry.” She gave her cousins each a smile of gratitude and rose to her feet. “Come help me find a costume.”

       Three

      “He’s here!” Henry shouted.

      Oh, no. “I’m not ready! Tell him...let him...”

      She was trying to pull up her fishnet stockings when her boy’s voice carried down the hall. “Hi, my name’s Henry. Nice to meet you. Mama says you’re a pilot.”

      “Your mama?” His voice was so deep and rich that it sent shivers up her spine. In a good way. Too bad he was surprised she had a kid. Oops. Didn’t she mention that?

      “Help yourself to a beer in the refrigerator. Henry can show you where the costume is,” she called out. “If you feel like slipping out the door, now would be a good time.”

      “I’ll wait. You don’t have to hurry,” he said.

      Wow. He was sticking. That was a good sign. It was ridiculous how happy she felt about not being alone again tonight.

      “Nice place you have here, Henry,” he said.

      Oh, now he was just being kind. Her place was tiny and old. The Harpers had built the cottages for the townspeople way back in the 1800s. The houses were lined up next to each other, so close that she knew what her cousins were watching on TV next door. Most of them were two-bedrooms with a small living room, minuscule kitchen and a covered porch. They were designed to house workers and their families. Nothing fancy, nothing beautiful. She’d spruced hers up with paint in muted sunset shades. The walls were covered with happy pictures of Henry and birds.

      “So, have you flown your plane to lots of places, like, um, Mexico? Or Los Angeles?” Henry asked.

      Those were the two places her son had been studying in school. Julia smiled and finished rolling up her stockings.

      “The plane I flew today isn’t mine. But I used to fly fighter jets in the Air Force,” he said.

      “Really? That’s so cool. Ever been to ’Ganistan?” Henry asked.

      “Afghanistan?”

      “Yeah, that’s it. My daddy died there.”

      Julia gasped and then covered her mouth. Who told Henry that? She hadn’t given him many details about his dad’s death because...well, she couldn’t. To this day, she found it brutally difficult to talk to him about the way his father passed. She quickly pulled up the stockings.

      “I’m sorry.” The man sounded sincere. “I was there. I can tell you that every single man and woman fighting in Afghanistan is a hero in my book.”

      “Mama says he was a great man. The only guy she loved.”

      She pressed her hand to her heart. She was happy Henry listened to her, occasionally, but this conversation had to be a tad awkward for her date.

      “Give him the costume, Henry!” she called out.

      “Okay. Here. Let’s try this hat thingy on first. Cool! Now the eye patch.”

      “How do I look?”

      “Perfect! Like a real pirate.” Henry sounded proud.

      “Jack Sparrow? Dread Pirate Roberts?”

      “Those are fake. We need a real pirate name. What’d they call you in the Air Force?”

      Julia’s ears perked up. What was his real name?

      “Captain.”

      “That’s it! Aye, aye, Captain.” Henry giggled.

       Not helpful.

      She stepped into the flowing red skirt with the impossibly long slit up the side—hence the reason for stockings. The shirt was white and off the shoulder. She bent over, adjusted her breasts and looked in the mirror. She looked like a harlot. No, that wasn’t it, she looked like Julia Espinoza pretending to be a harlot. Too much like herself to be truly incognito. Shaking her head, she applied the dark red lipstick. Nope. Still Julia. Well, there was nothing else to do but to add Tía Nona’s long, blond wig.

      Did blondes have more fun? She’d find out. She was desperate for a little fun for one night.

      She came out to find a yummy pirate on her front porch, bending over the lizard cage. She had a great shot of his backside, which looked pretty darned good in those black slacks. He wore a cream-colored shirt and had Henry’s bright yellow pirate bandana on his head. Holy mama.

      “What do you think?” She held her breath.

      He rose. His eyes—or rather eye, since one was under the patch—was blue and held her gaze with intensity. Slowly, he took her all in, starting at the lacy off-the-shoulder, bosom-lifting blouse, down her red skirt to the fishnets and red stilettos. Then all the way back up again.

      The look he gave was pure heat. Goose bumps ran up her arms, shoulders, and danced in her scalp.

      “I like your real hair better.”

      Not a blond man, huh?

      “Okay. But would you recognize me in this?” she pressed.

      He wasn’t looking at her wig. He was gazing at her lips and she had the feeling he wanted to kiss her.

      “Always.”

      She swallowed. She’d just met the guy and yet something inside her that had been dead for years woke up, uncoiled and pleaded for his lips.

      Geesh, the harlot costume was getting