- Action & Adventure
- African American & Black
- Allison Jones
- Andrea Thome
- Ann Crawford
- Barbara Freethy
- Black Lab Press
- Bublish
- Chloe Liese
- Christina C. Jones
- Christmas fiction
- Clean & Wholesome
- Cliffside Bay
- Cliffside Bay Series
- Contemporary
- Contemporary Woman
- Contemporary Women
- Contemporary Women Fiction
- Createspace Independent Publishing Platform
- Demographic Orientation/Rural
- Demographic Orientation/Small Town
- Denise Grover Swank
- Domestic fiction
- Elizabeth Bromke
- Ethnic Orientation/African American
- Family Life
- Fantasy
- Fiction
- Fog City Publishing
- Forever
- Friendship
- Hesse Creek
- Hesse Creek Media
- Holidays
- Horror
- Inc.
- Independently Published
- Jennifer Peel
- Joanne Demaio
- Joanne Demaio The Winter Series
- Judith Keim
- Karen Booth
- Kay Correll
- Kidnapping
- Later in Life
- Leslie A. Rasmussen
- Lightning Strikes
- Lightscapes Publishing
- Lilly Mirren
- Literary
- LLC
- Lynne Brightman Horn
- Man-woman relationships
- Marriage & Divorce
- Michele Gilcrest
- Military
- Missing persons - Investigation
- Occult & Supernatural
- Off the Grid: FBI
- Paperback
- Paranormal
- Physicians
- PUB201311
- PUB201412
- PUB201504
- PUB201505
- PUB201510
- PUB201603
- PUB201606
- PUB201609
- PUB201701
- PUB201709
- PUB201710
- PUB201805
- PUB201806
- PUB201809
- PUB201811
- PUB201812
- PUB201903
- PUB201906
- PUB201907
- PUB201909
- PUB202002
- PUB202004
- PUB202006
- PUB202007
- PUB202008
- PUB202009
- PUB202010
- PUB202011
- PUB202101
- PUB202102
- PUB202103
- PUB202104
- PUB202105
- PUB202106
- PUB202111
- PUB202204
- PUB202208
- Publishing in the Pines
- Rachel Hanna
- Romance
- Romantic Comedy
- Romantic Suspense
- Romantic suspense fiction
- Sarah M. Cradit
- Secrecy
- Sex & Gender/Feminine
- She Writes Press
- Small Town & Rural
- South Carolina
- Sports
- Staci Hart
- Suspense
- Tess Thompson
- The Beach House Hotel
- The Bennet Brothers
- The House of Crimson & Clover
- The Winter Series
- Thrillers
- Topical/Family
- Vacations
- Warm Hues Creative
- Whisper Lake
- Wild Quail Publishing
- Winter
- Women
- Zura Lu Publishing LLC
158 products
The Color of a Christmas Miracle
“I never know what to say about a Julianne MacLean book, except to say YOU HAVE TO READ IT." —AllRomanceReader
From USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean comes a gripping and emotional contemporary novel, where people are affected by real life magic and miracles that change everything they once believed about life and love.
Claire Radcliffe has been blessed with a wonderful life-a loving husband, a fulfilling career as a schoolteacher, and a perfect house in a charming historic neighborhood. But with each Christmas that passes, the one thing she longs for most of all—a child of her own—continues to elude her, and before long, her life doesn't seem so perfect anymore.
When yet another holiday season approaches and her marriage suffers the worst possible blow, Claire must learn to have faith in destiny, and allow herself to believe that miracles can happen to anyone—especially at Christmastime.
Heartwarming and inspiring, The Color of a Christmas Miracle is the tale of one woman's journey to find happiness, and to learn the power of forgiveness and redemption on the path to true love.
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada.
Shop the Color of Heaven series
The Color of a Dream
From USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean comes an emotionally charged tale of a young woman who has fought hard to survive a heart transplant, but soon finds that her new heart is engaged in another battle altogether...
Nadia Carmichael has had a lifelong run of bad luck. It begins on the day she is born, when she is separated from her identical twin sister and put up for adoption. Twenty-seven years later, not long after she is finally reunited with her twin and is expecting her first child, Nadia falls victim to a mysterious virus and requires a heart transplant.
Now recovering from the surgery with a new heart, Nadia is haunted by a recurring dream that sets her on a path to discover the identity of her donor. Her efforts are thwarted, however, when the father of her baby returns to sue for custody of their child. It's not until Nadia learns of his estranged brother Jesse that she begins to explore the true nature of her dreams, and discover what her new heart truly needs and desires...
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
Shop the Color of Heaven series
The Color of a Memory
"Julianne MacLean knows what her audience likes...compelling characters and a soul-baring journey of love."
—Reader to Reader
Find out why readers everywhere are clamoring for the next installment of this thrilling, inspiring series. ER nurse Audrey Fitzgerald believed she was married to the perfect man—a heroic firefighter who saved lives, even beyond his own death. But a year after losing him, she meets a mysterious woman who has some unexplained connection to her husband...
Soon Audrey discovers that in the weeks leading up to her husband's death, he was keeping secrets, and she wonders if she ever really knew him at all. Compelled to dig into his past and explore memories that define the essence of their relationship, Audrey embarks upon a journey of discovery that will lead her down a new path to the future—a future she never dared to imagine.
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
Shop the Color of Heaven series
The Color of a Promise
From USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean comes a new novel in her popular Color of Heaven series, where people are affected by real life magic and miracles that change everything they once believed about life and love.
Having spent a lifetime in competition with his older brother Aaron—who always seemed to get the girl—Jack Peterson leaves the U.S. to become a foreign correspondent in the Middle East. When a roadside bomb forces him to return home to recover from his wounds, he quickly becomes the most celebrated journalist on television, and is awarded his own prime time news program. Now, wealthy and successful beyond his wildest dreams, Jack believes he has finally found where he is meant to be. But when a giant commercial airliner explodes in the sky over his summer house in Cape Elizabeth, all hell breaks loose as the wreckage crashes to the ground. He has no idea that his life is about to take another astonishing turn...
Meg Andrews grew up with a fear of flying, but when it meant she wouldn't be able to visit her boyfriend on the opposite side of the country, she confronted her fear head-on and earned her pilot's license. Now, a decade later, she is a respected airline crash investigator, passionate about her work, to the point of obsession. When she arrives in the picturesque seaside community of Cape Elizabeth to investigate a massive airline disaster, she meets the famous and charismatic Jack Peterson, who has his own personal fascination with plane crashes.
As the investigation intensifies, Meg and Jack feel a powerful, inexplicable connection to each other. Soon, they realize that the truth behind the crash—and the mystery of their connection—can only be discovered through the strength of the human spirit, the timeless bonds of family, and the gift of second chances.
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
Shop the Color of Heaven series
The Color of a Silver Lining
"With The Color of a Silver Lining, Julianne MacLean once again delivers an unforgettable, emotional story that will captivate readers of this spell-binding series." —Michelle McMaster, bestselling author
From USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean comes an emotional, inspiring novel about secrets, forgiveness, and second chances. It's been three years since Emma Cochran endured the worst possible tragedy—the sudden unexpected death of her four-year-old son. The emotional trauma tore her marriage apart, but now her divorce is final and she wants to begin again. She's found happiness at last with her fiancé, Luke, who is eager to start a family with her.
On the other side of the country, single mother Bev Hutchinson watches helplessly as her five-year-old daughter Louise drowns in a high-profile boating accident. Miraculously, Louise is brought back to life, then claims she went to heaven. The news causes a media frenzy surrounding the little girl, and Bev does everything she can to shield herself and her daughter from the relentless swarming of the press.
Lives collide when Emma becomes obsessed with the story of the child, thousands of miles away, who drowned and went to heaven. She wants to connect with the mother, but Emma's fiancé is against the idea because he wants her to let go of her grief and move on.
But sometimes, moving on isn't the right choice when miracles are leading you back to your past—toward something, or someone, who was your destiny all along.
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
Shop the Color of Heaven series
The Color of Hope
From USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean comes an inspiring novel about sisters, forgiveness, and second chances. It's one of the most popular titles in the Color of Heaven series, where people are affected by real life magic and miracles that change everything they once believed about life and love.
Diana Moore has led a charmed life. She's the daughter of a wealthy senator and living a glamorous city life, and is confident her handsome live-in boyfriend is about to propose. But everything is turned upside down when she learns of a mysterious woman who works nearby―a woman who is her identical mirror image. Diana is compelled to discover the truth about this woman's identity, but the truth leads her down a path of secrets, betrayals, and shocking discoveries about her past. These discoveries follow her like a shadow. Then she meets Dr. Jacob Peterson―a brilliant cardiac surgeon with an uncanny ability to heal those who are broken. With his help, Diana embarks upon a journey to restore her belief in the human spirit, and recover a sense of hope―that happiness, and love, may still be within reach for those willing to believe in second chances.
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
Shop the Color of Heaven series
The Color of Joy
The Color of Joy is USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean's eighth installment in her popular Color of Heaven series, which has delivered many happy sighs to thousands of readers worldwide and left them clamoring for more. Bring tissues and prepare to be up all night reading this fast-paced, emotionally charged tale about the obstacles we encounter in everyday life and the real life magic that helps us to triumph over them.
After rushing to the hospital for the birth of their third child, Riley and Lois James anticipate one of the most joyful days of their lives. But things take a dark turn when their newborn daughter vanishes from the hospital. Is this payback for something in Riley's troubled past? Or is it something even more mysterious?
As the search intensifies and the police close in, strange and unbelievable clues about the whereabouts of the newborn begin to emerge, and Riley soon finds himself at the center of a surprising turn of events that will challenge everything he once believed about life, love, and the existence of miracles.
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
The Color of Love
"There is no doubt that Ms. MacLean's writing style is a gift from the gods." ―Romance Junkies
"Julianne MacLean knows what her audience likes...compelling characters and a soul-baring journey of love." ―Reader to Reader
USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean continues her Color of Heaven series with another fast-paced, emotionally gripping tale that will move and inspire you.
Carla Matthews is a single mother struggling to make ends meet and give her daughter Kaleigh a decent upbringing. When Kaleigh's absent father Seth―a famous alpine climber who never wanted to be tied down―begs for a second chance at fatherhood, Carla is hesitant because she doesn't want to pin her hopes on a man who is always seeking another mountain to scale. A man who was never willing to stay put in one place and raise a family. But when Seth's plane goes missing after a crash landing in the harsh Canadian wilderness, Carla must wait for news... Is he dead or alive? Will the wreckage ever be found?
One year later, after having given up all hope, Carla receives a shocking phone call. A man has been found, half-dead, floating on an iceberg in the North Atlantic, uttering her name. Is this Seth? And is it possible that he will come home to her and Kaleigh at last, and be the man she always dreamed he would be?
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
Shop the Color of Heaven series
The Color of the Season
From USA Today bestselling author Julianne MacLean comes the next installment in her popular Color of Heaven series―a gripping, emotional tale about real life magic that touches us all during the holiday season...
Boston cop, Josh Wallace, is having the worst day of his life. First, he's dumped by the woman he was about to propose to, then everything goes downhill from there when he is shot in the line of duty.
While recovering in the hospital, he can't seem to forget the woman he wanted to marry, nor can he make sense of the vivid images that flashed before his eyes when he was wounded on the job. Soon, everything he once believed about his life begins to shift when he meets Leah James, an enigmatic resident doctor who somehow holds the key to both his past and his future...
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
The Color of Time
"Full of high emotional moments and unexpected twists and turns, these Color of Heaven books are impossible to put down." —New York Times bestselling author, Emily March
They say it's impossible to change the past...
Since her magical summer romance at the age of sixteen, Sylvie Nichols has never been able to forget her first love. Years later, when she returns to the seaside town where she lost her heart to Ethan Foster, she is determined to lay the past to rest once and for all. But letting go becomes a challenge when Sylvie finds herself transported back to that long ago summer of love...and the turbulent events that followed. Soon, past and present begin to collide in strange and mystifying ways, and Sylvie can't help but wonder if a true belief in miracles is powerful enough to change both her past and her future...
Author Bio:
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyer's Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit Julianne's website for more information.
The Cracked Slipper
"...a sophisticated and fantastical twist to the beloved Cinderella fairy tale." -- A. G. Howard, author of the Splintered Series
When Eleanor Brice loses a glass slipper, she unexpectedly gains a royal fianc and a way out of her abusive stepmother's house. Unfortunately, eight years of mistreatment, isolation, and clandestine book learning hardly prepared Eleanor for life at Eclatant Palace, where women are seen, not heard. According to Eleanor's eavesdropping parrot, no one at court appreciates her unladylike tendency to voice her opinion. To make matters worse, Gregory Desmarais, Crown Prince of Cartheigh, spends his last night of bachelorhood on a drunken whoring spree.
Before the ink dries on her marriage proclamation, Eleanor realizes she loves her husband's best friend, the intellectual, surprisingly sensitive former soldier, Dorian Finley. As Gregory's mercurial nature comes to light, Eleanor wrestles with her feelings for Dorian, flounders in her new role, and makes powerful enemies--foes who use Eleanor as a scapegoat in a magical plot to unseat the royal family.
Eleanor Brice is a princess. She lives in an enchanted castle. She even has her own unicorn. But she's lived through childhood trauma, she has insecurities and anxieties, and she makes dreadful relationship choices. In short, she's a real woman in a fairy tale world, and this is her happily-ever-after.
About the Author
Alexander, Stephanie: - Stephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshund, Trinket.
The CROC
Some secrets are better off forgotten...
With forgetfulness looming, Vivienne is forced to make tough decisions regarding her relationship-and her immortality.
Deacon watches helplessly as the woman he loves descends into forgetfulness. After secrets from his past are exposed, he finds out that one of those closest to him has betrayed his trust.
As the PAN search desperately for a cure to save the forgetful, HOOK is willing to go to deadly lengths to get what they want.
In the end, Neverland will never be the same.
The Dare
College was supposed to be my chance to get over my ugly-duckling complex and spread my wings. Instead, I wound up in a sorority full of mean girls. I already have a hard time fitting in, so when my Kappa Chi sisters issue the challenge, I can't say no.
The dare: seduce the hottest new hockey player in the junior class.
Conor Edwards is a regular at Greek Row parties...and in Greek Row sorority beds. He's the one you fall for before you learn that guys like him don't give girls like me a second glance. Except Mr. Popular throws me for a loop--rather than laughing in my face, he does me a solid by letting me take him upstairs to pretend we're getting busy.
Even crazier, now he wants to keep pretending. Turns out Conor loves games, and he thinks it's fun to pull the wool over my frenemies' eyes.
But resisting his easy charm and surfer-boy hotness is darn near impossible. Though I'm realizing there's much more to Conor's story than his fan club can see.
And the longer this silly ruse goes on, the greater the danger of it all blowing up in my face.
About the Author
Kennedy, Elle: - A New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Elle Kennedy grew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a B.A. in English from York University. From an early age, she knew she wanted to be a writer, and actively began pursuing that dream when she was a teenager. Elle writes romantic suspense and erotic contemporary romance for various publishers. She loves strong heroines and sexy alpha heroes, and just enough heat and danger to keep things interesting!
The De-Coding of Jo: Hall of Ignorance
"Spellbinding." - Halo Scot, author of Edge of the Breach
"Captivating and smart... I found myself wanting more " - Ash Knight, author of Stay
"Unputdownable... a must read." - Evan Knapp, Founding Member of Queer Indie
"Love's story stands out in its originality, with themes of science and spirituality, and a conflict that is strongly and intelligently articulated." - Readers Favorite
"This book is like no other, the story will linger with you long after you've turned the last page..." - Medea Kalantar, author of the Honeycake children's book series
What would you do if you accidentally discovered a holographic portal into the cosmos, in the basement of your high school's library? Would you take the leap of faith?
Ever since the fatal night her mother was taken hostage by a homicidal maniac, sixteen-year-old Jo has been plagued by debilitating nightmares. As she tries to unravel her bleak reality while attending Forest Hill Academy, a preppy co-ed private school, Jo and her friends discover a mysterious gateway into a Black Hole. Accidentally, evil is released from the portal as demonic parasites spread throughout the school. One by one they turn her classmates into an army of sleepwalkers, serving the Lord of Darkness in a sinister plot for universal domination.
When Jo is activated by the Council of Light, she discovers her mission and confronts her celestial identity, revealing the mystery of existence. With the help of her best friends and a Galactic Compass, Jo unleashes the cosmic powers of creation to prevent the Darkness from enslaving all of humanity into obscurity. Will she be able to decode the artificial system in time to save her friends and the sacred Light?
As the first book in the Ascending Angel Academy series, The De-Coding of Jo is a beautiful melding of fantasy, paranormal and science fiction with a diverse, gender inclusive cast that young adult readers can fully immerse themselves in.
The De-Coding of Jo: Keys to Eternity
A Phantom Cult
A Shattering Deception
A Powerful Prophecy
Lust, greed, destruction. Humanity has fallen into an inverted matrix. Menacing energy vampires are hunting Jo's best friends and siphoning the souls of StarSeeds. To save everyone she loves from extinction, Jo must collapse the false Phantom timeline using Stargate portals and time hops into the ancient Age of Lemuria.
Jo and Alicia reunite with Roma and legendary mythical Warriors. They trek through the enchanted Luminary Realms to fulfill the violet flame prophecy of the seven Eternal Archive Spheres. As the Plague of Chaos descends on innocence, the chosen Master Alchemist must embody Metatron's organic keys to resurrect the modern timeline.
The Dragon Choker
Eleanor Brice Desmarais, she of the cracked glass slipper and unladylike intellectual propensities, has learned that happily-ever-after is as rare as a frozen dragon, even for a happenstance princess. She survived a plot against her life, but her marriage to the alcoholic, womanizing Prince Gregory of Cartheigh remains at best a sham, and at worse, a potential noose around her neck. Gregory is increasingly suspicious of Eleanor's unusually close relationship with his best friend, Dorian Finley, and with good reason. Ironically, Gregory seems to be engaged in his own scandalous love affair-- with Eleanor's scheming stepsister, no less. Eleanor understands the harsh realities of women's lives in her kingdom, so she turns her energies to a school for impoverished girls, until an evil magician's deception destroys the school and unleashes a festering plague. From the Fire-iron walls of Eclatant Palace to the slums of Meggett Fringe, no one, magical or mundane, is safe from the fever-induced delirium of the Great Burning. Not even Eleanor's children.
As Eleanor's happily-ever-after morphs from circumspect to heartbreaking to mortally dangerous, for both herself and Dorian, she faces her greatest losses and her harshest reckoning. No matter what life hands her, however, she finds the strength to do what she must. She stares down her challenges, protects her loved ones, and fights to change the world. Just like women everywhere, in her world, and ours.
About the Author
Alexander, Stephanie: - Stephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshund, Trinket.
The Farmhouse: A Hickory Grove Novel
A desperate hairdresser. Her handsome friend. And a farmhouse full of secrets.
When Maggie Devereux is served an unexpected eviction notice, everything falls apart. Out of options, the nearly divorced forty-something stumbles across an unopened letter regarding her late aunt's estate: a ramshackle farmhouse on the outskirts of town. It could be the perfect solution, if it weren't on the verge of collapse and teeming with complicated family secrets.
Property investor Rhett Houston needs a fresh start. So when he bumps into his old friend, Maggie, who's looking for help with a project, he jumps right in. Soon, Rhett finds himself growing close to the hardworking family, and he realizes he's at a crossroads: stay in the city where he's made a life, or move home to Hickory Grove to help Maggie for good. His choice would be easy, if she weren't still married.
Can friends become more under the right circumstances? The Farmhouse is a romantic, small-town women's fiction set in charming Hickory Grove.
The Gambler: The Wedding Pact #3
The Genesis of Seven
The Girl He Knows
Three reasons I slept with my best friend's brother by Paisley McAllister:
1. We laughed all night, the drinks were strong, and I needed to sleep somewhere.2. I have a weakness for military men.3. I know he won't kiss and tell.... but lord when he kisses, he makes me forget I've completely broken the best friend code.
So when he makes me a no strings attached offer, I figure we've already done it once. But Hank has never been the type for casual. He's husband material, and I should've seen the problems with this plan from the beginning.
As good as he makes me feel, the ink's just dried on my divorce papers. I'm no longer the girl he knows.
The Girl He Loves
Three reasons why I'm currently crying by Heather Michaels:
- My house is falling apart.
- My special needs eight year old is begging to play football and it breaks my heart to say no.
- I haven't had sex in two years.
Between my day job, night school, and doctor's appointments, I'm lucky if I have time to shave my legs. So when I run into my college flame, Dax Griffin, who's living his football dreams, the fact that my life is a hot mess burns even more. Seeing him pushes me over the edge and into his bed. This time around, I know not to expect anything more than one night.
The sex may be great, but it won't solve my problems. When Dax insists on being my handy man, it seems too good to be true. He says he's a changed man, but I wonder if I've changed enough to accept him.
As much as I want to say yes, I don't know if I can trust that I'm the girl he loves.
The Girl He Needs
Three reasons I'm getting in a car with a stranger by Josie Woodmere:
1. My POS car is on fire on the side of the highway.2. The guy in the truck doesn't look like a murderer... in fact, he's hot.3. Even if he tries something, I'm confident I could take him.Hottie in the truck, Brinn McRae turns out to be straight-laced and so not my type. Plus, I'm not looking for romance. I have to find a job and my estranged brother.
The universe must have different plans because the first job my Daytona temp agency sends me to is Brinn's flight school. And if I thought we weren't compatible before, working in his small office makes me question my feelings. The only problem is I'm not sure if I want to loosen his straight-laces or choke him with them.
I don't know if he's man I want, but I'm the girl he needs.
The Girl He Wants
Three reasons I'm still single by Jayne Grandberry:
- I'm eleven feet tall and guys are intimidated by my height... okay I'm just six foot, but you get the idea.
- My British accent makes me sound fancier than I am.
- Running a business is hard work, and doesn't leave a lot of time for dating.
Opening a second clothing boutique is my singular focus. So I'm not even trying when my friends set me up with financial wizard, Stacey Cunningham. After my less then stellar first impression, I'm as surprised as anyone when we tumble into bed. Multiple times. For a nerdy single dad he's got a lot of skills between the sheets.
Actually, he's the complete package... but this isn't where I see my life going. I'm not wife or mommy material, and it's just a matter of time before he realizes I'm not the girl he wants.
Escape to Daytona Beach, bikini body not required. Fall in love with the circle of friends in this No Strings Series. They're like the gals of Charlies Angels only they don't fight crime, they fight falling in love. Each book can be read as a standalone. Each book offers some good laughs and a few feel good moments. Hot hero included.
The Glass Rainbow
Four years have passed since Eleanor Brice Desmarais's darkest secret came to heartbreaking, perilous light. The princess with the cracked glass slipper still mourns unimaginable losses, including the deaths of her son and her best friend. Her lover, Dorian Finley, is in exile in a far northern kingdom. Eleanor and her husband, Crown Prince Gregory of Cartheigh, barely tolerate one another. Her two daughters are the bright stars in what feels like an existence of endless night.
Husband and wife travel north on an unexpected diplomatic mission, and Eleanor, Dorian, and Gregory resume their dangerous love triangle, with continued interference from Eleanor's wily stepsister. Eleanor's old nemesis, Ezra Oliver, forms a mysterious alliance with an army of vicious, bloodthirsty ogres, pushing Cartheigh to the brink of war. His magical finagling exposes strange connections between Eleanor's world and our own, and places her precocious, enigmatic daughter, Natalie, in terrible danger. When Gregory suddenly finds himself king, he leans on Dorian and Eleanor's counsel. With a fledgling monarch on the throne and the enemy amassing in the north, the unlikely triad must unite for the good of the kingdom. Their shared purpose forces Eleanor to rethink years of grudges, resentment, and animosity. As she truly embraces her own power, she finds herself learning to forgive, and asking for forgiveness.
The long-awaited conclusion to Stephanie Alexander's Cracked Slipper Series brings a satisfying resolution to a beloved fairytale. Eleanor's surprisingly relatable enchanted life is a testament to the power of personal evolution, and a reminder that there are no simple happy endings.
The HOOK
Tomorrow isn't promised, no matter how immortal you think you are.
In the aftermath of Vivienne's capture, she discovers she's destined to become one of the forgetful P.A.N. The devastating diagnosis leaves her questioning her relationships-and her place in Neverland. While on her second recruitment mission, she ignores a cardinal rule, and one of her fellow P.A.N. pays the ultimate price for her mistake.
Outrage over the death spurs Lee Somerfield's growing rebellious faction to fight fire with fire, leaving H.O.O.K. in ashes and Neverland ripped apart from within.
Navigating new love and old secrets, Vivienne must now face the consequences of her actions ... and decide if living forever is worth forgetting everything.
**(This book contains moderate sexual references, moderate language, and moderate alcohol use and may not be suitable for younger readers.)
The Innkeeper's House
A sweet-as-pie teacher. A hometown hero. And the local B&B, complete with innkeeper's quarters...
Fresh on the heels of a broken engagement and a dead-end subbing gig, would-be English teacher Greta Houston goes home for the summer. She needs to recharge, and the farm town is just the place. Friday night fish frys and dusty back roads bring her down to earth, but Hickory Grove is only a pit stop on Greta's way back to the big city. Then she gets an interview... with the last place she'd ever thought to apply.
Football coach Luke Hart has too much on his plate. After moving to Hickory Grove to be closer to his ailing grandmother, he spends his days teaching, coaching, and volunteering at church. Life is good, until Mamaw Hart passes away, leaving him with a daunting heirloom: The Hickory Grove Inn. Luke needs help to run the place, or else he'll have to sell the one thing that connects him to his past.
Take a trip to the heart of America and fall in love with Hickory Grove's quirky residents who work hard, enjoy the simple life, and always put love first. Each title is a standalone read.
The Schoolhouse: Book One
The Christmas House: Book Two
The Farmhouse: Book Three
The Innkeeper's House: Book Four
The Quilting House: Book Five
The Nantucket Inn
**Now a USA Today Bestseller **
Lisa Hodges needs to make a decision fast. Thanks to her dead husband's gambling addiction, their savings is almost gone. In her early fifties with a large, waterfront home on Nantucket to support, Lisa hasn't worked in over thirty years, has no in-demand skills and is virtually unemployable. Her only options are to sell the house and move off-island, or, she could use her cooking and entertaining skills and turn her home into a bed and breakfast. She desperately needs it to succeed because she has four grown children with problems of their own and wants to stay close to them. Her oldest daughter, Kate, has a fabulous career in Boston--working as a writer for a popular fashion magazine and engaged to a dangerously handsome photographer, who none of them have met. Kate's twin, local artist, Kristen, has been reasonably content with her on-again off-again relationship with an older, separated businessman. Her son, Chase, runs his own construction business and is carefree, happily dating here and there but nothing serious. Youngest daughter, Abby, is happily married to her high school sweetheart, and they've been trying to have a baby. But it hasn't happened yet, and Abby wonders if it's a sign that maybe their marriage isn't as perfect as everyone thinks. Come visit Nantucket and see how Lisa's new bed and breakfast has an impact on almost everyone in her family. It's the first book in a new series that will follow the Hodges family, friends, and visitors to Nantucket's Beach Plum Cove Inn.About the Author
Kelley, Pamela M.: - Pamela M. Kelley lives in the historic seaside town of Plymouth, MA near Cape Cod and just south of Boston. She has always been a book worm and still reads often and widely, romance, mysteries, thrillers and cook books. She writes women's fiction, small town romance and suspense and you'll probably see food featured and possibly a recipe or two. She is owned by a cute little rescue kitty, Bella.
The PAN
Since her parents were killed, Vivienne has always felt ungrounded, shuffled through the foster care system. Just when liberation finally seems possible-days before her eighteenth birthday-Vivienne is hospitalized with symptoms no one can explain.
The doctors may be puzzled, but Deacon, her mysterious new friend, claims she has an active Nevergene. His far-fetched diagnosis comes with a warning: she is about to become an involuntary test subject for Humanitarian Organization for Order and Knowledge-or H.O.O.K.
Vivienne can either escape to Neverland's Kensington Academy and learn to fly (Did he really just say fly?) or risk sticking around to become a human lab rat.
But accepting a place among The P.A.N. means Vivienne must abandon her life and foster family to safeguard their secrets and hide in Neverland's shadows... forever.
The Parker Cafe
Olivia is determined to get the new cafe up and running. She just hopes she can prove to herself, her mother, and the town that she's capable of making it a successful venture.
When the charming Austin Woods comes to town and offers to help with promotion and social media, how can she refuse?
But someone returns to town and threatens to ruin everything...
Read more about the lives of the Parker Women in this delightful continuation of the Moonbeam Bay series.
Heather and Jesse are still at odds... and why is that?
Evelyn's uses her cooking talents to plan out the menu for the cafe and hopes to finally have a career she can be proud of. Donna and Barry continue on with their romance despite some road bumps along the way.
Try this feel-good beach read
MOONBEAM BAY - the series
The Parker Women - Book One
The Parker Cafe - Book Two
A Heather Parker Original - Book Three
The Parker Family Secret - Book Four
Grace Parker's Peach Pie - Book Five
The Perks of Being a Parker - Book Six
The Parker Family Secret
Evelyn is thankful that Parker Cafe-oops, Sea Glass Cafe-is finally profitable and growing. The townsfolk love to come in for the sweet, mouthwatering delights she bakes... especially the old family recipe for peach pie.
But is it the peach pie that keeps bringing Rob Bentley back to the cafe, day after day?
Rob is in Moonbeam helping his sister, Violet, restore the very neglected Murphy's Resort. A resort she bought without consulting him and he thinks is a terrible idea. But when had Violet ever listened to his advice?
Heather and Jesse can't catch a break either. Their son gets into serious trouble at school. Trouble he swears he wasn't involved in, but all the evidence points toward him.
Read more about the lives of the Parker women. More secrets are revealed. And yet another town festival as Evelyn and Rob become friends... and maybe a bit more. Oh, and a wedding. But who's getting married?
Grace Parker's Peach Pie is book five in the Moonbeam Bay series.
MOONBEAM BAY - the series
The Parker Women - Book One
The Parker Cafe - Book Two
A Heather Parker Original - Book Three
The Parker Family Secret - Book Four
Grace Parker's Peach Pie - Book Five
The Perks of Being a Parker - Book Six
The Parker Women
Meet the Parker Women...
Donna and Evelyn, two fifty-something sisters who live in the small town of Moonbeam on the lovely Moonbeam Bay. Evelyn is known for her culinary skills and orchestrating every charity event that crosses her path. Donna runs the Parker General Store that has been in their family for generations, ever since Grace Parker and her husband opened it. The town of Moonbeam has always referred to all the women descended from Grace Parker as "the Parker women."
Their daughters, Olivia and Heather, are more than cousins, they are best friends and born on the same day.
Donna's daughter, Olivia, helps out at the store and has big plans for it-if Donna would ever give her a chance to implement any of them.
Evelyn's daughter, Heather, is a well-known illustrator who pops into town now and again-just what is she hiding from?
Then there is the matriarch of the family, Patricia. She's rather-difficult.
Read the heartwarming saga of The Parker Women, their friends, and family in the new Moonbeam Bay series.
And if you're familiar with Kay Correll's other books? Camille Montgomery is in book one of this series and just wait to see what happens with her
MOONBEAM BAY - the series
The Parker Women - Book One
The Parker Cafe - Book Two
A Heather Parker Original - Book Three
The Parker Family Secret - Book Four
Grace Parker's Peach Pie - Book Five
The Patron
“Every time I read a Tess Thompson novel I think, it cannot get better, and yet this novel could possibly be her best work...Absolutely worth five glorious stars.” —Cecly Ann Mitchell, author of Three Rings
She's afraid to take risks. He's an incurable daredevil. When tragedy throws them together, will it spark a lasting devotion?
Crystal Whalen isn't sure why she should go on. Two years after her husband's death on a ski trip, she's devastated when a fire destroys her quiet Colorado mountain home. And when she can't keep her hands off the gorgeous divorcé who's become her new temporary housemate, it only feeds her grief and growing guilt.
Garth Welte won't be burned again. After his ex-wife took most of his money, the downhill-skiing Olympic medalist is determined to keep things casual with the sexy woman he can't resist. But the more time they spend with each other, the harder it is to deny his burgeoning feelings.
As Crystal's longing for the rugged man's embrace grows, she worries that his dangerous lifestyle will steal him away. And although Garth believes she's his perfect girl, the specter of betrayal keeps a tight grip on his heart.
Will the thrill-seeker and the wary woman succumb to the power of love?
SCROLL FOR SAMPLE!
Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”
Book Excerpt:
Prologue
I was eight years old the summer I found home. I’d come to Emerson Pass, Colorado, sickly and pale from the Seattle mist and nagging gray to the land of indigo skies, deep rivers, and the sound of tall grasses rustling in morning air that smelled of wild roses and sunshine.
At the beginning of that summer, on a sunny day in June, Nan and I had already eaten our lunch, thickly sliced ham layered between pieces of homemade peasant bread slathered in butter. We’d washed them down with lemonade so cold it had made my throat ache. After we’d had our rest in the shade, Nan suggested we bring home a bouquet of wildflowers to decorate the kitchen table. My grandmother wasn’t one for lounging around. If the sun was up, so was she. A rule I’d learned after only a week in Colorado.
Nan and I walked along the bank of the river collecting brightly colored flowers that I had no name for in her worn wicker basket. I didn’t have a name for any of the trees or plants I saw. The trees seemed to come in many varieties here. There were some like the ones we had at home with green needles that smelled of the Christmas tree lot around the corner from our apartment during December. Here, my favorites of all the trees had leaves shaped like hearts. Breezes whispered through the leaves and made a sound like tiny hands clapping. They clapped for me.
Narrow as a board and strong as an ox, Nan wore a blue cotton dress that flapped around her long legs. A straw hat covered her silver hair, which she wore in a blunt bob cut just below her ears.
The river flowed gently and was a color of green I’d never seen before. “Why is the river so green?” I asked.
“Because the waters run deep. Like you.”
“Deep like me.” I didn’t know yet what that meant or how true it was. I hadn’t yet learned of metaphors or analogies. All I knew was that Nan talked that way sometimes and I loved it. I loved her.
Her arm, tanned to a golden beige from her summer work in her garden and alongside Pop in the horse barn, rippled with muscle as she dipped to clip a daisy for our bouquet. I looked at my own arm. Next to her, I was pale and sallow of skin. All winter and spring, I’d suffered from head colds and a recurring eye infection. I could not escape the chill no matter how much money my mother spent on the electrical bill in an attempt to warm our drafty Seattle apartment. Finally, blaming the cloudy, misty weather for my poor health, she’d packed me up and shipped me off to my Nan and Pop. I was to spend the entire summer on their small horse farm. Soaking up sun and my Nan’s hearty cooking, I’d come home transformed, Mom felt sure.
For the first few days I missed my mother. But Nan loved me fiercely and made me feel safe and known in her warm, sun-drenched kitchen. “We’ll dry you out and fatten you up before we send you back to your mother,” she’d said to me that first morning.
“Nan, what’s the reason Mom didn’t come here with me?” I asked now as I plucked a purple flower from the ground.
“This place makes her sad.”
“Why?”
“She loved a boy very much and when he broke her heart, she had to run away to the city to try to forget all about him.”
The idea of my mother loving a boy was impossible to picture. She raised me alone with no mention of why I didn’t have a father like most of the others in my second-grade class. “Did she forget all about him?”
“I don’t think so.” Nan set down the basket and squinted her eyes, looking at something across the river.
I followed her gaze. I couldn’t see anything other than the sparkle of the sun on the gentle ripples of the river.
“Did you know him?” I asked.
“Not as well as I thought I did.”
Another riddle. Later, I’d understand. At least I figured I would. Mom often said I was too young to ask some of the questions I asked her. Maybe I was also too young to understand everything Nan told me.
I observed her strong, broad hands as she adjusted her hat. My mother’s hands were the same, only they were always stained with clay because she made pottery in her wheel. She sold her pieces at summer art fairs, but most of our money came from her job at the department store downtown that smelled of rich ladies.
“Nan, will I ever grow strong like you?”
“Oh, yes. You’re a sunflower. Do you know about sunflowers?”
“Not really.”
“They start out from a small seed. But once they break through the ground, they tilt their face upward, and the sun makes them taller and taller until they explode with a glorious yellow flower as big as my hat brim. Then, after they’re all grown, they make hundreds of seeds. In that way, they make sure the next generation will also be able to grow toward the sun. Always tilt your face toward the light, my love, and you’ll be fine all your life.”
“Have you been fine all your life?”
“I’ve had the most glorious life of all. Do you know why?”
“Because of tilting your face up at the sun?”
“That, yes. But also because of your Pop. We’ve loved each other very well for forty-five years. That’s the most important thing, Crystal. The love of your partner. You must choose wisely. When he comes, the idea of love might scare you, but you must do it anyway.”
“Was my mom a sunflower?”
“The most beautiful one I ever saw. Like you will be someday.”
“Will you still be here then?” I asked. “When I’m beautiful?”
“I hope so. I’m already old. Did you know I was forty when I had your mother? We didn’t think the good Lord would bless us with a child. We’d been married twenty years by then. I couldn’t believe it when the doctor told me.”
“Is that old to have a baby?” I didn’t know anything about babies. All I knew was that my mom had only been nineteen when she had me. I’d overheard her tell someone that once.
“It’s pretty old but not impossible. I had a friend who had a baby at forty-four. We thought we should have a club for geriatric mothers of babies.”
“You won’t die soon, will you?” I didn’t even want to think about my world without Nan.
“I will eventually but not any time soon, God willing. Watching you grow makes me want to stay here as long as I can. I sure would love to live long enough to see you all the way grown. But whether or not you can see me here on earth, I’m always right there.” She tapped my chest. “In your heart. Whenever you need me, just call out and I’ll answer.”
A shadow passed overhead, covering the sun for a moment. Nan put her dry, warm hand on my arm. “Look up, Crystal. That’s a bald eagle.”
A bird with wings as wide as I was tall seemed to ride the wind. Mesmerized by her graceful flapping, I watched as she swooped low over the grasses that swayed in the breeze and made the music of the meadow.
“I’ve never seen one this close,” Nan whispered as she took my hand.
The powerful creature dived into the grass and came up with a small field mouse in its her beak. We squeezed each other’s hands as she soared up and into the blue.
“Isn’t she something?” Nan asked.
“Yes,” I breathed. The strength and power of the eagle reverberated inside my own body. I grew robust as I stood there in the aftermath. She was there inside me just as the deep river and wild roses were. From then on, they lived inside my body and soul. They were me and I them.
On the way home, the warmth in the car made me drowsy. Nan didn’t believe in naps. She said they kept a person from sleeping properly at night. I fluttered my eyelids to stay awake. “Nan, what’s it like here at Christmastime?”
“Magical. They put lights up in all the trees and the storefronts. And it’s all white with snow. The skiers come, of course, which we like because they bring money to the good folks who live here.”
I peered out the window at the northern mountain. The wire and posts of the chairlifts seemed lonely hanging over the snowless brown ski runs. I turned back to look at the quaint, orderly main street of town. Hanging baskets with purple and yellow flowers hung from the brick buildings. People roamed the sidewalks as if they had no place to be other than exactly where they were.
“Did you know that no two snowflakes are alike?”
“How do you know?” They were so small, how could anyone see the differences?
“They put them under microscopes. I think, anyway.”
A little girl with a golden braid sat on a bench outside an ice cream shop. Her cone had a scoop of pink ice cream. Next to her, a blond man ate one with chocolate. My favorite. I sighed, wishing I could taste that sweetness on my tongue.
Nan must have noticed my covetous gaze. “Should we stop for a scoop?”
“Really?”
“Sure. We’ll bring a bowl back for Pop, though, or he’ll be sad. He loves ice cream.”
“Who doesn’t?” I asked.
Nan parked on the street, and we hustled over to the shop and each ordered a cone. She got a weird kind called rum and raisin, but I went with chocolate. She asked the clerk to set aside a scoop of maple nut for Pop. “It’ll melt if we bring it out with us.”
I nodded, then licked my cone. My eyes widened at the creamy, rich flavor. “This is the best ice cream ever.”
“Everything in Emerson Pass is better,” Nan said.
We walked outside. The little girl and her father were still seated on the bench. The man called out to Nan. Everyone knew her here. “Joy, how are you?”
“Jack Vargas. I haven’t seen you in months.”
“I’ve been working in Denver during the week. The company has an apartment there.”
“Brandi, you’re getting so big,” Nan said to the girl.
The little girl ducked her head. Shy, like me.
“This here is my granddaughter, Crystal. She’s here all summer, Brandi, if you’d like to come over to the farm to play.”
Brandi raised her gaze to inspect me. “Where do you live normally?” Her voice was as creamy and sweet as the ice cream. She had round eyes like a doll. Her skin was tanned and her yellow hair had white streaks in it as though she spent a lot of time outside. A pair of jean shorts and a peach-colored tank top were probably a lot more fashionable than the overalls Nan had pulled out of a box of my mother’s old things. Brandi was pretty. Too pretty to be my friend.
“Seattle,” I answered between nervous licks of my cone.
“That’s far away,” Brandi said.
“I had to come on the airplane.”
“All by yourself?” Brandi asked.
“Yes, but they made me stay with a lady the whole time. She was kind of mean. She gave me a pin, like a pilot has on his uniform.”
“Really? I’d like one of those. I’ve never been on a plane.”
My earlier envy of her beauty lessened. I was a city girl who had been on a plane. That gave me a little something anyway, even if I was skinny and pale as a ghost. “You can come over and see it if you want.”
Brandi looked up at her dad. “Can I?”
“I’d have to check with your mother, but I don’t see why not.” Jack Vargas looked a lot like his daughter, tanned and blond. His hair was cut as if he’d be on TV delivering the news. Actually, now that I looked at him more closely, he kind of looked like a Ken doll. Even his tan shorts and blue T-shirt seemed like something I would dress my Ken doll in.
He turned to Nan. “She looks like Jennifer at that age. I think I remember those overalls.”
“You know my mom?” I asked, so surprised I almost dropped my cone.
“They were friends when they were little,” Nan said. Why did she have the “Don’t ask for another glass of water and it’s bedtime” voice?
“Sure, right.” Jack tossed the rest of his ice cream cone into the trash can next to the bench. “How’s your mom? Is she here?”
“No, she just sent me. Nan says this place broke her heart.” Is that what she said? I had a feeling I hadn’t quoted it quite right.
Jack Vargas looked down at the ground, as if there might be something on his shoe.
“All right, then. We have to go.” Nan motioned toward the car with her chin. “I’ll get Pop’s ice cream.”
I gave Brandi a shy smile. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
“Not if I see you first.” Brandi giggled. “My dad always says that.”
I walked away, still smiling. Maybe I’d made a new friend?
I’d had no idea then that Brandi would become my very best friend in the world. That first summer turned into many more with my Nan and Pop. They were killed in a car accident the year I turned twenty, just shy of their eightieth birthdays. Everyone in town said they went out together, just as they always had for most of their lives.
Four years after their death, the richest man in Seattle came into the restaurant where I worked and asked me out; I said yes. I’d said yes again when he asked me to marry him. Even when the trolls of the internet tried to take me down, I stayed tall and sure like a sunflower. I knew I had not married him for his money. He’d been my heart. My true companion. My soul mate.
Then he died. Then I lost our baby.
A part of me died with them.
I could no longer breathe in the city of grays and mists. So I went home. Home to Emerson Pass and its indigo sky and snowflakes and Brandi. If someone had told me what awaited me there, I wouldn’t have believed them. The secrets of the past rose from the ashes to change my life.
Chapter 1: Crystal
What is it the Buddhists say? To live is to suffer? I don’t know if they’re right, but by the time I turned thirty, I knew three truths on which to base my life. To love greatly was a risk that could and often did lead to pain. There wasn’t enough money in the world that could cure a broken heart. The only antidote to a soul split wide open was service to others.
On a morning in November, I padded to the window of Brandi’s guest room and drew back the curtain. A frost covered the ground. Fallen leaves glistened under the late-autumn sun. I hugged myself, shivering from cold.
The sound of the garage opening was followed by Trapper’s truck backing out of the driveway. He and Brandi had a doctor’s appointment with their ob-gyn in Louisville. Twenty weeks. They’d learn the gender of their baby. She would be fine, I told myself. The baby too. Soon I would have a little baby who would be like a niece or nephew. Brandi had already asked me to be his or her godmother.
From behind me, the creaking of the bed drew my attention. I turned to see that Garth had wakened. His long legs tangled up in the sheets, he lifted up on one elbow and gave me one of his lazy smiles. His wavy dark hair had flattened on one side during the night. In combination with an imprint of the sheet on his cheek, he looked like a little boy. But this was no child. This was a man. A good man. Good folks, Nan would have said.
“Morning,” Garth said with that sexy drawl of his. He’d spent time in a lot of places in the country, but his accent came from being raised by a Texan. “City Mouse, you all right?”
He called me City Mouse because he’d watched me try to cut wood into kindling one day. Until the fire came roaring through the southern mountain and took both our homes, he’d been able to see my house and yard from his deck. The flames would have taken me, too, if not for Garth. My devastatingly handsome dark-haired neighbor swooped in like that bald eagle had snatched the mouse and gotten me out of there alive.
Garth Welte. My eagle.
He’d saved me, and I’d given myself to him. My body, anyway. In the dark, I came alive under his touch. I was free of memories of Patrick then. In the mornings, though, I returned to the shadows, ashamed and guilty. This was the last time, I’d assure myself. But then another night would come.
“Are you cold?” Garth asked. “You want me to get you a sweater?”
That was Garth—always asking how I was doing or feeling. The laid-back drawl and low timbre of his voice soothed me like a favorite song.
I sat on the side of the bed, careful not to touch him. If I did, we’d be right back doing what we did together all too well. “I’m fine.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Garth said. “That last night was our last time. I’m moving out, and we need to get on with our lives. Separate from whatever it is we’ve been doing.”
“We’re a broken record.” I peeked up at him from under my lashes. “I don’t know why we can’t seem to stop.”
“Could it be because we don’t want to?” He sat up, positioning a pillow behind his back.
“But you know the longer we do this, the harder it will be to stop.” I smoothed my hand over the cotton blanket.
“And neither of us wants to get involved emotionally,” Garth said.
“That was a statement, not a question, right?” Had he changed his mind? Was he starting to fall for me? I had no idea what went on in that brain of his. As concerned as he always seemed for my wellbeing, he kept his own feelings to himself.
“I know what you want me to say.” Garth ran a hand through his hair.
“You do?” I asked.
“I do, and I can’t say it anymore.”
“Garth.” What was he doing? The rules had been clear. Sex. Friendship. That’s where it stopped. There would be no talk of anything long term. No feelings allowed.
“I know. I know I’m changing the rules. Or I want to.”
I sprang up from the bed and wrapped myself around the bedpost. “No, you don’t just up and change the rules.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t lie to you. I’m not made that way. Every time we end up in bed my feelings deepen for you.”
“Deepen?” I disentangled from the post and stepped backward toward the windows. Deepen was a verb, a changing thing. The deep green of the river. Like me. Isn’t that what my Nan had said on that day so long ago?
“I didn’t want to.” His eyes, the color of the apple-cinnamon tea my mother was so fond of, glittered at me from across the bed.
“I’ll never love anyone but Patrick. You know that.”
“That’s what you say,” he said softly. “And if that’s true, then you’re right. We have to stop doing this.” He stared at his hands. A muscle flexed in his cheek. He was gritting his teeth. Sometimes in the middle of the night I heard him gnashing them. He needed a mouth guard. But that’s the kind of thing a wife suggests, not a woman participating in a casual fling.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said.
“I know that.”
“If you’ve decided you’re ready for more, I’m holding you back from meeting the right person.” If anyone should have all the family trimmings of life, it was Garth. He was kind and patient and so very good. I’d watched him with the children at the shelter where we’d set up a place where the families who’d lost everything in the fire could stay until their new homes were built. He had a gentleness about him that drew the children to him.
The money for the shelter had come from me, but Garth was the heart of the effort. Especially when it came to the kids.
“I didn’t think I wanted something bigger than this,” Garth said. “I came here to live without complications. My divorce was enough heartbreak for a lifetime.”
I nodded. Garth rarely mentioned his ex-wife. However, it didn’t take a genius to understand how hard it had been on him. His parents had divorced after his brother’s death, and he’d vowed to himself that he would never be part of a failed marriage.
I should never have let this get started. I hadn't planned on sleeping with him. But after the evacuation we’d ended up at the same campsite. We’d been emotional and in need of comfort and had fallen into bed. Or in this case, a sleeping bag. I’d had too many swigs of whiskey. When he invited me into his tent, my fear and loneliness betrayed my better judgment. To my mortification, the whole thing had been a disaster. Afterward, I’d cried in his arms. I’d have thought that would be the end of it, but when we both ended up homeless, Brandi and Trapper had invited us to stay with them. Our bedrooms were way too close. The very first night, I slipped into his room. From that night on, we’d tried to resist each other, but somehow our chemistry kept bringing us back to the same place.
“Clearly the Welte men aren’t lucky in love,” Garth said with a wry smile. “But that doesn’t stop my dad.”
His father had been married four times to progressively younger women.
“I’m very fond of you,” I said. “You’ve been a great friend. I’d hate to lose that.” The thought of walking out that door crushed me. Thinking of being here without him left me chilled to the core. Still, I had to let him go.
"You’re right,” he said, sounding so defeated that I inwardly cringed. I’d done this to him. “We can't go on like this. I'm not the smartest man in the world like Patrick was. But I know people. I know what it feels like when a woman loves me. I can feel it in my hands every time I touch you. So go ahead, Crystal, deny it to yourself. I know better. But until you’re ready to let yourself live again, there’s no hope for us.”
I started shaking. Garth had never spoken to me this way. The raw emotion and anger in his voice scared me. Not as smart as Patrick? Did he think I found him lacking because of who I’d been married to?
“This has nothing to do with you missing anything,” I said. “This is about me.”
He cursed under his breath. “You’ve got that right.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Stop saying that.” He plucked his boxer shorts from the end of the bed and threw back the sheet before standing.
I averted my eyes to keep myself from gazing at his spectacular form. He’d been a winning Olympic skier when he was young. Even in his midthirties, skiing and working out had kept his body in great shape.
Skiing.
A ski trip had killed Patrick when the private helicopter they’d rented had crashed. No survivors. That’s what they’d said to me. Not, your husband was killed. There were no survivors.
Even now, three years after his death, anger sparked in my chest. Why had he chosen that trip? I knew the answer. He lived for adrenaline. Garth was the same. He tore down the slopes with that same reckless quality that killed my husband. He’d been all about risk and living large with no thought to how his behavior might have heartbreaking consequences for the woman who loved him. There was no way I would ever go through that again.
“It’s not because of anything you’re lacking,” I said. “You’re a skier. A daredevil. Which means I cannot possibly fall in love with you, even if I wanted to.”
He turned slowly to look at me. “What do you mean?”
“As you know, Patrick died on a ski trip.” I said this flatly and without emotion, even though my stomach churned. “Do I have to spell it out?”
“I’m a skier? And you think that’s dangerous?”
I let go of the bedpost and backed up toward the windows. “Yes. I know how fast you ski down the slopes. You set the world record, for heaven’s sake.”
“A dozen years ago.”
“You could die.”
“But I’m not going to.”
“You don’t know that.” Supposedly that ski trip was perfectly safe too. Just last year a man died on the Emerson Pass slopes when he lost control and hit a tree. “There was that guy last season,” I said out loud.
“He was an amateur on a slope he had no business being on.” Garth spoke quietly and calmly, as if I were an animal about to charge at him. “That was completely different from anything I do.”
“You share too many qualities with my late husband. And I won’t be left alone again.”
“I’m not sure what we have in common. He was a brilliant billionaire tech guy. I’m a mediocre attorney and former Olympian.”
“It’s a quality. I can’t explain it. A recklessness.”
Garth grimaced as he grabbed the T-shirt hanging from one of the bedposts and pulled it over his head. “I’m not reckless. I’ve spent my whole life trying to find stability. Skiing is not reckless, it’s just something I love.” He sat on the edge of the ottoman. “My entire life was defined by my little brother’s death. I’ve had this feeling that I had to live for both of us. Every day I ski is with that in mind. I’m still here when he didn’t get to be. Racing down a mountain makes me feel alive.”
“I know. Which is why I would never ask you to give it up.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not for me.”
He rubbed his chin. “We have a connection, even if you think it’s only physical. A closeness that doesn’t come along every day.”
“We have chemistry in the bedroom,” I said, defensive. I didn’t enjoy being the bad guy. “But we’ve both known this wasn’t a long-term thing.”
“You’ll be rid of me.” Garth took his jeans from the arm of the chair, but instead of putting them on, folded them over his lap. “My house is done.”
I looked away, unable to stand the look of hurt in his eyes and in the tone of his voice. “We’re friends. That won’t change.”
“Sure. That’s good.” The finality in his tone told me he’d had enough. I’d managed to successfully push him away.
As he tugged his jeans on, I slipped into my robe, suddenly aware of how thin my pajamas were. If I wanted us to stay apart, then I shouldn’t be running around half naked.
“I’ll see you later?” I asked.
“Probably not. I’ll stay at my house tonight.”
He sounded so grim I almost reached out to him but knew that wasn’t fair. If we were to stay apart, I had to be strong.
When he reached the doorway, he turned back to me. “Did you have the kind of chemistry we have with your husband?”
I blinked, surprised by the question. How could I answer truthfully and not give him hope?
“Tell me,” he said.
“He and I loved each other very much.” Despite what others claimed, I’d married him because I loved him, not because of his money. The press had gone for my jugular when we’d gotten married. Forty-four to my twenty-four, rendering me a gold digger according to Twitter. “We enjoyed all aspects of a good marriage.”
“Was it as good as us? Because I find that hard to believe.” His eyes glittered with intensity as he stared me down.
“The things we’ve experienced together—I’ve never had that with anyone else, no. Not even Patrick.”
He smiled again, this time a little triumphantly. “Yet you claim there’s nothing here worth exploring?”
“Sex isn’t everything.” I sound ridiculous, I thought. Like a child. No one had ever given me as much physical pleasure as Garth. Still, I couldn’t grant him my heart.
“True enough,” he said. “But you said yourself we’re friends too. What’s better than being friends with the person you go to bed with every night?”
The air seemed to leave the room. “I’m not there. I’m sorry.”
“Fair enough. At least now we know where we stand.”
He didn’t give me a chance to say anything else as he opened the door and disappeared into the hallway.
Discombobulated, I sat on the side of the bed. Why did I feel strange and shaky? I do not care about him, I told myself. He’s just really good in bed. That’s all this is.
Anyway, this is how it happened. Love had sucked me in once and convinced me that all the broken, missing parts were fixed, and then he died on me.
Had I worried about my husband’s ski trip? Not at all. Back then I was still so stupidly sure everything would work out. I’d found the love of my life. For three lovely years we were happy.
After I’d moved to Emerson Pass and bought a home from an elderly gentleman perched on the southern mountain, I’d contemplated opening a restaurant. I could afford it, after all. The amount of money I’d inherited from Patrick was more than a hundred reasonable people could ever spend in a lifetime, unless one was interested in buying small islands and that kind of thing. However, I was conservative by nature. Nan and my mother had taught me that simplicity was best. My needs were simple. I wanted a quiet, unassuming life in the place where I’d been the happiest as a child. Garth had not been in the plan.
I went back to my maiden name. Other than a few friends, no one knew I was the widow of a famous tech billionaire. I’d opened a kitchen shop as a distraction from my grief. Perhaps because I’d been raised by a potter, I particularly loved curating beautiful pieces from small artisans and businesses around the world. In addition, I’d started giving cooking lessons once or twice a month in the kitchen. They’d become popular with the tourists especially. So much so that I’d hired a young chef, Mindy, in need of work to take over some of the classes. She’d been such a delight that I’d ended up hiring her full-time as my manager. Recently, she’d asked if she could buy me out, and we’d worked out a deal between us. As much as I’d thought it was a good idea to have a passion project, it felt right to transition it to someone who needed and wanted the work more than I did. By the end of the month, the paperwork would be completed.
However, as I heard the shower start in Garth’s room, I had to admit I was not doing a particularly good job of understanding my feelings. I sat back on the bed, unsure of what to do or think.
I wished I could talk to Nan. I needed her clear-eyed vision to tell me what to do. I touched my fingers to the spot on my chest she’d tapped that day by the river. Nan, what am I doing?
The Perfect Stranger
When he burst into my life, he set everything on fire.
He is a multi-millionaire, escaped inmate serving life in prison for a double murder he didn't commit.
He was once my only friend and my first crush.
He doesn't ask for help and I don't offer.
His hair falls into his face and a strand brushes along his chiseled jaw. His vulnerability is disarming.
We both know that he shouldn't be here, but when I stare into his piercing, intense eyes, I can't look away.
I want to tell him to leave, but then he leans over and runs his finger over my lower lip.
When our mouths touch, I know that I won't be able to stop.
What happens when one night isn't enough?
The Play
What I learned after last year's distractions cost my hockey team our entire season? No more screwing up. No more screwing, period. As the new team captain, I need a new philosophy: hockey and school now, women later. Which means that I, Hunter Davenport, am officially going celibate...no matter how hard that makes things.
But there's nothing in the rulebook that says I can't be friends with a woman. And I won't lie--my new classmate Demi Davis is one cool chick. Her smart mouth is hot as hell, and so is the rest of her, but the fact that she's got a boyfriend eliminates the temptation to touch her.
Except three months into our friendship, Demi is single and looking for a rebound.
And she's making a play for me.
Avoiding her is impossible. We're paired up on a yearlong school project, but I'm confident I can resist her. We'd never work, anyway. Our backgrounds are too different, our goals aren't aligned, and her parents hate my guts.
Hooking up is a very bad idea. Now I just have to convince my body--and my heart.
About the Author
Kennedy, Elle: - A New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Elle Kennedy grew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a B.A. in English from York University. From an early age, she knew she wanted to be a writer, and actively began pursuing that dream when she was a teenager. Elle writes romantic suspense and erotic contemporary romance for various publishers. She loves strong heroines and sexy alpha heroes, and just enough heat and danger to keep things interesting!
The Player: The Wedding Pact #2
The Reboot
If you're starting a thousand mile journey with a single step, you better make sure you're wearing comfy shoes.
Abby Archer's life has rarely been better. As a newlywed, she and Steve have things just as she wants them. But when a big surprise leaves Abby confused, can she trust Steve to do things the way she needs them handled?
Amanda Brooks' business had a rocky start, but she and Mandy are more energized than ever. Eddy's back too, and they're trying to navigate a new way forward. Work and love are both shaping up nicely when disaster strikes. Can the new presence in town wreck all their plans, or will Amanda square her shoulders and persevere?
Donna has finally accepted her feelings for Will, and she's enjoying her job too. But working far from home has its own share of difficulties, and eventually her current job will end. When the retreat is built, will Donna find that tiny Manila is big enough to fulfill all her dreams?
Return to Birch Creek to see how your favorite friends are navigating career, family life, and love with a little bit of laughter.
The Revelation of Three
He thought he was prepared to go to war with the Devil, but what if Satan's not his true enemy?
Ever since the Devil donned a powerful amulet that allows him to walk the Earth, he has grown weaker-and so has his authority. As a result, mutiny is rising in Hell, and the Devil must fight to remain the king of the underworld. Little does he know, there is much more at stake than his title.
After the death of the nun who raised him and his best friend, Jordan Conway cannot think of anything but finding Sophia and keeping her safe. Luckily, he has a team of archangels on his side, and with their help, the two lifelong friends are reunited. But Jordan didn't expect the reunion to include another of Sister Helen's charges-the boy he'd loved like a brother but who had pushed him away, Dane. The three orphans never thought their lives would amount to much, but finding their way back to each other is leading them to finding out who they truly are.
All paths converge when the fourteenth sphere, a celestial object with a power like no other, appears at the Met. The angels must keep it from falling into the wrong hands, and soon, the lines between good and evil blur as they find themselves fighting alongside Satan to prevent the unleashing of a dark and dangerous force hell-bent on taking them all down. But in this world, nothing is as it seems, and the mysterious sphere is possibly the least of their concerns...
Get ready for another adventure as the three friends, and the angels they now consider family, travel the globe in search of a way to save each other-and the world.
About the Author
Schaller, Sara M.: - Sara M Schaller is a young adult author and publishing professional. She lives in Colorado and works at her local library. Sara loves the world of pop culture and the performing arts, so when she is not reading or writing, she is either watching movies and shows, attending conventions, or going out to see live performances. She likes to write stories for all ages in the fantasy genre, and her writing usually contains elements of speculative fiction and features a large cast of characters. Sara has a Bachelor's degree in English, Art History, and Religious Studies from the University of Denver, and a Master's degree in Publishing from Pace University. You can visit her online at www.saramschaller.com.
The Risk
Everyone says I'm a bad girl. They're only partly right--I don't let fear rule me, and I certainly don't care what people think. But I draw the line at sleeping with the enemy. As the daughter of Briar's head hockey coach, I'd be vilified if I hooked up with a player from a rival team.
And that's who Jake Connelly is. Harvard's star forward is arrogant, annoying, and too attractive for his own good. But fate is cruel--I require his help to secure a much-coveted internship, and the sexy jerk isn't making it easy for me.
I need Connelly to be my fake boyfriend.
For every fake date...he wants a real one.
Which means this bad girl is in big trouble. Nothing good can come from sneaking around with Jake Connelly. My father would kill me, my friends will revolt, and my post-college career is on the line. But while it's getting harder and harder to resist Jake's oozing sex appeal and cocky grin, I refuse to fall for him.
That's the one risk I'm not willing to take.
The Schoolhouse: A Hickory Grove Novel
To move forward, she might have to take a step back.
Divorced empty-nester Becky Linden wants a fresh start. After two decades away, she returns to her hometown to find herself. What she discovers instead is the long-abandoned schoolhouse where she had her first kiss as a teenager. Others might see an eyesore, but Becky sees the neglected building as a charming business opportunity and... her future. However, she can't do it on her own. The one man who can help her is the last one she ever thought she'd ever ask-her ex-boyfriend.
Zack Durbin works for the school district that owns the run-down building, and he agrees with locals: the schoolhouse is a problem. What's more? It's his job to solve the problem. Then Zack's old high school sweetheart shows up with a dream to open a bookshop and reboot her life. Is Zack willing to sacrifice his career for the only woman he's ever loved? Or will the past haunt him forever?
The Schoolhouse is a heartwarming, second-chance romance about a determined forty-something, her high school sweetheart, and the abandoned schoolhouse that just might have a little life left. Order your copy today.
Hickory Grove, Indiana is an old-fashioned small town full of big-hearted people with quirky stories. Each book is a sweet, standalone read.
The Schoolhouse: Book One
The Christmas House: Book Two
The Farmhouse: Book Three
The Innkeeper's House: Book Four
The Quilting House: Book Five
The Sisterhood Promise: A Sweet Small Town Romance
The Substitute: The Wedding Pact
The Sugar Queen
True love requires commitment, and many times unending sacrifice…
At the tender age of eighteen, Brandi Vargas watched the love of her life drive out of Emerson Pass, presumably for good. Though she and Trapper Barnes dreamed of attending college and starting their lives together, she was sure she would only get in the way of Trapper's future as a hockey star. Breaking his heart, and her own in the process, was the only way to ensure he pursued his destiny. Her fate was the small town life she'd always known, her own bakery, and an endless stream of regret.
After a decade of playing hockey, a single injury ended Trapper Barnes' career. And while the past he left behind always haunted him, he still returns to Emerson Pass to start the next chapter of his life in the place his ancestors built more than a century before. But when he discovers that the woman who owns the local bakery is the girl who once shattered his dreams, the painful secret she's been harboring all these years threatens to turn Trapper's idyllic small town future into a disaster. Will it take a forest fire threatening the mountain village to force Trapper and Brandi to confront their history? And in the wake of such a significant loss, will the process of rebuilding their beloved town help them find each other, and true happiness, once again?
SCROLL FOR SAMPLE!
Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1: Brandi
The ghosts of Emerson Pass haunt me. Not the spirits those who built this town from bricks and dreams. They’re all resting in peace, probably sitting around a table eating my great-great-great-grandmother Lizzie’s chicken stew. No, these apparitions are the loves of my life.
They’re only memories now, replaced by gaping holes of grief. One is a secret buried in the town cemetery under a gravestone with no name. The other is Trapper Barnes, professional athlete and descendant of the infamous Alexander Barnes. The boy who left and never returned. The boy who chose hockey over me.
The boy I sent away.
Until he returned on an ordinary afternoon in August.
The bells over the front door of my bakery jingled as I was about to close for the day. I looked up, surprised to have a new customer. Emerson Pass was a small town. Everyone knew my sandwiches, muffins, cookies, and cakes were gone by three. By four, I had only a few sad scones begging for a buyer.
My heart stopped for at least three seconds. Trapper Barnes stood before me.
I blinked three times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. But no, it was him. Tall and tanned with the same thick brown hair and big brown eyes.
“Hey, Brandi.” A deep voice, masculine yet soft. He smiled, showing his straight white teeth. Other than his dimples, all youthful roundness had disappeared, leaving chiseled cheekbones and a defined chin. The years had broadened his shoulders and chest. He was even better-looking than he’d been when we were kids. Of course he was. This was Trapper Barnes. Town hero. Hockey star. Love of my life.
I’d seen him on television and magazines over the years. Not often, as I avoided anything to do with professional hockey. If I accidentally caught a glimpse of him, the wound opened fresh, and I was wrecked for days. None of those photographs did him justice. The man was sinfully beautiful.
I couldn’t utter a sound. Instead, I stared at him. Could he see the way my chest ripped open and bled onto my counter? I stole a glance at his left hand. No ring. Thank God, nothing but one long, gorgeous finger. I’d accepted long ago that he would never be mine, but belonging to someone else? The weight of that pain would crush me.
“It smells fantastic in here.” His brown eyes sparkled as if he were on the brink of laughter. “Now that I’m no longer training, I can have a treat every once in a while. I’ll take the pumpkin one.”
I grabbed the last pumpkin from the platters. No longer training? What did that mean? I set the scone on a plate and slid it across the wide counter. God help me, I could smell his cologne. He smelled the same as the last day I’d ever spent with him.
“How much?” he asked.
I shook my head. “On the house. The scone’s dry by this time of day.”
His mouth lifted in that same drowsy smile he’d had since we were kids. “You speak. I thought maybe you’d gone mute since I left.”
“Yes, sorry. You surprised me.” The understatement of the century.
“The Sugar Queen.” He gestured toward the doors. “It’s perfect.”
“Thanks.” I’m never a woman of many words, but my dry mouth made elegant oratory even more difficult.
“Mama tells me this is the best bakery in town,” he said.
I glanced around, wondering what it looked like through his eyes. Industrial lights hung over the counter. Round bistro-style tables and chairs looked out to the street. A silver espresso machine and a refrigerator with premade items took up one side, with the register and counter on the other. A chalkboard with the menu hung on the wall, written in my neat handwriting. Every morning I set out the day’s offerings on various platters and boards in an attractive display on the counter.
“It’s the only bakery in town,” I said.
He smiled again and lifted one thick eyebrow. “Probably because no one dares compete with you.”
Trapper. Always kind and encouraging to everyone he ever met. Lifting people up was like a mission with him. He could find the best part of a person, no matter who they were. He never missed an opportunity to inspire or encourage. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to bask in the glow of his compliment. Back in the day it had been the only antidote to my mother’s criticism. And there it was. I ached with wanting him, as if no time had passed. No, I screamed silently. Don’t let him break you. Not again.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked. “I mean, here in town.”
“I’ve moved home. Didn’t Breck and Huck tell you?”
Breck and Huck and Trapper were best friends from childhood. And no, they had not mentioned that Trapper was moving home permanently. Oh God. How could this be happening? I couldn’t have him here. Not living and breathing and stopping in for a damn scone. How would I look him in the eye, knowing what I’d done? The secret I’d kept from him.
“They don’t come by often.” I came out from behind the counter and turned the Open sign to Closed. “Anyway, it’s none of my business what you do.”
As I turned to face him, he placed his hand over his heart and smiled. “Ouch.”
Damn that smile. Still melted me like butter over a biscuit.
“You look beautiful,” he said. “More so than ever.”
“Not really.” I wondered if I had any flour on my face. When I was in the zone I didn’t think twice about my appearance. In the shop, I wore my long blond hair in a braid and usually didn’t bother with more than mascara and blush, always promising myself to remember lipstick but never quite managing. Truth is, I didn’t care about what I looked like. Everyone in this town had already seen me. I wasn’t interested in romance. The only Friday night date I wanted was a television show and a glass of wine.
The only man I’d ever cared about looking pretty for had left a long time ago.
“I always knew you’d do something spectacular,” he said.
“Baking bread is hardly spectacular,” I said.
“Tell that to the customers lined up out your door every morning.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
His chiseled features softened. I saw a hint of the vulnerable, sensitive boy I’d loved instead of the giant, confident man before me. “I’ve been by a few times. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me, so I just kept walking.”
“Why today then?” I kept my words clipped, unemotional. All I wanted was for him to leave so I could sort through what to do. I didn’t want him here. Not in my shop or my town.
“I couldn’t stop myself,” he said. “I wanted to see you.”
My stomach churned. “I would’ve thought Emerson Pass was a little small for you these days. Did you get hurt? Is that why you’re retiring?”
“That’s right. Bad knee. I lasted longer than most. It was time to come home and start a new chapter. I got some advice from my friend Brody Mullen. After my injury, he said to move back home. Start a new chapter with no regrets.”
I had no idea who that was. “I don’t follow hockey.”
His eyes widened. “Brody Mullen’s a former football quarterback. Some say the best there ever was. You don’t watch sports anymore?”
“No time. The world of professional sports is irrelevant to my life.” I motioned toward the back where my ovens resided. “Common people like me are just trying to make our rent.”
“There’s nothing common about you. Never has been.”
I ignored the praise. I’d be damned if he was going to suck me in with his effortless charm. Had I not evolved from a lovesick teenager? Remember your secret, I reminded myself. Remember what you kept from him.
“You used to love hockey,” he said. “If I recall correctly, you never missed a game.”
“I loved watching you. When you left, hockey lost its appeal.”
“Oh, okay.” He glanced down at the counter. “Guess that answers that question.”
“What’s that?” I asked, then silently cursed myself. Stop engaging. Tell him to leave.
“Sometimes when I played, I wondered if you were watching me on television.”
“I wasn’t.”
He flinched. “Got it.”
“What did you expect? That I was here pining for you?”
“Jeez, Brandi, you don’t have to be mean.”
The hurt in his eyes nearly undid my resolve to remain cold. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that way. You had the life you dreamed of, and I’m glad for you.” His dreams had come true. I’d wanted that for him. Remember that, I reminded myself. “I’m just surprised you ever thought of me at all.”
“Do I need to remind you how it all went down?” he asked softly. “You’re the one who ended things. You’re the one who made the rules. No contact, remember? You made it so I couldn’t come home.”
“How’s that exactly?” My voice cracked. “Your family owns most of this town. It’s yours more than mine.”
“Because I couldn’t come home and risk seeing you. It hurt too much.”
His words nearly knocked me across the room. I gripped the edge of the counter to stay in place. He didn’t mean it, I reminded myself. He chose hockey. Not me. “From what I could tell, you made up for it by dating a plethora of actresses and models.”
His mouth lifted in a sad smile. “You didn’t watch my games, but you read tabloids about me?”
“It’s hard to avoid. I stand in grocery store lines.” I wiped crumbs from the counter into my apron and tossed them into the garbage.
“Most of that stuff is lies. I only dated half the women they said I did.”
An arrow pierced my chest. Half the women. Women who were not me. My lunch continued to churn in my stomach. A drop of perspiration slid down my lower back. “You were a girl magnet in high school. Some things never change.” I looked past him to the street. The wind had come up, shaking the leaves of the aspens that lined Barnes Avenue.
“I never noticed anyone but you,” he said. “I never wanted anyone but you. Surely you remember that accurately?”
I avoided eye contact by reaching under the counter for a cloth I had soaking in bleach. “Where are you living?” I wiped the counter with short, furious strokes.
“I had a house built on my dad’s property. You didn’t know?”
“I don’t exactly get updates about your life. Neither of your parents has ever set foot in this place.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, about that. What happened between our mothers? Do you know? Mama said your mom shut her out after we broke up. Refused to answer her calls or emails. They were such good friends.”
How could I explain this without telling him the truth? “After we broke up, my mom thought it would be best if they were no longer friends. Less messy that way, I guess.”
“That’s sad,” he said. “The whole thing was sad.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Trapper.” I hadn’t planned to say that, but somehow it slipped out of my mouth.
He shrugged one muscular shoulder. “You did. Bad.”
“We were young,” I said. “I wasn’t ready.”
“I remember your reasons.” His jaw clenched as he looked down at the floor. “Didn’t make it any easier to lose you, though.”
I fiddled with my apron strings as waves of pain slapped me. “Have you been happy?” I asked through clenched teeth. “All your dreams came true—just like you planned.” My chest ached as I waited for him to tell me. Please, I thought, say yes. Please let one of us have had the life we wanted.
“Yeah, all my hockey dreams did come true.” He ran a hand over the top of his head. “They didn’t make me as happy as I figured they would.”
“What do you mean?”
“I loved playing, don’t get me wrong. But as the years went on, I started to understand it was simply a job. Not family. Not friendship. Not love. When the docs said my knee was shot, I figured it was time to find some of what I gave up when I left. So I came home. Back to the place where I left my heart.”
I almost reached over the counter to touch him but pushed my hands into my apron pockets to stop myself. How could I still love him this much? “Not much has changed here.” Lame, I thought. What a stupid thing to say after he poured his heart out to me.
“Can I ask you something?” He shifted weight from one leg to the other.
“Sure.”
“Did you ever have any intention of going with me to University of Michigan like we’d talked about, or did you know all along you wanted to stay here?” He asked this as if the words were being yanked out of him by an invisible rope.
“I’d planned on going, but I changed my mind,” I said.
“What did I do wrong?” His voice softened. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I swear to God, he looked like the little boy I’d met on the first day of grade school. “I’d like to know that. For peace of mind.”
“Nothing. Trapper, it was never you.” The back of my throat ached. I swallowed, trying to keep my composure. “We were young. It was a high school thing—not meant to last.” Liar, liar, liar.
“I never thought it was just a high school romance. I thought we were forever. I’ve never been able to move on.” He rubbed the heel of his hand on his forehead. “I should probably stop talking now.”
We were more than high school sweethearts. I’d known it then, and I knew it now. “I haven’t either.” The words were out before I could stop them.
“Why haven’t you ever reached out to me?” His eyes filled. “I would’ve been so happy to hear from you. There’s not a day that’s gone by that I haven’t thought about you.”
“It would’ve been wrong of me. You and I just weren’t meant to be. For so many reasons.”
“I can’t think of one.” He swiped at his eyes.
I knew one. Her name was Ava Elizabeth, and she was buried in the town cemetery. Our baby. Our stillborn baby.
“I didn’t get into Michigan,” I said. “That’s why I couldn’t go with you.”
He rocked back on his heels, as if I’d smacked him. “What? How come you didn’t tell me that?”
“I was ashamed.”
He studied me for a few seconds before speaking. “If you’d gotten in, would you have gone with me?”
“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t get in. I couldn’t just follow you and make your life my life. Eventually, you would’ve come to resent me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Think about it, Trapper. What was I supposed to do? Live in your dorm room and work at a fast-food place? Michigan was your dream, not mine.”
“I wish you’d have told me the truth,” he said. “You owed me that at least.”
“What good would that have done?” The truth? My rejection from Michigan was nothing compared to the other lie.
His cheeks reddened. “Because it would’ve helped me understand what the hell happened between us. One day we’re in love and the next day you’re breaking up with me. None of it made sense to me. It still doesn’t.”
“Do you remember the fight we had the week before we broke up?” I asked.
He nodded and shifted his gaze to the floor. “When you asked me if a circumstance demanded it, would I choose you or hockey—and I said hockey.”
After all these years, I could still feel the way those words had knocked a hole right through my middle. “That’s right.” I’d known I was pregnant by then. I hadn’t yet told my parents or Trapper. I’d planned to tell Trapper that night and see if we could come up with a plan together. However, the moment he’d said those words, I knew what I had to do.
Let go. Send him away to begin the rest of his life. At least one of us would have all our dreams come true.
He looked up at me. “That answer is the biggest regret of my life. I should never have said something so cruel.”
“It was hard to hear but necessary,” I said. “You were eighteen years old, and your whole career was in front of you. I was just the girl in high school you thought you loved.”
“I did love you. Not thought I loved you,” he said.
“No eighteen-year-old boy with the kind of drive and talent you had should ever pick a teenage romance over a college that would lead to a professional career. That would simply be stupid. Do you hear me? Don’t regret your honesty. It saved us both a lot of heartache in the end.”
“Did it? Or did it drive you away? I always felt like it was some kind of test and I failed and ruined everything between us.”
It was and it did.
“We were kids.” This wasn’t how I’d wanted this conversation to go. I needed him to leave. “What did we know about love? High school love never lasts. I was just a blip on your life. You know that.”
“I never knew that. In fact, I thought the opposite. Until you sent me away, I thought we’d get married. I thought we’d have a few kids by now.” His face twisted in obvious pain. “And then I ruined it by telling you hockey was more important than you.”
“Trapper, listen to me.” My chest hurt so much I could hardly breathe. “If I’d tagged along, you would’ve outgrown me.”
“I disagree.”
“What does it matter now?” I asked.
His voice rose in pitch. Tears dripped from his eyes. “I thought we were in love. Like epic love. The kind that lasts forever. Did you ever love me? I thought you did, and then you didn’t. I’ve never understood what happened.”
I looked at him too long. His expression changed from sad to expectant. The truth must have leaked out of my eyes along with the tears that suddenly blurred my vision. “I loved you enough to let you go.”
“That makes no sense.”
“What I needed from you was more than you could give.” My careless mistake would have cost him everything. Two nights in a row I’d forgotten to take my birth control pills. Instead of telling him, I kept it to myself. The first of the secrets I’d kept from him.
“What did you need?”
“I needed you to want to stay here and have a simple life. In the end, we simply didn’t fit together. I couldn’t leave here. I never have, you know.”
He watched me with those eyes that still drew me in like no one else’s ever had. “Well, I’m back now for good. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Too much time has passed, Trapper. We don’t even know each other anymore.”
“Fair enough.” The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile that did nothing to hide his sadness. “But we could get to know each other again.”
“I…I can’t,” I said.
“Are you seeing someone?”
My first instinct was to lie. However, this town was too small for yet more deceit. “I’m not. I don’t want a relationship. I’m too busy.”
He picked up a napkin from the counter and wiped his eyes.“Right. Got it. I feel like an idiot coming in here and talking about this stuff. If it means anything, my intention was to come in and say hello to an old friend. I didn’t plan for us to get into the past to this extent.”
“You know what they say about best intentions.” I smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.
“I guess so,” he said. “I’m still trying to find a way to move on.”
“I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.” I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking like a burned, brittle cookie. “There’s no reason to hold on to the past.”
“I guess I should go, then.” He turned toward the door.
“Don’t forget your scone. I can bag it up for you.” Why had I put it on a plate in the first place?
“Nah, I lost my appetite. See you around.”
I watched him walk out the door. He looked left, then right, as if deciding which way to go. In the end, he crossed Barnes Avenue and hopped into a shiny black truck and drove away, just as he’d done ten years earlier.
Find a way to move on. He’d never been able to move on or get over me? As hard as this was to believe, I knew it to be true. Trapper had never lied to me. I was the liar.
If I’d gone to him back then and told him about the pregnancy, would the course of our lives have been altered but not ruined? Did my grief kill our baby? I’d never know now. Trapper could never be mine. Not after the secret I kept from him.
I sank to the floor behind the counter and cried.
***
Thirty minutes later, I drove out to the cemetery and parked in my usual spot. I walked down the winding cement path to the Strom family plot where my baby rested. I sat on the grass next to her. My mother had not allowed me to have her name or dates etched into the simple headstone. Only a simple outline of a bird carved into the granite marked her existence. Ava meant bird. My little bird.
I traced my fingers over the etching. “He came back. And it turns out I still love him. I know, not surprising. I never stopped. All his dreams came true. At least I was able to give him that.”
I’d had to lie to him, pretend I didn’t love him, and hide my pregnancy so that he might have the life he deserved. Hockey was his destiny. “When he was a little boy, all he ever cared about was hockey. You should’ve seen him on the ice. He was a sight. I couldn’t hold him back from his dreams.”
I knew if it came down to it, he’d choose the game over me. He proved me right when I asked him. Which would you choose? Me or hockey? We’d been sitting in lawn chairs at his Grammie and Pa’s house on the first warm day of spring.
“I don’t have to choose. I can have both,” he’d said, flashing me that confident grin.
“In this game, you have to choose.” I’d turned away, afraid to show him my reaction.
“Hockey. I mean, for now anyway. If I’m to give you a great life, it has to start with me playing hockey.”
There it was. The answer. I knew what I had to do.
Now I spoke to my daughter as if she were there. “When he moved away to college, I thought I might die without him.”
I didn’t, obviously. It was just my heart that had died. The rest of me was intact. After he left, I told my parents I was pregnant. My mother hatched a plan. A secret pregnancy. Adoption. No one would know, including Trapper and his parents. “I’ll be damned if I let a baby wreck your life like it did mine.”
It? “It” was me. I was her baby. And I was still here, ruining all her plans.
She’d wanted everything for me that she’d had to give up when she became pregnant at seventeen. She’d wanted a college education. She’d wanted a life with intellectuals and professionals. Instead, she’d gotten pregnant and married my dad. What had been a summer camp counselor fling had created a baby. Dad had brought her home to his mountain town in Colorado. As far as I could tell, she’d hated every moment of her life here.
Everyone seemed to understand that I lacked the brains to pursue academics except my mother. She couldn’t see me as I was, refusing to have me tested for learning disabilities, berating me that if I only tried harder my grades would be better.
In the end, it didn’t matter what she wanted for me. I was a disappointment. Even my compassionate father, who loved me more than anything in the world, was crestfallen at my failure to get into college. Then I broke his heart further when I got pregnant.
My mother had located a wonderful couple who desperately wanted a child. He was a doctor. She was a professor. The family my mother wished we’d been. Little did she know, I’d had no intention of giving my baby to anyone.
I’d been confined to the house as the baby grew inside me. To keep occupied, I’d baked bread in my mother’s kitchen. Loaves and loaves. Sourdough, wheat, oat, pumpernickel. I’d kneaded and measured and watched the yeast rise day after day. After I conquered bread, I’d moved on to cakes and cookies and muffins from the recipes from my great-great-great-grandmother Lizzie.
All the while I’d tried to work out how I was going to escape with my baby. I was a young woman with no skills and no family support unless I did exactly what they wanted. Still, I’d been determined that somehow, I would find a way to raise her on my own.
Finally, in desperation, I’d called my friend Crystal Whalen. She’d lived in Seattle during the school year and visited her grandparents during the summers. Descendants of Harley and Merry Depaul, her grandparents had continued the family’s horse breeding farm in Emerson Pass. However, her mother, Jennifer, had had different ideas. She’d chosen pottery over horses and had moved to Seattle, where she’d opened her own studio. When I told Crystal about the baby and my parents’ wishes, Jennifer had offered the baby and me a room in her home. I could stay with them until l got on my feet. She, too, had been a single mother, raising Crystal by herself. By choice, she assured me. “Who needs a man?”
Me, I’d thought. I wasn’t independent or progressive thinking like Jennifer. I had no talents or ambitions.
Sweet little Brandi Vargas. Blonde and cute in my high school cheerleader uniform, but without an ounce of brains. I’d wanted Trapper and babies and to bake bread on Sunday afternoons in my kitchen. No woman in this day and age was supposed to want such a simple life. Despite that, I had.
When it came time for the baby’s arrival, my parents had driven me to Denver, not wanting the local doctors to know about my pregnancy. In triage, the doctor’s face had blanched. He hadn’t looked me in the eye. I’d known something was wrong.
“What is it?”
“I’m not getting a heartbeat.”
No words strung together in the English language had ever been as cruel.
I’d given birth to a baby girl. A baby girl who’d died in my womb.
I’d begged my parents to let me take her home and bury her in the plot with Lizzie and Jasper and the rest of our family. They’d agreed, as long as I kept her name and dates off the headstone. We’d asked the funeral director to please keep it quiet.
For months afterward, I’d barely left the house except to go to the cemetery. I’d bring a blanket and stay for hours. Other than that, I kept to my room watching television or staring out the window. An entire season went by, then another. Finally, one day, my father perched on the side of my bed and proposed an idea.
“There’s going to be a farmers’ market in town on Wednesdays,” he’d said. “How about you bake some bread and sweets to sell?”
I’d agreed, mostly to quell the look of worry in his eyes. The very first Wednesday, I’d sold out of every loaf of bread, all the cookies, and most of the muffins. News of my delicious baked items spread, and people started stopping by the house, asking if I had anything to sell. People referred to me as the Sugar Queen.
When my mother couldn’t stand the flour on her kitchen floor one more minute, Dad encouraged me to take out a loan and open my own shop. He owned the building that used to be the Johnsons’ dry goods store back in the day. The former tenants had used it for a frozen yogurt shop that went under. I’d blamed the cold winters. Who wanted frozen yogurt when icicles hung from the rafters?
From the moment I’d walked in, even before Dad and I had installed the industrial ovens and painted the walls a cream color, the voices of the Johnson family seemed to speak to us. Offer a good product and service, and customers will come.
Dad had suggested I use my nickname for the shop. He’d painted the doors red, then we hung a sign: The Sugar Queen. I’d practically heard the Johnson sisters cheering me on as Dad and I’d given a face-lift to the front of the building. Cherry siding and tall windows with hanging baskets of bright flowers brought the storefront into this century. I’d decorated the inside with bistro tables and a wide counter made of repurposed wood from the original floors.
From that day forward, I started work every morning at 4:00 a.m. and opened the doors at 7:00 a.m. The inside always smelled of sugar, butter, and fresh coffee. Customers flocked to my little place. A hit, despite my deficiencies.
Our guidance counselor had once advised me to use my pretty face and sweet disposition to my advantage, implying I didn’t have much else going for me. Didn’t I get the last laugh? I did have a talent. A talent for which I was admired and adored. Or my products were, anyway. Notwithstanding the tears that sometimes fell in the batter, I was the Sugar Queen.
Most days, I worked so hard proving everyone wrong I didn’t have time or energy to think of all I’d lost. I made a good living doing what I loved. Crystal moved to Emerson Pass after her husband’s death and opened a kitchen shop next door to my bakery. Mom and I came to a distant truce. Dad was still my biggest fan.
A happy ending, of sorts. Until the day Trapper came home and I had to face the past, my lies piling up like sticky, messy muffins on a platter.
“What do I do, little bird?”
But my little bird didn’t answer. She never did.
Chapter 2: Trapper
An hour after I saw Brandi, I walked under the melodic rustle of the aspens that lined Barnes Avenue. Not much had changed in our quaint tourist town since I’d lived here as a child. Baskets with vibrant displays of begonias, lobelia, petunias, and creeping Jenny hung from the retro streetlamps. Higgins Meat Shop, Puck’s Bar and Grill, and Al’s Diner remained in the same brick buildings they’d been in all my life. A high-end grocery store that sold fancy cheese and organic produce had replaced the more pedestrian one of my youth. One of the original brick buildings had become Emerson Pass Brewery. A French bistro and a pizza joint shared another. Next to Brandi’s bakery, a kitchen shop, new since I was last home, had a sign in the window advertising gourmet cooking classes.
Emerson Pass was built in the valley between two mountains. The northern sister, as we called her, was brown and bare in patches where ski paths had been cleared. Once ski season arrived, it would be covered in snow. Our southern sister remained wooded, other than roads and a peppering of homes.
I stopped in the town square, a grassy area where a statue of Alexander Barnes and his wife, Quinn, hinted at the influence my family had had on Emerson Pass for over a hundred years. Alexander had built the town in brick on his own dime after a fire destroyed it in the latter part of the nineteenth century. They stood strong and proud to this day. I ran my fingers down the bronze rendition of the man I’d come from. When I was a kid I’d often come here to stare into the image of his face, wondering if I would ever be the leader and man he had been.
Today, as I looked into those lifeless eyes, the weight of my failures haunted me. Alexander had believed in love, family, and community. Legend said he fell in love with the beautiful schoolteacher Quinn Cooper the first moment he set eyes upon her. He spent his life making sure she knew she was loved. Alexander would never have told his Quinn that he would choose something over her.
Her question that day had been a test. She’d needed me to say I would choose her and instead I’d blurted out the words of a selfish young man. Brandi would not have asked me to choose. She simply needed to know that I would. I’d let her down, and she’d never forgiven me.
After seeing her today, I knew only one thing. I still loved her. As much as I’d wanted her to be someone I once loved—a fond memory of my high school sweetheart—it simply wasn’t true. I loved her the same as I always had.
I’d had such plans for us. First, college together, and then a wedding before I was drafted onto a professional team. I’d play for however long my body lasted, and then we’d come back here together and start a family. Some of the guys I’d played with were the type to take advantage of the women who offered themselves. Many of the married ones slept around just because they could. That wasn’t me. If I’d still had Brandi, I would have remained faithful to her despite the fame, money, and attention. From the first time I kissed her, I’d known she was the one. I’d never loved anyone else. Would I ever be able to? God, I wanted to. I wanted someone to fill this hole she’d left in me.
Was moving back here a mistake? This was a small town. I was sure to run into her frequently. Would it be too painful? I’d never be able to see her without this awful ache in my gut and a craving to touch her, be with her, make her laugh.
I turned to Quinn’s statue. The artist had carved her famous thick blond hair under a jaunty hat. She’d been good to Alexander and his five children, rescuing them from the heartache of losing a wife and mother. I knew from reading her journals how much she’d loved them all. Maybe that was my mistake. Reading those journals had made me too much of a romantic. Not everyone wins the one they love. Some of us are too stupid to keep them.
I’d thought from the time we had our first kiss that she and I were a love story like the one Quinn and Alexander had shared. For whatever reasons, we were not. Would I ever find anyone who would push aside her memory? I wanted that more than anything. At the moment it felt like a farfetched dream.
My phone buzzed from my pocket with a message from my real estate broker.
The ice rink and property are officially yours. We just closed.
Temporarily cheered by this great news, I sat on a bench and typed back a response.
Fantastic. Can’t wait to get started.
***
My broker, Bill Schaefer, handed me a ring of keys. “It’s all yours. For better or worse.” A good friend of my father’s, Bill handled all our real estate deals. My mother called him a “silver fox” and was endlessly trying to fix him up with eligible widows.
We stood in what used to be the lobby of the ice rink. Remnants of the old carpet remained in shaggy sections of hideous red and blue. Paint peeled from the walls. The place smelled of mildew and decaying wood.
I peered through the clear plastic that separated the actual skating area from the lobby. What had once been covered in ice was now rotting floorboards. “I can’t believe they let this place get this bad,” I said.
“The Morrison family couldn’t afford to keep it up and running,” Bill said. “They shut it down about eight years ago. No one’s touched it since.”
“I’ll make it shine,” I said. “This town needs its rink back.”
When I’d learned the old place where I’d learned to skate was in foreclosure, I’d made an offer a few months before I moved home. I’d gotten it for a steal and planned to completely renovate. I’d restore the inside rink and add an outdoor one for the winter months. Not only would it be ideal for recreation, I wanted to create a youth hockey training program here. Boys and girls with the talent and drive but not necessarily the funds would be invited to participate in camps.
For years I’d thought Emerson Pass should have an outdoor rink for recreational purposes, like the one that used to be here downtown back in Alexander’s days. I’d grown up hearing stories of my forefathers wooing their women while skating. Now that we were a tourist town, I planned to bring that pastime back with a seasonal outdoor rink.
My great-great-grandfather Flynn had loved to skate and ski. Like me, he loved competition. My father says I must have inherited his love of sports and competition, because I came out kicking. After World War I, Flynn had become obsessed with skiing for recreation. While overseas, he and his twin, Theo, had seen the ski mountains in Europe and had been inspired to bring the sport home to Colorado.
The Barnes family cleared the mountain of trees, creating downhill ski routes. Using the logs, they built the first lodge, securing our fate as a ski town. Without that industry, I suspected the town would have died a natural death. People need commerce to thrive. Since then, every Barnes generation had run the mountain. My sister, Fiona, still at college, would someday come home to take over from my dad. Her passion, like his, was skiing. Skating and hockey, though, had my heart. As Bill had said, for better or worse, I’d added the rink to our list of family enterprises.
I shook Bill’s hand. “Thanks, Bill. I’ll be sure to invite you to the opening.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” He adjusted his blue tie as his forehead crinkled. “But don’t tell your mother.”
“Why’s that?”
He shook his head slowly. “She means well, but last time I attended one of her parties, I was trapped in the corner with one of her female friends who apparently had been encouraged by Rose to pursue me.” He shuddered. “She was scary.”
“My mother or the woman?”
“I was referring to the woman, but same goes for your mother.”
“I feel you. Trust me.”
***
I squinted into the brilliant blue as I left the grocery store with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. Mama had invited me to dinner, and I knew better than to go emptyhanded.
I rolled the windows down as I traveled the country road toward my parents’ home. Wildflowers in purples, reds, and yellows peppered the meadows. Their sweet scents drifted through my open windows. I draped my right arm over the back of the seat the way I’d done in high school. Only then, Brandi had been next to me. What I wouldn’t give to go back to those days.
I turned down the Barneses’ gravel road. There were several houses on the fifty acres, built by various offspring of Alexander and Quinn. Two years ago, long before retirement seemed a possibility, my parents had asked if I wanted to build a house somewhere on our land. I’d agreed, knowing that someday I would want a place of my own in Emerson Pass. After all, this place was part of my DNA. Five generations of Barneses had spent their lives here. I knew it was my ultimate destiny to return.
Mama had spent the better part of a year working with the architect and contractors on my house. We’d corresponded throughout the whole process via email and phone calls, but I’d trusted her to make decisions about furniture and paint colors. Mama was a woman of exquisite taste, which sadly had not been passed on to me. I could barely tell the difference in shades of blue she presented as possible wall colors for my bedroom. I’d asked her for a house filled with light and airy rooms, comfortable over formal. A home where family and friends could gather on the patio or in the kitchen for parties. She said I leaned toward a modern farmhouse feel and favored light colors and traditional lines. I had no idea what that meant. All I knew was the sanctuary she made for me was now my favorite place on earth. I guess it’s true that no one knows you like your mama.
I hadn’t expected to be back here full time by now, hoping to play for at least a few more years. After my knee injury, I knew it was time to come home. Mama’s hard work had made sure I had an actual home to soften my landing. The house had been completed two winters ago, but I hadn’t spent much time there until recently. I’d come home during a few of my breaks, but our team schedule kept me on the road. I’d made sure not to go into town for fear I’d run into Brandi. My instincts to stay away were right. I should have done so today.
Besides the master, my house had five bedrooms. Mom had decided it would be best if I had a place for out-of-town guests, like former teammates. Given the popularity of Emerson Pass as a ski destination, she said, it was best to have places for friends. I’d agreed. In general, it wasn’t wise to question Rose Barnes. She was always right in the end. When my dad brought her to Emerson Pass for the first time, she’d offended her future mother-in-law by suggesting that the decor of the lodge needed an update. Two years later, the entire place had been redecorated. Grammie Harriet was not one to stay mad for long and quickly forgave my bossy and energetic mother. Grandfather Normandy always said Grammie was the sweetest woman he’d ever met. She couldn’t hold a grudge to save her life.
I parked in the gravel driveway and grabbed the wine and flowers. My parents lived in the original Barnes home, built around 1900. Over the years, it had been remodeled, bringing the kitchen upstairs from the basement to the main living floor. The original wood floors had been replaced, but the vaulted ceilings and large windows remained. Having inspected photos of earlier times, I knew the outside had remained pretty much the same as the original—red brick and beams of hardwood made from trees on the property. Family lore told us that Alexander Barnes took several years to build the house. Had he imagined it would remain over a hundred years later?
My father’s roses were in full bloom. A slight breeze brought their scent as I headed across the yard and walked in through the unlocked front door. White wainscoting, put in by my mother, contrasted nicely with the original dark wood of the foyer and stairs. Off to the right of the entryway, what had once been called the library was now the primary family room with comfortable furniture and a large-screen television. The basement where the old kitchen and staff quarters were was now my dad’s man cave. He’d installed a pool table and bar, where he entertained his buddies during sports events.
“Mama?”
“In here,” she called from the back of the house.
I scurried down the hallway, passing family photos placed decoratively on the wall. Many were of my sister, Fiona, and me during every stage of our lives, as well as my parents’ and grandparents’ wedding photos. There were also a few of longago relatives, including one of Alexander and Quinn Barnes with their seven children. I stopped to look, drawn to it for some reason during times of uncertainty. Seeing Brandi had shaken me. I needed to look at the photo of a happy family.
This one had been taken in 1918 before Flynn and Theo had joined the army to fight in WWI. They’d been only seventeen and had lied about their ages. Josephine, a striking blonde and the eldest, was tall and slender and stared unsmiling into the camera with a fierce intelligence. Her sisters, Cymbeline and Fiona, both with dark curls and delicate beauty, smiled, but I could see the fear in their eyes as they contemplated the dangers of war. The two younger children, born to Quinn and Alexander after their marriage, were around five and seven in the photo. Both girls looked like their mother, with dark eyes and massive amounts of wavy blond hair. The beauty of the Barnes women was legendary in this town. One had only to look at the photographs to know it wasn’t unfounded.
I poked my head into the library—we still called it that a hundred years later—to see if my father was there, but the room was empty. Often, during the off-season from the slopes, he spent time reading or watching sports in the early afternoons. I wandered over to a cabinet where Dad kept the journals, letters, photographs, and marriage and death certificates of the Barnes family, dating back to Alexander. One of the leather-bound journals was on the chair next to the cabinet. Dad had been piecing together family stories for a few years now, hoping to compile everything into one volume for the family.
I picked up the journal. From the loopy handwriting, I knew this was one of Quinn’s. She and Alexander had kept detailed notes about their family. This passage was from 1914.
It’s been months since I’ve written here in the pages of this journal. The children keep me so busy that it’s hard to find time for an entry. I promised myself when Alexander and I married that I would include passages at least once a month on the state of the children and any other news of our friends and family. Thus far, I’m failing miserably.
I told Alexander last week that we’re going to have another baby. With Adelaide being almost three, I didn’t think I would have another. Given how amorous we are at night, I didn’t imagine this much time would stretch out before another pregnancy unless I was incapable of producing another. I thought perhaps, given the difficult birth of our Addie, that something had gone wrong inside me. Alexander was overjoyed, as I expected he would be, although not surprised. He said I have the same glow I had with Addie. I’m quite certain he’s lying about the glow. I’ve been nauseated from morning until night for the past week. He would have had to be blind not to notice my green complexion.
Alexander seems to have no concerns over the number of children we have! Which causes me to love him even more than I did yesterday. I think often of the time before I came here. The hunger and worry seem from another time, another life.
We’ve agreed I will not go back to teaching in the fall. Handing over the school is harder than it probably should be. Many women dream of having the opportunity to simply run a house and raise children. I see myself, despite being the mother of six, as the schoolmistress of Emerson Pass. However, I know it’s better for me to be home with our children. Luckily, Martha Johnson has returned from her time at university and is anxious to take over for me. She’s grown into such a fine young lady, pretty, capable, and smart. I’m proud to have been her teacher. Her sister will begin her second year at university in a few months. Soon, perhaps, both the Johnson girls will teach together. Alexander wants to add another classroom to meet the needs of our growing town.
Mother saw our new doctor, Leo Neal, yesterday. He’s a great deal better than Dr. Moore, understanding modern techniques and caring for his patients with compassion instead of as a nuisance who pull him from his chair at the bar. Dr. Neal is amazed at Mother’s recovery and says it’s the mountain air that’s made it easier to breathe, not the powder Dr. Moore prescribed.
On another note, young Dr. Neal asked if Martha had a beau. I had to hide my amusement at the way his ears turned bright red when he asked. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the two of them dancing together at our social this Friday evening. Seeing young love turn into marriages and families gives Alexander and me much satisfaction. We can’t help but feel pride to see our little town grow and our young people blossom. I can remember clearly the first day of school when I looked out on the frightened faces of my class. To see how far they’ve come is nothing short of miraculous.
Josephine and Poppy have begged us to allow them to attend the dance this weekend. They’re both seventeen now, so I suppose it’s time. I’d rather keep them young for a while longer, but that’s not my decision. God has a plan for each of them, I’m sure. Jo remains resolute
about opening a library in town. Last week, she sent a letter to Mr. Carnegie. Bold, that one. Especially when it comes to books. Poppy wants to become a veterinarian and look after all the farm animals. I worry if either of them will be given a chance in this man’s world. This is the crux of motherhood—this mixture of worry and love and pride until it seems my heart might explode with the enormity of it all.
The twins had their thirteenth birthday yesterday. They wanted a picnic down by the creek for their party. The weather’s warm enough to swim, even in that frigid water, so we all dressed in our bathing clothes and headed across the meadow. Last summer, Flynn and Cymbeline managed to make a pool for swimming by damming up a section of the creek with rocks. They worked on their project steadily for a month. Keeping up with Flynn has given Cymbeline muscles like a boy. The spot is a good five feet deep and perfect for a refreshing swim.
For our picnic, Lizzie and Mrs. Wu made the boys’ favorites: fried chicken, potato salad, and pound cake. Alexander and Jasper have a fascination with the new ice cream maker and made another batch to go with our cake. Even I managed to eat a little and keep it down. The Cole family, Li and Fai, and even Mrs. Wu joined us. Flynn is thick as thieves with Noah and Roman Cole. They run wild in the meadows and forest, creating worlds of make-believe. Li and Theo, the intellectuals of our clan, are inclined toward books and quiet games. They have an ongoing chess game here in the library. Since the Wu family came to live with us, Fai and Li have become as robust and lively as the rest of our enthusiastic bunch. Mrs. Wu has learned some English. She and Lizzie share duties in the kitchen, which has been a blessing since Florence came.
Harley and Merry have had their second son since I last wrote. Jack’s a fat, happy baby and looks exactly like Harley. Henry just turned four and is his father’s shadow. He loves horses like no child I’ve ever seen. Even more so than Flynn and Cymbeline, which I didn’t think was possible. Alexander gave Harley two colts for Christmas a few years ago and they’ve bred them twice now, producing fine horses, which they’ve sold for a handsome profit.
Lizzie and Jasper’s little Florence, born a month before Adelaide, has finally recovered from her fever and cold. We fretted for a week. I don’t believe Lizzie or Jasper slept the entire time she was ill. Even Mrs. Wu’s miraculous tea didn’t work. Today, however, Florence is well and playing out in the barn with the others. They’re all excited because we’ve had another litter of piglets. She’s quite the character. As pretty and pink as a cherry blossom like Lizzie, but with the personality of her father. By that I mean wickedly smart with a propensity for dictatorship. The other day I observed Florence, Jack, and Addie playing with toys in the nursery. Florence had sorted the toys by type and had a system for who could play with what, like her father with the wine inventory. Lizzie and I had a good laugh over that one.
Rachel Cole has finally stopped wearing all black. It’s been four years since her husband’s death, and she seems to be ready to live again. We had a nice talk yesterday, just the two of us, with our feet in the creek. She insists she’ll never remarry. I hope and pray that the right man will come along to give her a second chance for love. Her brother, Wilber, has gone back to Chicago, making it even more lonely out there by herself with just the children. Rachel says he’s gone to find a woman. She suspects he’ll show up one day with a bride by his side and stay for good.
Fiona’s as bubbly and sweet as always and soaks up learning like a sponge. Her brothers call her the Sweetheart of Emerson Pass because wherever she goes, people flock to her. I suspect it’s her positive and loving character that attracts others to her. It’s as if they feel her sunny presence will somehow rub off on them. Theo says she is magical. I have to agree. Of course, I think that about all my children.
Cymbeline, albeit smart and good at her studies, has a temper and a competitiveness I worry will get her into trouble later in life. It never occurs to her that she’s a girl and therefore not capable of doing anything a boy can do. That said, thus far, it seems she can do everything a boy can do. She’s sassy and opinionated yet has a heart as vast as the Colorado sky. I pray for the man she marries. He will have to be a patient, good-natured fellow and willing to marry a woman with her own accomplishments and will. I imagine a man as strong as an ox, with the mind of a fox and a heart like the most loyal puppy.
Adelaide’s had a growth spurt finally but will be small like me, I suspect. She’s shy and reserved, like my father, and is the pet of the household. I was afraid she wouldn’t learn to walk because the others carried her around for the first two years of her life. She worships Fiona and follows her all over the house begging to be included in whatever game her older sister is playing. Fiona, bless her, is patient and loving. Perhaps she remembers how she did the same with Cymbeline when they were younger. I can still remember her crestfallen face that first day we all went off to school.
My sister and Clive will marry in the spring. Mother has finally agreed that she’s old enough. Poor Clive has worked awfully hard to win Mother over. I never knew the woman could be so stubborn. Meanwhile, Annabelle has been hired to sew five wedding dresses in as many weeks. She’s working out of a room in Alexander’s office in town, using the new sewing machine we bought for her last year. We were all surprised when she started getting orders from Louisville! Soon, she’ll have a wedding dress empire.
Ah, well, this entry must come to a close. The children have all come in from outside, where they’ve been doing Saturday chores. I can smell them from the library! As it did with Adelaide, my sense of smell seems to have heightened during pregnancy. I’ll have to send them all upstairs for their baths or toss them back outside.
***
As was always the case when I picked up one of the journals from my relatives of long ago, I was transported back in time. It must have been peaceful to live in a simpler era. Children these days were always on their phones or computers rather than playing outside or being delighted by a litter of piglets. Sometimes I wished I’d been born in a different era. Then again, I wouldn’t have been able to play hockey. I might be a frustrated competitor like Cymbeline.
I set aside the journal and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Mama was chopping carrots and humming along to her favorite country station. I set the flowers on the counter and moved aside a section of blond hair to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi, Mama.”
“Hello, doll.” Mama had a Southern drawl that elongated every word with extra syllables. A former gymnast, she was short but strong. Dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, she darted around the kitchen. Mama had two speeds—full throttle or asleep.
“Open that wine. We can have a glass before dinner.” She tossed the carrots into a salad bowl and wiped her hands on a towel.
I obeyed. Mama said what she wanted, and most people gave it to her without question. I both feared and adored her in equal measure.
She put the flowers in a vase, then reached into the cabinet for wine glasses.
I poured us both a generous glass of the red blend I’d found at the grocery store. “That new store is kind of fancy. I’m not sure I like it.”
“Oh, you Barnes men and your insistence on keeping everything exactly as it was in the past is completely unrealistic.”
“Grammie thinks so, too,” I said.
“That’s because she’s from here, too.”
“You like it here, don’t you, Mama?”
“I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. I wonder if you miss Georgia and your sister,” I said as I handed her a glass of wine.
“My sister, yes. But I go home to Georgia twice a year, and my sister comes here often.”
“I was thinking about what it’s like to be from here—how it tugged at me the entire time I was away. I was wondering if it’s that way for you.”
“Not every place is like Emerson Pass that way,” Mama said.
“Anyway, when I agreed to marry your dad, I knew Emerson Pass came along with the package. In fact, how I feel about him is wrapped up in this place. Even this house. This became my new world the first time he brought me home to meet Grammie and Pa.”
“I’m glad to be back, Mama.”
She clinked my glass. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I’ve missed you more than you can know.”
“I didn’t think it would happen this fast. I’d hoped for a few more years, but now that I’ve accepted it, I’m at peace.”
“For real?” She peered at me with bright green eyes almost too big in her small heart-shaped face.
“It’s an adjustment to be without the routine of practice and games, but I’m actually all right. I knew this day would come eventually.”
“I remember the first year after I was done with gymnastics felt strange and empty,” Mama said. “At first I didn’t know what to do with myself, but after a time my days were filled with new passions.”
“Speaking of which, I closed on the rink today. We’re starting the renovation next week.”
Her face lit up as she smacked the counter. “Wonderful news. I’m proud of the way you’ve handled forced retirement. Jumping right in on the next season of life is exactly what you should do.” She sipped from her glass before setting it aside to shred lettuce.
“You don’t think it was impulsive?”
“I think you can be impulsive, but this one feels right. I’d say it’s about time someone took the rink into the current decade. The carpet in there must be older than me.”
“You’ll have your decorating skills put to the test.” I perched on one of the stools at the island and watched Mama season three steaks.
“I’m not worried as long as you don’t insist on carpet with geometric shapes in psychedelic colors,” she said. “Like they did the last time someone renovated the place.”
I chuckled. “You have my word.”
“What else did you do today?”
I hesitated to tell her I’d stopped by to see Brandi. My mother had loved her when we were dating but after she abruptly broke up with me, Mama’s allegiance had vanished. She’d been the one who had to pick me off the floor the night I’d come home devastated.
“What is it?” she asked. “You have that look on your face that you used to get when you, Huck, and Breck had done something you weren’t supposed to.”
I laughed. “No, nothing like that. I went by to see Brandi today.”
My father came in from the patio with a book in one hand and an empty beer bottle in the other. “Brandi, huh?” He set aside the book and tossed the bottle into the recycle bin. “How did it go?” Dad, tall and broad-shouldered, had skied and played hockey competitively in high school and now participated in triathlons for fun. We shared the same dark hair and eyes and olive complexion.
“I made an idiot out of myself.” I dropped my forehead into one hand as I flushed with heat.
“How so?” Mama asked.
“I basically told her I’d never gotten over her,” I said. “And then she dropped a bombshell. She didn’t get into Michigan.”
“Really?” Dad said. “Why didn’t she tell you back then?”
“She was ashamed, I guess. She also said she wouldn’t have gone with me, even if she had gotten in, so it doesn’t really matter. To her, we were just a high school thing. Not meant to last—I think those were words she used. Which is not how I experienced it.” I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “I guess I’m still trying to figure out what happened.”
“What happened,” Mama said, emphasizing every word, “is that she broke your heart.”
“Now, Rose,” Dad said, running a hand over the top of his salt-and-pepper hair. A gesture we shared. “It was all a long time ago, and they were young.” He turned toward me. “Too young to have made a life decision to get married. You kids needed to grow up a little before you could be together.”
“She could’ve done it in a kinder way,” Mama said. “To break up with you before prom and never speak to you again was uncalled for. Especially given how close you were.”
“Honey, I thought we talked about this,” Dad said.
“About what?” Mama widened her eyes, as if she were completely innocent.
“Not to talk harshly about the girl he loved,” Dad said. “I thought it was a good decision on her part. She couldn’t just follow you wherever your path took you. She needed to find her own way.”
I nodded, thinking through what he said and how it stacked up against what she’d shared with me this afternoon. What would she have done if she’d followed me to college with no skills or plan? She would have been miserable. I wiped the rim of my glass where my lip balm had made a smudge. “You’re right, but damn, it hurt.”
Mama reached into the cabinet for another glass and slid it over to my father. “I can see her point, I suppose. No woman wants to follow a man around.”
“You came here when I asked you to,” Dad said.
“We were already finished with college and had jobs,” Mama said. “That’s different.”
“I don’t understand why I’ve never gotten over her,” I said.
“It’s been ten years.”
“It’s time to move on, honey,” Mama said. “She made her choice a long time ago.”
“You’re right. I need to spend time finding the right woman instead of crying over the wrong one.” I scratched the back of my neck. “The moment I saw her all the same old feelings rushed back. Being with her was like no time had passed.”
“Well, it has passed,” Mama said. “She was your high school sweetheart. Now maybe she can be an acquaintance you remember fondly. You have a beautiful home and a new passion.”
I nodded. She was correct. However, my heart didn’t seem to know what my head did. Brandi Vargas was not my past, present, or future. She was just a girl I used to date back in high school.
I looked up from my glass to find my dad watching me. “What’s up, Dad?”
“What is it you’re not telling us?” he asked.
I hesitated, embarrassed. “A week before she broke up with me, she asked me if the circumstances were such that I had to choose between her and hockey, which would it be.”
“You answered hockey,” Dad said.
“I did.”
“Well, of course you did,” Mama said. “You couldn’t choose a girl over your career. Hockey was your focus, as it should have been when you were eighteen years old. Not a girl.”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it so many times since then. It wasn’t like she was asking me to choose. The question was more hypothetical. Like a test.”
“She knew by then she hadn’t gotten into school,” Mama said. “Maybe she wanted you to stay.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. She said today that it would have been foolish for me to give up my scholarship for her. In fact, she said she would never have asked me to.”
“Which makes the question confusing,” Dad said.
“Right,” I said.
Mama tucked her hair behind her ears and glared at my father, then me. “What’s confusing is why we’re talking about this instead of grilling steaks. I’m telling you—let this go. Move on. There are plenty of nice, smart women in this town,” Mama said. “One of them will be just right for you. As a matter of fact, the wedding planner we hired at the lodge is adorable. She’s from Nebraska. Very pretty and sweet as sweet tea.”
“Are you talking about Tiffany?” Dad asked.
“That’s right,” Mama said. “I’m certain she’s single.”
“I’m not sure she’s Trapper’s type.” Dad narrowed his eyes and studied me, as if I were a stranger to him.
“Why’s that?” I asked, chuckling. “Should I be offended?”
“She’s very prim and proper,” Dad said. “I don’t think she’d been off her parents’ farm until we hired her. She moved here for the job. I could see her with someone like Breck.”
“What’s Breck got that I don’t?” I asked.
“He’s gentle,” Dad said. “Soft-spoken and considerate. You’d probably scare her to death.”
“He’s a veterinarian. She’s not a cat or dog,” I said. The way Breck held a kitten in his big hands was enough to break your heart.
“He’s a special boy,” Mama said. “Always has been.”
“What about me?” I asked, feigning hurt. “I want to be special.”
“You’re special.” Mama laughed as she rolled her eyes. “Just not in the same way.”
“Might I remind you that I was a superstar in the world of hockey?” I asked.
“That’s all fine and dandy, but you’re home now.” Mama pointed at me with a salad tong. “We all knew you before braces fixed your teeth.”
“This is a rough crowd.” I grinned at my mother.
Dad leaned closer and clinked his glass with mine. “We better grill those steaks before we get her any more fired up.”
“Yes, sir.” As I had so many times before, I followed my father out to the patio. Regardless of Brandi, it was good to be home. I’d made the right choice.
The Vow
Three stubborn women, each of whom made a promise. Who will yield, and who will break?
Abigail made a vow to her husband before he passed, one she could not, would not break. But life hasn't been easy without him by her side, and her children grow more with each passing day. Sometimes it feels like she'll be alone forever.
Amanda is tired of being a mess. She wants to achieve, to impress, to excel. If that means changing who she is, even changing her entire life, then so be it.
Donna has learned the truth about the world the hard way. You either attack, or you're attacked yourself. She doesn't like being the villain, but she's done being a patsy. She's determined to carve out a place for herself, no matter what.
These women have all returned to Birch Creek with big plans, but the future loves to surprise us. Can their vows keep them on target? Or will they decide it's more important to follow their hearts, no matter how bad the fallout?
one of the best!
It was a good read. Romantic, and warming. Looking forward to the 2nd Book in the series.
Traded: Brody and Kara
“Tess Thompson writes interesting, full-bodied romances, and Traded is no exception. In this book, she introduces you to the charming seaside town of Cliffside, the world of football, and a cast of interesting characters you're sure to love...” —Judith Keim, bestselling author of the Salty Key Inn series.
She’s in hiding. He’s focused on football. When giving in to desire is risky, will they choose to play for love?
Nurse Kara Boggs lost everything because she stood up for what’s right. After turning state’s evidence against her mobster father, she’s forced to go underground with an assumed name. But taking a job for a handsome celebrity quarterback could shine a very dangerous public spotlight.
After leading his team to a Super Bowl win, Brody Mullen should be on top of the world. But he’s shocked when his quiet seaside homecoming reveals his mother in a cast, and her housekeeper dying from a brain tumor. Frantic to get the best care for the women he adores, he hires a gorgeous nurse… despite her strange request to stay publicly invisible.
As Kara’s attraction to the charming jock grows, she becomes trapped by her own high-stakes secrets and the constant threat of exposure. And Brody’s famously strict “no women” rule means falling hard for the beautiful woman could ruin his career.
Will they be sidelined by their own rules, or will they complete a pass to passion?
SCROLL FOR SAMPLE!
More Reviews:
“This story has so much going on, but it intertwines within itself. You get second chance, lost loves, and new love. I could not put this book down! I am excited to start this series and have love for this little Bayside town that I am now fond of!” —Crystal's Book World
“A fabulous start to this new series, with characters and a storyline that sunk their claws in and quite simply refused to let go.” —Books Laid Bare
“This was a sweet love story that was filled with a bit of suspense and the sexual tension between Brody and Kara was off the charts…This book was way more than a sports romance. It was a book about family and belonging despite having to trade your life… You felt what the characters were going through. It's one of those ‘I got to know what happens next’ books. So intriguing you won't want to put it down.” —Lena Loves Books
Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1: Kara
They came for her on a Sunday. It was third quarter with two minutes left on the clock in a savage battle between football rivals San Francisco Sharks and Kansas City Rockets when the sounds that would change her life forever broke through the ordinary chirps of the television announcers. The three hard knocks followed by two taps on the front door yanked her attention away from quarterback Brody Mullen’s Houdini-like antics on the field. This was the code. Her scalp tingled. Heat surged through her body and out to her numb limbs. The pulse at her neck hammered. Her clock had run out of time.
Kara Boggs jerked to her feet. The popcorn bowl flew from her lap and rained the white, buttery clouds onto her rug. Minnie mewed and sprang from her position in the crack between the couch cushions to the coffee table and watched the door with wide, frightened eyes.
Sweat dampened the back of her neck. Black dots danced before her eyes, blinding her. She spoke silent instructions to herself, like she had when she’d first started her nursing career in the trauma unit. Think. Be calm. Breathe.
Kara flipped on an extra lamp. Shadows of the oak tree outside her front window moved in ghostlike shudders. She was ready. Like expectant travelers, her suitcases and Minnie’s carrier waited in the entryway. She stumbled to the front door and opened it a crack. Two United States Marshals, dressed in khakis and shiny black jackets, stood at attention. Shotguns strapped to their massive chests gleamed under the hallway light. She opened the door. Without a sound, she stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. They filed in, making no eye contact until she had shut the door behind them. The taller of the two marshals spoke first, his voice deep and without emotion. They showed badges as they introduced themselves. Inspector Green. U.S. Marshal Hill.
Perspiration dampened her back as she envisioned her home from their perspective. Located in a wealthy suburb of Philadelphia, it was furnished like the display window of the finest department store in shades of cream with splashes of red and blue accents. Every detail had been planned with care, including the arrangements of vases and bowls, books and magazines. Walnut tables and chests gleamed under the soft lighting. Prints of landscapes framed in black hung in attractive clusters on the eggshell walls. She wondered if the deputies assumed her beautiful home had been financed by her father. Silly as it was, she fought the urge to tell them how hard she’d worked to become a nurse practitioner. Yes, it was true that her father had helped with the down payment for the condo and her college tuition, but the rest she’d earned.
Yet, it all came back to one thing. She could not have gone to school without her father’s help, and she would never have been able to go to graduate school without accruing massive amounts of debt. Her father had financed her expensive education at Penn State. After graduation, he had not pleaded with her to come home to Upstate New York but had happily written her a check for a down payment on her condo. None of that had surprised her. The moment her mother had died when she was ten, he’d sent her away to boarding school. He didn’t want her.
She’d always assumed his generosity was rooted in guilt. Now, she knew the truth. It was not guilt that fueled him, but self-protection. He was a criminal. Her life had been financed with blood money.
None of it mattered now. These were the last minutes of what would be a former life. The next life, whatever it was, would be her penance. Her retribution for living with contented blinders to the truth.
“Nice to meet you.” Her voice cracked. Be brave. She tried to conjure her mother’s face, but no image came tonight.
“It’s time. The car’s waiting.” Cold blue eyes bored through her, carving out what was left of her heart. He’s on my side. Don’t be afraid. “Are these your bags?”
“Yes. Yes.” She looked down at her loose jeans and sweatshirt, suddenly humiliated. These were her “stay at home and watch football” clothes. With her long brown hair in a ponytail and her face scrubbed of makeup, she probably looked younger than her twenty-nine years.
The game. Playoff season. San Francisco versus Kansas City. She’d forgotten football was playing on the television. The soothing sound of the announcers’ voices drifted into her consciousness. “Brody Mullen, inarguably, is the best quarterback in the league.”
“That’s right,” said the other announcer. “Looking at statistics alone—without even bringing up his stellar character and leadership of his San Francisco Sharks, this young man is the AFL’s greatest quarterback. And, regardless of how you dissect it, he’s had the best season of his career.”
Football would remain, regardless of where they sent her. She could watch her Philadelphia Raptors from wherever she lived. She could still mock handsome, arrogant Brody Mullen—one of her favorite past times. He was the best quarterback in the league. The bastard. She disliked him immensely. More accurately, she hated him. It wasn’t because her Raptor’s quarterback was not the best in the league or because they hadn’t made the playoffs since the eighties. No, it was just him. Him and his stupid dimple in the middle of his stupid chin. Brody Mullen and his insufferable San Francisco Sharks were most likely headed to the Super Bowl this year, and it made her mad.
Why did good things always happen to the wrong people? Sure, Mullen made a good show of being the quintessential all-American boy next door with his weekly visits to the children’s hospital and all that money he donated to underprivileged communities. But that’s all he was—a show. His appearance and supposed good deeds deceived and distracted from his true character. That chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and honey-blond hair kissed by the California sun gave the impression of a wholesome boy you would want to bring home to your mother. However, Kara could see beyond his beauty, unlike the rest of the women of America. The guy was obviously full of himself, born into football royalty with every privilege, and advised by a team of public relations phonies into appearing otherwise.
What was she doing? Concentrate on the task at hand. Football could distract her when she was all alone in a hotel room, not now when she needed to pull every ounce of her honed focusing ability to the surface. Get through one task at a time, like she’d done for months now. Collapse when it’s all over.
She scurried to the coffee table and found the remote. Her hands shook so violently, she mistakenly turned up the volume.
The smaller of the two deputies took the controller from her. “We understand you have a cat. Go get her. The faster we get you out of here, the better.”
The cat. Her sweet Minnie. Where was she? The hammering at the door must have scared her. She would be under the bed, with green eyes wide and frightened. Kara sprinted to the bedroom. Minnie was on the bed, staring at her. Instead of frightened, she looked angry. Kara scooped her up and held her close. “It’s all right now, baby. We’re just going for a little ride.” A sob escaped. She buried her face into the tuxedo cat’s fur. Minnie purred.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Was this really her with the frightened brown eyes and blotched skin? The months of strain had damaged her appearance. Dark smudges under her eyes paired with hollow cheekbones hinted at countless sleepless nights and a lack of appetite. She was tall and muscular from years of dance and cheerleading when she was younger, but her shoulders curled forward like a person embarrassed by her mere existence. This was new. She’d always been so proud, so sure of herself.
Was this the right choice? To leave everyone and everything she loved? To give up her position at the hospital? To abandon her beautiful home and all the possessions? The answer was the same as it had been for months. She must. Justice was more important than her own comfort. When she chose to testify against her father, the Witness Protection Program became her only option—her only chance to live. Despite the shock of the truth about her father, she wanted to live. She would begin again.
Kara squared her shoulders and took in a deep breath. Her mother had not taught her to cower or hide.
Yes, she must go. They offered her a new life. She would take it.
Behind her, she sensed one of the marshals in the doorway of the bedroom. With Minnie still in her arms, she turned. He had the carrier in his hand. “Don’t lose courage now, Miss Boggs. You’ve come this far.” He set the carrier on the bed where she would no longer sleep under a downy comforter and memory foam pillows. Would her pillow still remember her when she was no longer Kara Boggs?
“This is Minnie.” The tears almost escaped. She swallowed and gave herself a direct order. Do not break down until you’re alone. “I can still bring her, right?”
“Yes, of course. Do you need help getting her in the carrier?” Sympathy flickered in the marshal’s eyes.
“No, I’ll do it.” She coaxed Minnie into the carrier with treats she’d kept in a bag on the bureau for just this purpose.
She took one more look at her bedroom. How naïve she’d been two years ago when she’d chosen fabrics and paint colors. My starter home, she’d smugly called it. My bachelorette pad.
It was time.
She followed the marshal to the front door. “Where to now?”
“We have you booked in a hotel near the courthouse. You’ll have twenty-four-hour protection during the trial. We’ll escort you to and from the courtroom.”
“And then?”
“We’ll send you to your new location.”
“Where is it?” she asked.
“We don’t know,” Green said. “But, it’ll be somewhere nice. The boss has a soft spot for you. It’s not every day we get someone willing to give up their life to do the right thing.”
“Someone innocent,” Hill added.
Most in the Witness Protection Program were criminals. They’d told her this during the first interviews when they’d still suspected she might be privy to the dirty underworld of her father’s life. After a time, however, they’d come to understand she knew nothing. She was not a criminal, merely a participant in a plush life. A princess, protected from the dangerous life of a money launderer.
“Please try and remember during your adjustment period that you’re bringing down an entire branch of the Colombian drug cartel. Most people never have the chance to do something this important. If they do, they shy away.”
“Like cowards. You didn’t,” Green said, his voice gruff. “Our boss thinks you’re the bravest person he’s ever met.”
That was kind. But she knew the truth. Her complacency made her guilty. How many clues were there over the years that she’d dismissed, made excuses for, refused to see? At night when she could not sleep she remembered, and remembered, and remembered until the pieces of the puzzle collided with the force of magnets. The completed puzzle broke her heart. Daddy, say it isn’t so.
But it was.
Despite her naïve complicity in a life of privilege, she had stepped forward to do the just thing. Perhaps too late? How many lives had been ruined? She was a nurse! A nurse who witnessed the ravages of drugs every single day in the emergency room where she worked. Drugs were cunning. They ruined families and damaged babies and snuffed out lives.
Too late or not, she had done it. She had colluded with her father’s enemy. As if she’d channeled the finest actress on Broadway, she’d slipped into her role of whistleblower. She’d planted wiretaps and bugs in his office. She’d played to his ego, his desire for her to know how powerful he was, how influential—the trust these dangerous men had in him.
“I came from nothing, Kara, and look at the life I’ve made for us.”
“Have another drink, Dad. Tell me more. Who are these people you work for? How did you become involved?”
Her alliance with the FBI had brought their family crashing to the ground like a house made of the finest sand. With the tapes and her testimony, her father would be sentenced to prison for the rest his life, as would several of the most dangerous Colombian drug lords in organized crime. From prison, they would order her death. Unless she disappeared.
She grabbed the photograph of her mother from the bedside table and stuffed it into her purse.
“I’m ready.”
Chapter 2: Brody
With three seconds left on the clock, the American Football League’s San Francisco quarterback, Brody Mullen, huddled with his offense for the last play of the Super Bowl. His San Francisco Sharks were down by five. One touchdown against the New England Rebels could make them Super Bowl champions. But they were sixty yards from the end zone. It was a long, high pass or nothing. They had to go for broke. Brody locked eyes with his wide receiver, Trevor Beeson, and called the play. Beeson’s long arms were their only chance. If Brody could throw the pass just right, and Beeson caught it, they would go home winners.
Please God, don’t let me blow this.
The center snapped the football. Brody caught it and scanned downfield for Beeson. Around him, his offensive line secured him with the force of their bodies. Brody hurled the football toward the end zone. Beeson, anticipating the location of the ball, sprinted into the far-left corner.
Beeson had one of New England’s defense in front of him and another behind him. Three sets of arms reached for the ball, but Beeson’s were the longest. He plucked the football from the air like a frog’s tongue snatched a fly.
Touchdown!
Brody fell to his knees. I did it. Finally. This is for you, Dad. Memories flooded his consciousness: hours in the backyard throwing the football with his dad; the day his high school team won the state championship; the news that he’d been awarded the Heisman Trophy when he was at USC; the day of the AFL draft. Every moment, he’d shared with his dad. If only he could see this moment.
When he stood, blinded by tears, his teammates pounced on him. Beeson almost knocked him over with the force of his hug. “Enough sacks for today, Frog,” he said.
“You’re the boss, man,” Beeson said.
“No, Frog. You’re the boss.”
Brody searched the crowd for his family and friends. They’d watched from a box above. He knew they’d waste no time getting down here.
Moments later, he saw his mother plowing through the crowds to get to him. Following her were his brother and their three best friends. His assistant, Honor, trailed behind the pack. Where was Flora?
Brody didn’t have time to ask because everyone hugged him at once. His friends pounded his back. Lance lingered just beyond the fringe of their group. They locked eyes. His baby brother had tears in his eyes. He knew his thoughts as well as his own—if only Dad were here for this.
Along with his brother, Zane, Jackson, and Kyle were his pack. His tribe. They’d all been friends since their days at USC. Lance had nicknamed them the Dogs after the famous painting of dogs playing poker.
“Brody.” A high-pitched shout rose above the chaos. Honor had been lost amid the crowd, her petite stature enveloped in the throngs of people. He knelt to hug her, but she pushed him away with her hands. “I don’t want your stinky sweat all over my clothes.” She shouted this but followed with a softer proclamation in his ear. “You did good.”
“Don’t start mentioning anything about endorsements until tomorrow,” he said. “I want to enjoy myself for the rest of the night.”
Honor tossed her long blond hair behind her shoulders. “Lance already made me promise.” Her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes belied her sharp intelligence. She ran his business affairs with precision and merciless attention to details. He loved and trusted her, like the sister he never had. Which, in his opinion, was a blessing. To fall for Honor Sullivan was the first step to a broken heart. “No time for whiny or needy men,” she always said—right before she kicked another one to the proverbial curb.
“Where’s Flora?” Brody asked. Flora, his family’s longtime housekeeper, was a second mother to him and his brother.
“She had to stay home. She’s a little under the weather,” Lance said.
“We didn’t want to tell you before the game.” His mother, Janet Mullen, brushed blond hair from her cheeks and looked up at him with her penetrating eyes.
Brody’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing to worry about,” his mother said. “Just enjoy your moment.”
He wasn’t sure she was telling the truth, but for now, he chose to take her advice. He’d been waiting for this his entire life.
Chapter 3: Kara
Kara watched the Super Bowl alone in her room at the hotel. She’d given the last of her testimony Friday afternoon. Tomorrow they would tell her where she was to start her new life. For now, there was football, at least, to keep her from careening into the madness of uncertainty.
On fourth down, with seconds left on the clock, Brody Mullen threw a perfect fifty-eight-yard pass to his wide receiver, Beeson, in the end zone. The ball might have been a few inches too high for almost any other player, but the tall and lanky Beeson caught it in his giant hands with seemingly little effort. The referee called it a touchdown. Mullen fell to his knees.
Minnie jumped onto the bed and curled up beside her. As much as Kara loved the feline beauty, Minnie was a poor substitute for the Super Bowl party she’d thrown last year. Twenty people had crammed into the living room of her two-thousand-square-foot condo. They’d spilled chips and screamed at the television and laughed at commercials. Her best friend, Jessica, had collected bets on the winner and the scores. Kara won.
Now, the sound of the game and the announcers, Roger King and Tom Coleman, softened the sharp edges of her sorrow. Wherever she went, she’d still have football to watch.
“Brody Mullen turned thirty last month. There’s continued speculation that he will retire after this season, but in an interview last week he assured fans that he had no plans to give up any time soon.”
“Given the way he played tonight, Tom, he’s nowhere near done with what has been a spectacular career.”
Brody Mullen. Her football nemesis. She was sick to death of hearing about him the past few weeks. All the sports channels could talk about was his wonderful character and leadership and his football royalty family. If she saw one more advertisement with him hawking that new luxury car, she might vomit. What a jerk, on and off the field. Obviously, women found him attractive, but he reminded her of a hawk with intense, angry green eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a hard mouth. He had this way of running his hands through his cropped hair during interviews that was so obviously meant to make him look vulnerable and approachable, nervous even. So ridiculous. Men like Brody Mullen were never nervous.
Seriously, off the field, he was everywhere: print ads, television spots, charity functions. He had recently pledged a million dollars to build a center for underprivileged youth in one of the Bay Area’s poorest communities. She had to give him some points for that, although she was disgusted by how often he posted his picture on Instagram with a sick child. Her mother had told her that good deeds only counted if no one knew about them. Brody Mullen made sure the world knew about everything he did. She focused her attention back on the television.
The camera stayed on Mullen as the field flooded with people. He stood and tore his helmet off. His teammates mobbed him. Seconds later, he held out his arms and an older woman embraced him.
Roger King and Tom Coleman continued to commentate.
“Brody Mullen hugging his mother there. What an emotional night it must be for them. His father, our colleague here at NCS Sports, was his biggest supporter.”
“That’s right, Tom. Just last week he broke down when he spoke about his father and how much he wanted this win for him. It’s a shame Simon isn’t here to share this great night with him.”
“Hard to believe it’s been two years since we lost him,” Roger said.
“One of football’s greats, no doubt about it.”
Kara shut off the television. She didn’t want to hear anyone else’s sad story tonight.
Kara’s love of football came from her mother. Before she died when Kara was ten, they’d watched every Philadelphia game together. If they’d won or lost, her mother had reveled in the pure joy of the sport. Over the years, Kara had calmly defended her love of football to friends who thought the game was either boring or a waste of time—and quite possibly misogynistic and dangerous. No, she argued, look beneath the surface. Football was the human story. Football, with all the twists and turns, was like life. One never knew what would happen next. Sometimes the clock brought unexpected triumphs. Other times, it brought disaster. Often, and this was the best part, the clock brought an upset, a last minute play so surprising and heroic that no one in their wildest imagination would have thought it possible. That was the magic of the game and the human experience. Just when one thought all was lost—redemption.
God knew, Kara had not seen this twist in her life coming. At last year’s Super Bowl party, she was still naïve, never questioning the surface story of her family. But now, she knew the truth, and there was no looking back. She would pay for her father’s sins for the rest of her life.
Today, she could not imagine redemption. Today, she was a reluctant hero.
one of the best!
It was a good read. Romantic, and warming. Looking forward to the 2nd Book in the series.
True Indigo
“The fourth and final installment of the Tipsy Collins series...beautifully wraps up the characters' journeys with a blend of paranormal intrigue and life lessons...” —Readers’ Favorite
Things have been going great for Tipsy Collins, the Lowcountry's favorite clairvoyant artistic genius. Her kids are happy and healthy, she's producing and selling her celebrated paintings, and she's engaged to the love of her life, psychiatrist Scott Brandt. Everyone in Tipsy's life seems content, except Henry Mott, her mercurial supernatural roommate and wannabe literary virtuoso.
Henry has been brooding for over a century, but lately, his discontent has gone into overdrive. His famous temper is out of control and he can't write a single sentence. Henry's malaise and its accompanying destruction threaten to complicate Tipsy and Scott's family blending while her ex-husband haplessly navigates a second marriage crisis. As Henry slowly loses his mind, a series of unexplainable events has Tipsy combing through ghostly memories, meeting new friends and reuniting with old ones, exploring and testing the supernatural limits, and, as always, learning some priceless life lessons.
True Indigo is the highly anticipated fourth and final installment in the award-winning Tipsy Collins Series.
Author Bio:
Stephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshunds, Trinket and Tipsy.
Two of a Kind: Return to Lighthouse Point
Sometimes all you need is to believe in yourself...
Charlotte finds herself living back on Belle Island, struggling to make a living in her now floundering art career. She moves in with her life-long friend, Robin, and attempts to find her love of painting again and prove to her family that she's a successful artist. A bonus would be if she could make a bit of money from it so she could pay the bills...
Ben works nonstop running the marina he took over when his father suddenly passed away. That, along with keeping an eye on his mother and restoring his father's old boat keep him impossibly busy.
But then Charlotte comes back to town and he can't quite keep his mind on business...
Though Charlotte is convinced that Ben still has a crush on her beautiful, captivating sister. What man doesn't? Eva, the golden daughter, draws everyone's attention when she enters the room.
Charlotte has a chance to prove to everyone she can reinvent herself and have a successful art career-even if her family thinks her new style of nostalgic painting isn't really considered art. And Ben's push to make his mother a bit more independent backfires on him.
But wishes made at Lighthouse Point have a way of coming true-sometimes in surprisingly unexpected ways.
Continue on with the stories of Charlotte, Sara, Robin, and their friends and family in this spin-off series of Lighthouse Point.
This is book two in the Charming Inn series:
One Simple Wish - Book One
Two of a Kind - Book Two
Three Simple Things - Book Three
Four Short Weeks - Book Four
Five Years or So - Book Five
Six Hours Away - Book Six
The Lighthouse Point Series:
Wish Upon a Shell - Book One
Wedding on the Beach - Book Two
Love at the Lighthouse - Book Three
Cottage Near the Point - Book Four
Return to the Island - Book Five
Bungalow by the Bay - Book Six
Wedding on the Beach
Cindy Pearson is getting her wish - the perfect wedding on Belle Island. As she dodges a steady stream of obstacles that threaten to thwart her plans, she can't quite avoid her nagging doubts about her fianc .
Jamie McFarlane has one wish - to make a success of the coastal inn he and his mother inherited. He gets his chance to boost the inn's reputation as a premier wedding destination by putting together a perfect wedding for his childhood friend, Cindy. There's only one problem - as Cindy and Jamie rekindle their relationship, he realizes his feelings run deeper than mere friendship.
If he gives Cindy the wedding of her dreams, he'll miss his one chance with her. If he stops the wedding, he'll crush her dream and lose his opportunity to save the inn.
Sometimes, the wishes a person makes don't come true - and sometimes unspoken wishes are the best wishes of all.
What the Heart Knows: A Milford-Haven Novel
Is the heart smarter than the head? Artist Miranda Jones begins to trust her heart enough to escape from her life of privilege and start over in Milford-Haven, the small town of undiscovered beauty on California's Central Coast. She connects with environmentalist Samantha Hugo--a brilliant PhD twenty years her senior who gave up a son years earlier; and with restaurant owner Sally O'Mally who left Arkansas to create her own dream. Each woman wrestles with her own core issues while balancing demanding careers with the attentions of interesting men. None is aware that journalist Christine Christian has just been murdered while investigating a half-built house. Though the book stands alone, it is also Book 1 in the critically acclaimed, popular series, a multi-generational saga. Based on Purl's BBC Radio drama Milford-Haven U.S.A.
What's Not Lost
What would you do if you discovered your fiancé's ex-girlfriend is having his baby?
Through the eyes of an overachiever, the schemes of a homewrecker, the magic of a bottle of wine, and a CAT, award-winning author Valerie Taylor propels this captivating and heart-warming romance to an unpredictable and delightful conclusion.
Kassie O'Callaghan is searching ... for herself and for answers. With her husband six feet under and an engagement ring on her finger, Kassie is convinced managing a company merger in Paris will complete her quest for recognition on her own terms. When she learns her fiancé's ex-girlfriend is pregnant, Kassie's dreams come tumbling down. At least for the moment.
Despite pleas from her younger fiancé to stay in Boston and a warning from her best friend forever of what's at stake should she leave, Kassie heads to Paris with courage and perseverance. There, she stumbles into a world of wine and roses as she tries to put the wisdom of her experience to the ultimate test.
When a Greek businessman tries to rescue her, Kassie discovers-in life-it's not whether you win or lose, it's the way you love that counts.
If you're a fan of Liane Moriarty, Emily Giffin, or Debbie Macomber, give this contemporary romance and the entire series a try. In the process, you just may find another author you love! Get it today!