Million Dollar Valentine. Rita Clay Estrada

      Forcing herself to focus on something else, she lit one of the scented candles she’d brought with her from Santa Fe and sat cross-legged in the center of her bed. With her hands palms up and open to all kinds of possibilities, she took several deep breaths to cleanse her body of all the pent-up carbon monoxide she’d cultivated all day. After a few minutes, she did her transcendental meditation. If it was good enough for half the doctors in the world to proclaim it as calming medication for the heart, then it was good enough for her to quickly erase the provocative image of a more free, spontaneous, Blake Wright running through a field of mountain flowers in joyous abandon—naked.

      She hoped.