"Can I tell you something about this school? You see this isn't a regular school. This is a superhero school..."

First days can be tough, especially for someone as shy as Mikey but Mikey's new school is a little different. On his first day, he meets his principal and some incredible children who help him discover his own superpower within and he learns that no matter what we may look like on the outside, everyone has something that makes them valuable.

Can Mikey learn to use his newfound superpower to make his school a better place for all students?

While the rest of the world reels from World War II, Miller Dreeser remains focused on his obsession born of ambition, and sweet Caroline Bennett, whose heart is as big as her father's fortune. Unfortunately, she's susceptible to Miller's charms and blind to his greed.

A man with a secret that could destroy anyone caught in his web. A woman whose youthful folly could destroy her family and her future. A story that spans two decades, the most defining moments of the 20th Century, and five intertwined lives from America's Greatest Generation.

This suspenseful, page-turning post-war drama is a must-read for fans of historic fiction and Tess Thompson alike.

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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:

Part 1: December 1921

Chapter 1: Caroline

Caroline Bennett, nestled into the corner of the sofa in her father’s study, organized a stack of letters into alphabetical order. Degrees of handwriting skills aside, each letter was clearly addressed to Santa at the North Pole from one of the forty‐two children at Saint Theresa’s Home for Orphans. Caroline was cozy in her red flannel nightgown and thick socks, and her legs were almost long enough to reach the floor. A fire crackled behind the metal grid. Fresh fir branches decorated the mantel and filled the room with their spicy scent. Candles flickered on the side tables, casting soft shadows. Outside, December fog sheathed their home so that tonight they lived in a cloud instead of a street in San Francisco where the houses were the size of schools.

Caroline knew there was no Santa. She was twelve now, after all. Her days of childish beliefs were in the past. Her parents were Santa. It was obvious now that she knew. She’d discovered the truth when she accidently saw their housekeeper, Essie, wrapping presents in the same paper that later showed up as gifts from Santa. This new knowledge rested heavily in the middle of her chest. It had been lovely to believe in magic. However, her dismay to learn that her favorite saint was, in fact, fiction was tempered by her delight that this year, for the first time, she would be able to help deliver the gifts to the orphanage. Her stomach did flips just thinking of it. As if that weren’t enough, her mother, Sophie, had entrusted Caroline with a sacred task. She was to help find just the right gift for each child.

Her father, Edmund, hidden behind the newspaper in his large chair with nothing but his long legs visible, occasionally grunted or exclaimed over something he read. He’d missed several Christmases when he was fighting overseas. This was his second Christmas home with them, but Caroline had not forgotten how lonely those days were or the worried tears Mother had shed. Edmund Bennett, as Mother often said, could fill up a room like no other. Without him, the house had seemed empty and less like Christmas, his presents stacked up under the tree for his hoped‐for return, their deepest fear that they would remain unopened. Now, though, Father was safe at home, and Mother no longer cried by the fire while holding his latest letter in her delicate hands.

Caroline settled back into the sofa, placing the piles of letters next to her. “I’ve put them in order, Mother. Are you ready for me to read them now?” Working side‐by‐side with her beautiful mother, Caroline imagined she’d experienced a great transformation from the previous Christmas. She was taller and more sophisticated, and felt almost sorry for her deluded younger self. What a little dolt she’d been, believing that a man could fly around the world in only one night on a sled pulled by reindeer.

Other than telling her parents she knew the truth, she kept mum about this devastating fact. There was no reason her friends should have their belief in magic ruined. Believing in something as wonderful as the idea of Santa made them happy, and it was not her place to take that away from them. The longer one believed, the better.

Essie entered with a plate of sugar cookies, hot chocolate for Caroline, and glasses of sherry for her parents. “Good evening. Some sweets for the sweet?” Caroline grinned, knowing Essie meant she was sweet.

“Essie, you must stop working and retire for the evening,” said Mother. “You’ve been on your feet since dawn.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bennett, and I beg your pardon, but dawn is an exaggeration.” Essie, only twenty‐five, had come to them four years before as a housemaid but had proven so smart and capable that Mother promoted her to head housekeeper when cranky Mrs. Smith, inherited from Father’s mother, had retired. Caroline adored Essie. She was pretty with brown curls that made Caroline want to pull one to see it spring back into place. Essie was never cross, even with Caroline who sometimes forgot that she wasn’t supposed to run in the house.

The newspaper lowered. Father’s green eyes fixed upon Essie. “Mrs. Bennett exaggerating? Impossible.”

Mother laughed. “No one asked for your opinion, Mr. Bennett.”

Essie patted Caroline’s head, smiling. “Oh, the letters from the children. How wonderful.” At the door, she turned back, tears glistening in her eyes. “What you do for those poor orphans—giving them a Christmas. Could’ve been me but for the grace of God.”

“Thank you, Essie. Have a good rest,” said Mother. “We have a million cookies to make tomorrow.”

The newspaper lowered once again. “We?”

“Well, it’s my mother’s recipes, anyway.” Mother tossed a pillow at Father, which he thwarted by once again hiding behind his newspaper. The sound of Essie’s laughter accompanied her clicking heels down the hallway.

Mother held up her pen and paper. “I’m ready, darling. Read away.”

The first was from a boy named Miller, who wanted a telescope so he could study the constellations. Caroline put it back into its envelope while left‐handed Mother, the paper at a slant so she didn’t smear the ink, wrote his wish on the list. Other than Miller’s rather forthright letter, the others had deeper wishes.

Please, Santa, bring me a new family for Christmas.

Santa, bring my mother back to me.

Santa, do you know where my brother is?

After the tenth letter, she couldn’t continue. Tears slid down her cheeks and onto the paper, blurring the ink. “Mother, please. I can’t. They’re too sad.”

Mother set down her pen. The newspaper came down and Father placed it on the table next to him. “Caroline, I know the letters hurt you,” said Mother. “They do us as well. But you must never turn away from truths like these just because it’s hard. It’s your responsibility as a person with so much to understand that many others have nothing and to let it soften you to do good in the world.”

“For whom much is given, much is expected,” said Father.

Caroline wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, then ran her fingers over her embroidered initials. “But why do I have so much when others have so little?”

“We’re lucky,” said Mother. “Because of that we have to serve others as best we can.”

“Love instead of hate,” said Father. “This is what Jesus taught us. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Caroline picked up the next letter. “Dear Santa.”

Chapter 2: Miller

It was Christmas Eve. While sugarplums danced in the heads of the other children, twelve‐year‐old Miller could not sleep, shivering under a thin blanket. An unexpected cold front had come the day before, encasing San Francisco in ice, and the orphanage’s fireplaces could not keep up with the frigid temperatures. Before he ventured from his bed, he listened for the sounds of the other boys sleeping. Norm snored, Wesley murmured pleas to his dead mother, and Timmy made a sound with his lips like he was trying to blow a horn. The other four boys were smaller, and in general, uttered nothing, other than falling out of the narrow beds occasionally and crying until one of the big boys shushed them. One grew tough here. Coddling and sympathy were in short supply. There was no room for softness and sadness. It was only tolerated if it was amid dreams, like poor Wesley.

Miller walked in silent steps to the window, and drew back the curtain. He stood between it and the glass, looking up at the cloudless sky where stars danced in the black night. He wanted to observe them in the silence, to soak them in without distraction because it made him feel as if anything were possible, like there was more to his paltry existence than the chilled room. He gazed for many minutes until he became a star, too. Silver and shining with heat. Last August, the stars shot across the horizon and he caught them in his hands and hung on, streaking across the sky in splendored glory.

Dust tickled his nose and he rubbed it with the back of his hand to keep from sneezing. He shivered as he placed his hand on the glass of the window. A layer of ice had formed on the inside, and it melted under his warm hand. This proved he did exist and was not invisible like he’d been that afternoon. He didn’t care that he wasn’t chosen again. No one would ever come for him. He understood that now. Days of hopeful wishes and prayers were with the stars, out of his reach.

That very afternoon a couple had come at lunch, scanning the children lined up in rows at the tables as they waited for a bowl of lukewarm soup and piece of bread. The couple, wearing tweed coats that almost matched and holding rosary beads, presumably for luck, were looking for a child to take home for Christmas. A gift to themselves, thought Miller, as if the children were toys to be handed about to rich people who had everything already. Their earnest expressions and the way they scanned the children’s faces, like a miracle was about to happen, made him sick. Oh, yes, she’s the one. Thank you, Lord, for our little miracle. A bitter taste filled his mouth, like he’d sucked on a handful of coins. He didn’t try to catch their eyes like he used to. No one wanted a boy his age. There was no point to try to look endearing any longer. He’d predicted they would choose Patsy, the toddler who’d come to the orphanage just the week before, and he’d been right. The woman’s face had lit up like a candle on the Christmas tree the moment she set eyes upon her. “Oh, Frank,” she’d said. “Do you see her curls?” It didn’t take a genius to see that coming. Sweet little Patsy with her chubby fingers and blond ringlets. He didn’t stand a chance.

He’d lived at the orphanage for almost five years, having been dropped there when he was seven years old in an unceremonious delivery by his deceased mother’s only living relative, a cousin with six children of her own and no desire for any further mouths to feed. Before his mother’s death, Miller had lived with her in a dirty, one-room shack at the end of a country road. Memories of the time with his mother came to him in a series of fuzzy images, like overexposed photographs. Uneven floorboards, rough on the bottom of his feet. One window, a crack like a spider’s web and a layer of dirt so thick that day and night were often indiscernible. A table with one chair next to a wood‐burning cooking stove. One time when he was small, he burned his wrist on the stove, reaching for a two‐day old biscuit. Greedy boys get burned. He remembered her voice and the sound of the whiskey bottled as she slammed it on the table. That’ll teach you. It did. After that he knew not to touch, no matter how hungry he was. He slept in the closet. When his mother did her business with the men, he was to stay there with the door closed and be quiet, putting his fingers in his ears to stifle the sound of creaking bedsprings and frightening moans. Sometimes, she disappeared for days and came back only to sleep for hours and hours, murmuring things he couldn’t understand. She did not hug or kiss him like he’d seen mothers do on the few occasions he went into town. Instead, he was smacked or pushed or spanked. He was never sure why.

The memory of smells, more vivid than the images, still lived in his nose. Men’s perspiration, wood smoke, whiskey, and the sour smell of his mother. One day, she didn’t get out of bed. Men came to the door, smelling of booze and cigarettes, but once they came inside, they quickly retreated. The scent of something rotting from the inside out replaced the sour odor of his mother. One day she didn’t wake. He stood over her, unsure what to do. Several flies buzzed around her body, and outside, the shriek of a wild bird pierced the quiet. Her white hand, paper thin, hung from the side of a bed. For five days he remained in the shack alone, surviving on the sack of raw potatoes that had been his companion in the closet. Then, one day, a woman came. She held a paper bag over her nose and offered him her hand. It was the first time he could remember being touched without it being accompanied by a beating.

Now, Miller took his hand from the glass, sticking it between his thighs for warmth. The stars were as close as he’d ever seen them, and a half‐moon hung just above the large oak. Not Santa in his sleigh, as some of the younger boys believed. He’d known for years Santa was not real. Just like God, it was a story to make them succumb to authority. Lies told to them by the nuns to keep them placid, well‐behaved. God and Santa are watching. He knew it was all fiction. He told the others. There is no Santa. They were all too young or too stupid to believe him. It wasn’t his problem if the little idiots chose to believe the lies. What did he care? Still, he wondered where the presents came from every year. Surely the Sisters couldn’t manage to buy all of them.

Miller didn’t believe in the birth, death, or rising of Jesus. However, he knew the nuns who cared for them not only believed the stories of the Bible, but wanted the children to believe as well. So, Miller pretended he did, to keep from being smacked with the ruler over the palm of his hand. Who could believe such nonsense? The other children were ridiculous. Who would give up a life in the world for the thankless work of caring for motherless children simply because of a made‐up story in a book?

The rumble of a car’s engine, and, a few seconds later, the beams of light that appeared between the trees, drew his attention. His stomach flipped over in excitement, despite his disbelief in magical fat men. A visitor of some kind? In the middle of the night? Yes, it was a car coming up the lane, headlights like bouncing balls in the dark. The car, black with wide fenders, stopped in front of the orphanage’s front doors, and the sound of the engine ceased, bringing back the silent night. A man in a black suit and cap slid from the driver’s seat and walked around the car to open the back door. Small feet in patent leather shoes appeared first, reflecting light from the lamppost, attached to thick legs covered in white stockings. Then, the rest of a girl emerged. She wore a fur coat and hat and was short and stout, like the teapot in the song the woman had sung to Patsy earlier. Slightly younger than Miller, if he had his guess, but it was hard for him to judge the age of children who were well fed. They always seemed older than his scrawny companions.

The girl’s hands were stuck inside a matching muff, but she shivered despite all her layers. She shifted weight from foot to foot, waiting for whoever was still in the car, her plump face tilted upward, seemingly examining the outside of the building in great detail. Miller pretended to be a statue, hoping she could not see him. A man in a top hat and dark jacket joined her, putting his hand on the top of her head. She looked up at him and smiled. They said something to each other that Miller could not decipher. The man and the chauffer went to the back of the car and pulled out two large boxes. Miller strained his eyes, trying to make out the contents. Packages with bows? Presents for the children. It was not Santa, but this man and his little girl. He was triumphant. He was right. There was no Santa, unless he traveled in a Rolls‐Royce and wore a top hat.

The two men, each carrying a box, and the little girl stepped out of sight, under the awning over the front door. Miller crept from his hiding place, tiptoeing to the door of the boys’ sleeping quarters. He turned the knob silently, and stepped into the hallway. Holding his breath, he made his way to the top of the stairs and looked down into the foyer. Their chauffeur and the boxes were out of sight, presumably being delivered into the common room and placed under the tree, but the man and little girl huddled with Sister Catherine, talking in hushed voices. Miller made out every word. “Mr. Bennett, I was afraid you wouldn’t make it with all the ice covering the roads. Sister Rosie and I have been beside ourselves with worry.”

“Thanks to Mac, we made it just fine. He’s driven in worse,” said Mr. Bennett, taking off his top hat and holding it in two hands. “We would’ve walked if we had to. I cannot disappoint Mrs. Bennett. She was also beside herself with worry.”

“Bless her,” said Sister Catherine. “And who have we here? Is this Miss Caroline?”

The little girl curtsied. “Yes, ma’am. My mother let me come this year. I had to beg her. Because of the roads, she was worried Mac would crash the car and we’d all be lost forever. Well, that and this year I learned the truth about Santa, so Mother allowed me to help shop for the gifts.” She had a clear, almost musical voice.

Sister Catherine chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear about Santa, but I’m glad you’ve come and that you didn’t crash.”

“Caroline and her mother spent many hours shopping for what they hoped would please the children,” said Mr. Bennett. “They were appreciative of the letters to Santa with their specific requests. I think we managed to find everything.”

Caroline tugged on her father’s sleeve. “No, Father, we didn’t. We couldn’t find mothers and fathers for them. They had that in their letters.” Her voice had the shaky quality that happened when girls were trying not to cry. Girls in the orphanage were crying all the livelong day, so he knew. “I’m so very sorry for them, Sister.”

“Ah, well, God has a plan for them all,” said Sister Catherine. “So don’t you fret.” She turned to look at Mr. Bennett. “Edmund, without your contributions, we would surely have shut down by now. We can’t thank you enough.” She gestured toward the door. “Now, you best be off before it gets any colder.”

They exchanged several other pleasantries, but Miller had stopped listening. I’m so very sorry for them. The fat little brat. How dare she pity them? He filled with anger, the kind that raged like the color red, burning his face as if he stood before a great fire. How easy it must be to have everything in the world, sipping cream from a silver spoon. He hated her. Gripping the spokes of the railing he imagined kicking her face, stomping on her fingers until she cried.

The chauffer had come back to the foyer. Mr. Bennett said they must go now, and Merry Christmas, and God bless, and all the other absurdities people said on this fake day. Sister Catherine followed the men out, but Caroline, falling slightly behind, looked up to where he crouched by the railing. Her eyes widened. She stared at him. He stared back, not daring to move, for fear she would betray him. Then, in a moment of genius, he put his finger to his lips to indicate she must be quiet. She nodded, put her finger to her lips, and slipped out the door. He ran back to the boys’ room on tiptoes, his toes cold and achy, and went to the window. Caroline climbed into the car first, followed by her father. Miller watched their car turn out of the driveway and head down the road until it disappeared from sight.

The next morning, like the other children, he opened his present. It was a telescope, just as he’d asked for. There were also blank notebooks for all of the children. Sister Catherine encouraged them all to keep journals or use it as a place to put their mementos. “If you write down your thoughts and feelings, your life will have clarity and purpose.” He wanted to laugh. What mementos, clarity, or purpose did any of them have exactly? He kept the question to himself. Last time he’d been cheeky, Mother Maria had smacked his knuckles with a ruler until she drew blood.

That night, he sat in bed, running his fingers over the velvet fabric that covered the outside of the journal pages and envisioned the little girl and her father. With a pen he’d found on the floor in Mother Maria’s office and had stashed under his mattress, he wrote on the first page.

December 25, 1921

This is Miller Dreeser. I am here even though no one sees me. Someday I will be visible. I will be like Edmund Bennett and wear fancy clothes and have more than enough to eat.

When he wrote it down, he knew exactly what it was he wanted. Perhaps Mrs. Bennett understood something he hadn’t.

Chapter 3: Caroline

Christmas Eve, her parents surprised Caroline when they said that, yes, she could accompany her father to drop the gifts at the orphanage. The roads, slick with ice from the unexpected freeze, made the journey slower than expected, but Caroline didn’t mind. Sitting next to Father in the backseat of their car, she was a princess dressed in her new dress and stockings, plus the delightful fur coat Mother had let her open early so that she might wear it for their festivities tonight. She wanted to wave to her imaginary subjects like she’d seen photos of real princesses do. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining that she was adored by the masses. Father wore his top hat and formal evening suit. She wriggled closer to him and lay her cheek against the rough material of his jacket. “Thank you for letting me come, Father,” she said. “I feel so grownup.”

“I’m delighted to have such a worthy traveling companion.” He kissed the top of her head. “But don’t grow up too fast.”

When they arrived, Father said she could come inside with him to meet Sister Catherine. Once she was out of the car, she stood, looking up at the building that loomed large and almost creepy in the dark. She suspected it was cold inside and shivered despite her fur coat. The stars above shone with an intensity she had not seen before, as if the heavens acknowledged the awesomeness of this night before Jesus’s birth. She was about to follow Father inside when a movement in one of the upstairs windows caught her eye.

Was it a boy, standing in the window? She couldn’t be sure, but it appeared to be an outline of a boy. She looked away. It was strange to be watched. Dread washed over her. She shivered. Don’t think of it. Pretend you didn’t see him.

They went inside. Sister Catherine greeted them and they chatted for a few minutes in the foyer, which seemed no warmer than outside. They were about to go when she happened to glance up. A boy crouched low at the top of the stairs, looking down at them. His eyes, the color of coal, stared at her, unblinking. She was about to say something to him when he put his finger to his lips. He didn’t want her to speak and let it be known he was there. Perhaps he would get in trouble for being out of bed. She nodded, to let him know she understood, and followed Father out the door.

After their late‐night delivery, Mac drove them to the Christmas Eve mass at their local parish. Mother arrived before them and had saved them seats near the front. Like Easter, every seat in the church was taken, forcing men to stand in the back of the church in clumps. Women were dressed in their finest: long, flowing dresses slack at the middle and head pieces with plumes in rich colors. The men were in dark suits, holding fedoras in their hands. The air smelled of incense and ladies’ perfume. A silence fell over the parish as the service began, but Caroline didn’t pay close attention. Instead, she prayed for the motherless children with so much silent vigor that she worried it might be apparent to others. When she looked around, though, between the kneeling and the chants and the story of Jesus’s birth, no one seemed to notice her. She was safe and warm, with more gifts waiting under the tree than most children had in a lifetime. Since the Santa letters, her world had opened. There were children without hope, without a family or a home. She could not stop thinking of them and their letters. Haunted by the phrases in the letters, a heaviness had settled onto her shoulders over the last few weeks. And tonight at the orphanage, the boy standing at the top of the stairs had hollow cheeks that matched his empty eyes, like nothing good had ever filled him, neither food nor love.

As Christmas Eve Mass ended, however, she had sudden clarity. Guilt. She was guilty. For whom much is given, much is expected. Mother and Father conducted themselves in a manner worthy of the directive to their daughter. Yet, somehow it didn’t feel like enough. She was a child of privilege. There were others who suffered, while she, Caroline, thrived. She could not understand why. Kneeling in the pew one last time, she vowed to God, “I will do my best to lessen the burden of others, however I can. Please show me the way.”

After Mass ended, she accompanied Mother and Father to their club for a late supper. Garlands hung in the windows. A massive tree near the fireplace, decorated with shiny bulbs and red bows, made the lobby smell of pine. In the dining room, a band played Christmas music. Waiters walking around with trays, gave her parents glasses of champagne, and the three of them were enveloped into a swarm of friends. She held on to her mother’s hand, afraid to be swallowed by the crowd. Ladies’ bare shoulders glistened under the lights, and their perfumes made Caroline’s eyes itch. She stifled a yawn. Her bladder was full. “I have to use the ladies’ room, Mother.”

“All right, darling. Meet us in the dining room,” said Mother, waving to a friend standing across the room.

The ladies’ lounge was quiet compared the bustle of the lobby. An attendant with skin the color of dark tea stood near the sink. Caroline said hello, politely, as Mother had taught her, before finding an open toilet. She closed the door and sat, delighted to empty her bladder. Voices of two women outside the door reached her. Caroline recognized her friend Elizabeth’s mother by her unusual voice. Mrs. Beale had a particularly low timbre for a woman. It could be mistaken for a man’s. When she mentioned this to her mother one time, she had pretended to puff an imaginary cigarette and told Caroline she must never smoke, as it made you sound hoarse and gave you wrinkles. This was one of Mother’s strange notions. No one else seemed to believe this, as most women smoked. Mrs. Beale was almost never without a cigarette dangling from one of those long holders, the ash always about to drop. “Goodness, did you see the size of Caroline Bennett?” asked Mrs. Beale.

“It’s such a shame. Terrible thing to have a beautiful mother and be so homely. And fat! My God, it’s like she ate her twin.” Caroline did not recognize this brittle voice that sounded like squeaking curds. “Do you think she was adopted?”

“I suppose it’s possible. It’s hard to believe she came from Edmund and Sophie,” said Mrs. Beale.

Caroline stood, pulling her stockings up and her dress back into place, shivering. She should have kept her coat and hat on. It was frigid in the club, like it had been in the orphanage. She walked out to the dressing tables where the two women sat, looking at themselves in the mirror. I will stand in front of them. Make them see me. Shame them for their cruelty.

Mrs. Beale’s eyes met Caroline’s and she made a circle with her mouth. She held a lipstick in her hand, but did not use it, like she’d forgotten it was there. “Caroline, what’re you doing here so late? Elizabeth’s home in bed.”

“My mother and father allow me to stay up as late as them on Christmas Eve. It’s important to my mother that I attend Mass.” Caroline’s voice shook and her cheeks were damp. Had she been crying without knowing? She pulled out her handkerchief from the little pocket of her dress and patted under her eyes.

The other woman’s eyes skirted to Mrs. Beale, then back to Caroline. She looked properly ashamed. They knew she’d heard them. Good. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Beale.”

“Merry Christmas, Caroline. Give my best to your mother.”

Caroline washed her hands at the basin. Her fingers were like sausages and her cheeks as round as apples. How had she not noticed before? Her thighs pressed against each other. She pushed into her middle, feeling several rolls there, like jelly. She was fat. The attendant handed her a towel. After she was finished drying, Caroline handed the attendant a coin. Good manners were important, Mother always said, and these poor women work for tips only.

Caroline found her parents near the entrance to the dining room. A pain stabbed her stomach, yet she was ravenous, like she hadn’t eaten in days. “Mother, will they have pudding?” Pudding and cream. Butter spread over rolls. A thick cut of roast beef. Thinking of the meal ahead made her mouth water, but with that feeling came shame. She was a fat girl, like a pig. No one should have to look at her.

“I believe they will,” said Mother. “I’m famished.” She held out her hand. “Come along, darling, let’s eat.”

The next afternoon, she and her mother stood in front of the mirror in her dressing room. They both wore their new Christmas dresses, matching dark blue taffeta. Mother, slim and tall, smiled into the mirror. “I suppose it’s a sin to love these dresses as much as I do.”

Caroline didn’t answer. She stared at herself in the mirror. Mrs. Beale was right. Caroline had been adopted. Perhaps from the orphanage when she was too young to remember? Why else would she look so different from her mother?

“Mother, did you find me at the orphanage when I was a baby?” She met her mother’s gaze in the mirror.

Mother turned away from the mirror to look directly at her. “What would make you think such a thing?”

“Because I’m fat and you’re not.” She pinched the sides of her face. “And I’m homely and you’re beautiful.”

“You’re most certainly not homely or fat.” Mother’s blue eyes, the same color as the sapphire necklace around her slim neck, filled with tears. “I don’t want to ever hear you say that again, do you understand?”

“Other people say it,” said Caroline.

“What other people?”

“Elizabeth’s mother. I was in the powder room at the club last night and she was in there with another lady and she said, ‘It’s such a shame about Sophie’s daughter. She’s such a homely thing.’ And the other lady said, ‘Yes, and fat as a little piggy. It’s hard to believe she came from Edmund and Sophie and maybe she’s adopted.’ Or, something like that, anyway.” Caroline looked at the floor, trying not to cry. “It doesn’t bother me, though, Mother, because I want only to be good and smart. I don’t care that I’m not pretty.”

Mother knelt on the floor, taking Caroline’s hands in her own. “Listen to me, my love. You’re beautiful inside and out. No one, not even awful Anna Beale, can take that from you. She was feeling particularly mean because her husband has made a bad business deal and they’ve lost their fortune. It was probably the last time they’ll ever be at the club. When people are bitter or disappointed, they’re often mean to others.”

“But why?”

“Oh, darling, I don’t know. It’s easy to be kind when your life is filled with security and love, as mine has been. Anna Beale was feeling spiteful because she’s jealous of what we have, and it made her unkind. But you, my sweet girl, despite what those women said, look exactly like me.”

“I do?” Was Mother lying to spare her feelings?

“Yes, look here now.” Mother lifted Caroline’s chin to look into the mirror. “Do you see? Same blue eyes.”

It was true. The color of sapphires, Father always said.

“And do you see our noses? Same little upturn on the end. See there?”

Yes, it was like a button on the end of their noses. On Mother it looked fashionable, like everyone should have one. Mrs. Beale was probably jealous of her mother’s nose. She had a long, pointy one, and skin the texture of tarnished leather despite layers of powder.

“And our hair is the same.” Honey blond with curls, although Mother’s was piled on top of her head in an elaborate arrangement, whereas Caroline’s hung in a bob at her chin. “So is our skin. Your father says we have skin like butterscotch candy.” Mother kissed the top of her head. “Someday you’ll grow taller, like me, and you’ll become slimmer. I was just like you when I was your age.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. And do you think I’m ugly?” asked Mother.

“No. Not one bit.”

“So, there you have it.” Mother stood. “Now, come along. Your father will think we’ve run off to the circus if we don’t go down for dinner.”

She took Caroline’s hand as they entered the dining room. “I have a surprise for you.”

“You do?”

“Julius and his father are going to spend Christmas with us. They’ve come up from the beach.”

Julius and his father, Doctor Nelson, lived at the beach all year around, not just during the summer like the Bennetts. Occasionally, they came up to the city to stay with her family. Like tonight! Her heart leaped with joy when she saw them, all thoughts of Mrs. Beale slipping from her mind. Julius and Doctor Nelson sat at the table with Father, both dressed in suits. How nice Julius looked. He waved and grinned at her from across the room. Julius. Everything was always better when he was there. She glided across the room, newly light. He looked older than when she’d seen him at Thanksgiving with his light blond hair, bleached from the sun, slicked back and smoothed with pomade. Both men and Julius stood as they approached the table. Mother put both hands out to Doctor Nelson. “So lovely to see you.”

Doctor Nelson kissed her hand. “Thank you for having us.”

“You’re looking quite well,” said Mother. It was true. Doctor Nelson looked rested and healthy, less thin than the last time they’d seen him.

After they all sat, she squeezed Julius’s hand under the table. “I’m happy to see you.”

He grinned. “Me too. We’re staying the night and everything. I brought you a present.”

“I have one for you, too.” Mother had found an archery set for him. Ever since they read Robin Hood, they’d both become obsessed with archery. She couldn’t wait to see his face when he opened it. They had played Robin Hood and Maid Marian many times on the beach, with driftwood as the bow and arrow. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Me either. Father surprised me this morning.”

“Has it been lonesome? Christmas without Father was awful.”

Julius looked down, as if studying his plate with great intent. “Yeah. For my dad mostly.”

Julius’s mother had left them last summer. Caroline learned of it listening at the door of Father’s study. Mother’s voice, sounding strangely shrill, had spoken the unthinkable. “She disappeared into the night. With a man.” Julius’s mother had left her child and her husband? How was this possible?

She and Mother had gone over to see them that afternoon with dinner. Essie had arranged the meal in a basket with a colorful tea towel. Would the beautiful display make someone feel better when their wife or mother had left them? Caroline doubted it.

Doctor Nelson had answered the door, looking just the same as he always did, dressed in a light suit and tie, his hair groomed so that the little ridges from his comb showed. Julius looked different, though. He hadn’t combed his hair, and his face looked pale and pinched under his tan. His eyes were bloodshot. He’d been crying. One other time he’d cried, but that was when he broke his arm. Other than that, he was tough. But this? This was too much.

Julius took her into the kitchen while their parents talked. He pointed to the note, still on the table. “There it is.” His eyes, flat and dull, would not meet her own.

I’m sorry, but I’m slowly dying here in this place. I was not made to be a small‐town doctor’s wife.

Why had they left the note on the table? Caroline would have burned it in the fireplace, along with any photographs of the woman’s selfish face.

“Remember how I always tried to get her to laugh,” he asked. “She never thought I was funny.”

“You are funny.”

“Not funny enough.” He picked up the letter and stuffed it in his pocket. “She’s not coming back. My father thinks so. He hasn’t said it, but I can see by the way he’s acting like everything is normal. But I know she’s not. I saw her leave last night. She assumed I was asleep, but I was awake, reading Robin Hood again, and I heard a car pull into the driveway. I went to the window and I saw a car and this man get out. It was him. She ran to him. She couldn’t get away fast enough.”

How dare she leave Julius. Caroline’s stomach burned. She wanted to smack something or throw an object at the wall. No, she wanted to throw an object at Mrs. Nelson. That was it. She wanted to hurt her like she’d hurt Julius. Mrs. Nelson was cruel and selfish. She tried to imagine her own mother leaving, but it was unfathomable. She would never do it. Mrs. Nelson would be sorry. It was one thing to leave a husband, but how did a mother leave a little boy, especially one like Julius? Caroline understood for the first time the phrase “May she burn in Hell.” The last time Caroline had seen Mrs. Nelson was just last week. It was the middle of the afternoon and she was bent over the sink, inspecting something. She had not looked up when the children came into the room, nor had she responded when Julius said they were going into town and could he get anything for her.

He cried, later, sitting on the beach, and she had wrapped her arm around his waist and let his head rest on her shoulder, his tears mixing with the seawater on her shoulder.

“Let’s throw the letter into the sea,” she said. “We won’t ever think of her again.”

“All right.” They stood together. She took his hand as they walked to the place where the waves crashed onto the shore. Julius retrieved the letter from his pocket and crumpled it into a ball. He threw it hard toward the water. There was no breeze to deter its course as it sailed through the air and fell into a breaking wave. They did not see the paper that broke Julius’s heart again, but they both knew because of the time they had spent in the very same surf that it was pulled under the surface now, tossing this way and that until it would be carried out to sea, ultimately disintegrating into fish food. And yet, it was not enough to wipe away her memory. Caroline saw her in the shadows under Julius’s eyes.

Since that day, Mother had made sure to include him in everything at the house. Doctor Nelson was often away at night doing house calls or delivering babies, so Julius would stay in their guestroom. “You’re family now,” Mother said to Julius one night. “Family isn’t always blood. Sometimes, when you’re lucky, you get to choose who you want for your family.”

Now, the waiter, dressed in a black tuxedo, put a small plate in front of her. A sliver of toast with a dollop of caviar and sour cream on top. “Are you going to eat that?” Julius whispered in her ear.

Caroline giggled. “Mother says it’s a delicacy.”

“How’s Essie?” asked Doctor Nelson.

His question yanked Caroline from her conversation with Julius. Why was he asking about Essie? She darted a look to her mother, who held her small appetizer fork in midair. Caroline squeezed Julius’s hand under the table and pretended to be absorbed in her food. If the adults realized they were listening, they might stop talking.

“She’s fine,” said Mother.

“Why do you ask, old man?” Her father’s voice held a hint of teasing.

“It’s time for me to move on, I suppose,” said Doctor Nelson.

“I see no reason not to,” said Father. “Everything’s been taken care of legally.”

“You’ve been a good friend, Edmund. I thank you for your help.”

“Every man needs a good attorney at least once in his lifetime,” said Father.

“If only it were only once,” said Mother.

“I understand Essie will be at the house on Christmas day,” said Doctor Nelson.

“She’s a live‐in, so yes,” said Mother. “But you knew that.” Her mother’s voice was teasing as well. “I don’t suppose you’re intending to steal my housekeeper?”

“Something like that,” said Doctor Nelson.

Caroline looked over at Julius. His eyes twinkled back at her.

“Essie?” she whispered. “And your father?”

“He hasn’t said a word to me.” He continued to whisper.

“We’ve been corresponding since Thanksgiving,” said Doctor Nelson to Mother. “She’s terribly worried you’ll mind.”

“Doctor Nelson, I’m quite aware of your correspondence. She may be clever, but she’s not able to hide everything from me,” said Mother.

“Do I have your permission?” asked Doctor Nelson.

Caroline looked up at her mother. She smiled, looking extremely satisfied with herself. “As much as I hate to lose her, she does not belong to me.” She stabbed a piece of toast with her fork. “However, she’s like family to us, so you’re forbidden to hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” said Doctor Nelson.

“Let’s have a toast,” said Father, picking up his champagne glass. “To new beginnings.”

Caroline and Julius toasted one another with their glasses of milk. “Merry Christmas, Julius.” She smiled at him.

“Merry Christmas, Caroline.”

 

Chapter 4: Miller

In the days following Christmas, Miller thought of the Bennetts often, and not just when he used his telescope. Despite the pleasure the gadget gave him, it made him hate them more. It was nothing to them, this gift. Yet, to him it was the difference between wanting to live or not, from having something to look forward to or nothing but flat, dry hunger day after day. For this he hated them. To the Bennetts, it was not a dent in their wealth or their existence. They had anything and everything they wanted. This kindness was just a way for them to feel less guilty about it. People didn’t do something for others unless they were getting something for themselves at the same time. He knew this after living in the orphanage for so long. The kids lived by this rule: I’ll give you this, if you give me that.

He made it his mission to learn everything he could about Edmund Bennett. He asked Sister Catherine if he might read her discarded newspaper each day, hoping to find mentions of the Bennetts in the paper. She was delighted, for he had shown little interest in anything academic, and Sister Catherine was a kind soul who loved the children, even when they were too old to be endearing. He understood this, especially in the stark contrast to some of the others, who smacked the children’s hands with rulers for the smallest offense. Sister Catherine was the first to teach him that kindness was a weakness one could easily exploit.

The first article he saw in the paper was about Edmund Bennett opening a center for veterans of the Great War where they could visit with one another, play games, and have refreshments. Miller cut it out and pasted it in his journal. In the weeks and months to come, he continued to cut and paste several more articles. It seemed the family was always doing some good deed. He cut around the edges of the photograph carefully to make sure he captured the entire article and photograph.

That March, he saw the Bennetts again. The Sisters had taken the children out for the day, a rare treat, to have a picnic at a park, even though the weather was chilly. Miller had found a long stick and declared it a gun. Timmy found another stick, shorter and less satisfying, and they played cowboys and Indians, running and shouting, until they came upon a vendor selling peanuts and popcorn to a well‐dressed family of three. Miller stopped, his stick midair, surprised. It was the Bennett family. They stood before the cart, steam rising above their heads. Caroline was dressed in a brown coat and hat, as the sky was dark and moody, threatening a downpour. Miller shivered in his jacket with the holes in the elbows, the cold catching up to him now that he stood motionless. An insect of some kind had caught Timmy’s attention, leaving Miller alone to watch them.

The Bennetts—Edmund, Sophie, and little Caroline—out for a stroll in the park. He saw it like a headline in the newspaper, like so many he’d seen in the society section of the newspaper in recent months.

Mrs. Bennett was slender, only reaching Mr. Bennett’s shoulder in height. He could not see her face because she wore an enormous hat. Caroline pointed to a bag of peanuts right in the middle of the cart. “I want that one, please, Daddy.”

Edmund, a large man, might have been intimidating, but he was not. At least, not at this moment when he was looking down into the eyes of his ten‐year‐old daughter. “If that’s the one you want, you shall have it.” He turned to his wife. “And you, my dear? What will you have?”

His wife murmured something that made him laugh. He paid for the purchase and offered each of them his arm, and the three walked away together. They did not notice him. He was invisible.

I want that. I want what he has. I want to be him. That night he wrote in his journal. 

March 28, 1922

I saw them in the park. Caroline wanted peanuts, so she got them. I want peanuts and all the rest of it, too. So, I will marry Caroline someday. I will become like Edmund Bennett. No one can stop me.

 

Shop all Tess Thompson books

Millie the Monster was really small.

There wasn't much of her at all.

Her tiny feet and tiny toes,

and tiny ears and eyes and nose.

Meet Millie-the smallest and cutest monster in the land. Join her as she navigates her world where everyone else is larger than her!

It is the darkest time in the history of mankind, and fate is playing a twisted game.

Benjamin Rabinowitz's world is crashing down on him, a painful reality following the invasion of Poland. He is loath to let his wife and sickly son go but escaping the horrors of the Lodz ghetto seems to be their best chance at survival, albeit slim.

Will Benjamin ever see them again?

Ilsa Guhr is determined to overcome the specter of a troubled childhood. She quickly learns that she has just the tools to give her the power she desperately wants: her beauty and sexuality. As the Nazis take control of Germany, she sees an opportunity to gain everything she has ever desired.

Fate will weave a web that will bring these two unlikely people into each other's lives.

“5/5 stars. Misfits & Heroes approaches a historical confluence of human exploration and geographic configuration from the viewpoint of two ordinary people thrust into extraordinary circumstances. Rollins has created an entirely believable prehistoric world with genuine characters and exciting adventures. The text is both lyrical and stark, where required, and Rollins' style is effortless and highly engaging.“  —Janine Stinson, ForeWord Clarion Reviews

A thief offers a woman a chance at a new life by cutting her bonds, beginning a journey that will take both of them downriver and out to the coast of West Africa. The time is 12,000 BC, and war is breaking out between the villages on the coast. Frantic to escape, the two travelers join others fleeing the chaos of battle. They think they'll be safe if they head down the coast by boat, but the sea sweeps them out into a new, very different world and a destiny they couldn't have imagined.

About the Author
After receiving her Masters degree in English, Rollins taught composition and literature, including World Literature and Latin American Literature, and became fascinated by the extraordinary wealth of ancient Mesoamerican culture, which is often overlooked in history books. This research, as well as travel to ancient sites in Africa, Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras, provided the inspiration for this book. It deals with early explorers in the Western Hemisphere - amazing people who dared to leave everything they knew behind and create a new life in a new world.

 

After moving to California with her parents in 1967 and saying goodbye to her father as he leaves for Vietnam, Bets tries to settle into a small town routine. It doesn't take long before the town's most mysterious resident pushes Bets to reconsider how she feels about her mother, the war that has taken her father far away, and her own role in the events that show up in newspaper headlines and flash across her TV screen. "The characters unfold beautifully. They are complex, intriguing, and most of all, real." Sarah Milne, English teacher, Kilmer Middle School, Fairfax County, Virginia.

From New York Times bestselling author Joanne DeMaio comes Miss Moonchild Starbeam, Book 22 of The Seaside Saga.

As turmoil swirls for some in the emotional waters of Stony Point, others take to the skies. Elsa DeLuca, once known as Miss Moonchild Starbeam, is reuniting with a dear friend on a special California trip. But while Elsa has flowers in her hair, her travel companion Celia has an aching in her heart. Which is why Shane's secretly come along, too. Can the getaway offer hope and healing? Still, as the wind cries off the beautiful Bay, it whispers sadness.

And The Seaside Saga continues.

A forgotten past, an impossible wager, and a second chance.

Despite her every effort, Harriett Weston cannot forget the boy she once loved-or the day she banished him from her life forever. Trapped in a wager with her matchmaking sister, she can no longer avoid William forever. She is required to endure three meetings with him, the beginnings of a courtship that could easily undo the determination of her carefully guarded heart.

Matters are further complicated when an opportunity arises for Harriett to go to London for the upcoming season, and William's return to Brighton leaves him injured and unable to remember his past. When Harriett is credited for saving his life, William is drawn to her, believing that she can help him unravel the mysteries of his lost memory. Even his lost memories of her.

When a wicked force tries to keep them apart, can Harriett and William overcome regret, find courage, and claim a second chance at love?

Don't miss this installment in Brides of Brighton, a sweet regency romance series. Each story stands alone, but are best enjoyed when read in the order below:

A Convenient Engagement

Marrying Miss Milton

Romancing Lord Ramsbury

Miss Weston's Wager

An Unexpected Bride

“…I have read this whole series, and each book gets better. Missed was my favorite one yet. Overall, I can sum this book up in one word... AMAZING!” —Boundless Book Reviews

Return to the beloved beach town of Cliffside Bay, where USA Today bestseller Tess Thompson spins another emotional, intriguing tale about overcoming adversity and finding strength in love in this standalone story about Lisa and Rafael.

After years of struggling as a starving actor, Lisa Perry's dreams are finally coming true. Splitting her time between Los Angeles and Cliffside Bay, the young beauty has a successful television miniseries, her first movie role, and quality time with her best friends Maggie and Pepper. Everything is coming up roses until a single tragic moment changes Lisa forever.

Haunted by unshakable memories and near-crippling anxiety, Lisa must face a publicity tour full of crowds and interviews in order to move her budding career forward. And with the help of Rafael Soto, the head of security for Brody and Kara Mullen, she finally begins to relax. Though the pair are as different as night and day, something about her temporary bodyguard soothes the young actress, and soon their relationship turns from professional to passionate.

But what neither anticipates is that despite the obvious threats to a beautiful ingenue, it's actually her protector who stands in harm's way. Will Lisa and Rafael be able to face the danger awaiting him together, or are they destined to accept yet another tragedy they can't stop?

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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: Rafael

Rafael Soto had too many demanding women in his life. None of whom greeted him with a kiss after a long shift or wrapped their arms around him after one of his nightmares. The women in his life were married to rich dudes with enormous houses and fast cars. Like the America he’d served for three tours overseas, they needed him for protection, but not for love. All the hassle and none of the pleasure.

These were his thoughts as he opened the door of his old truck after a long day’s work and saw the blonde hurricane in high-heeled sandals bolt out of the Mullens’ front door. Honor Sullivan strode across the driveway toward him. He braced himself, as one should when face-to-face with a human tropical storm.

Flushed and out of breath, she stopped a few feet from him. Her giant diamond wedding ring flashed in the late-afternoon sunlight and nearly blinded him. “Hey, Rafael, you have a quick second?” She gripped a pencil. White knuckles.

He steadied himself with one hand wrapped around the door’s frame and looked into the brown eye of a hurricane. Technically, two eyes of the same hurricane. His free hand twitched at his side. Darned if hadn’t almost lifted it in a salute to his superior. Old habits died hard.

“Afternoon, Ms. Sullivan. What can I do for you?” Although they both worked for Kara and Brody Mullen, Rafael knew his place. He ran security. Honor Sullivan ran the career of former AFL quarterback Brody Mullen. Big difference.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” she said.

“I’d hope not, ma’am.” It occurred to him that Honor’s husband, Zane Shaw, was either the luckiest guy in town or the unluckiest, depending on what side of the storm he found himself.

“Kara told me the construction on the building is complete,” Honor said.

The building. Those two little words had possessed his every thought for months. His building. Six sweet apartments in a Victorian mansion that had drained every dime of his savings. The “renovation” that had chained him to the suits at the bank.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m headed there now to meet Stone and Trey,” Rafael said. “They finished the last details today.”

“Great. Here’s the thing.” Honor swept her long blond hair behind one shoulder. “Lavonne’s been living with us during the remodel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lavonne, former neighbor, was now one of his tenants.

“He’s not, you know, like other people.” Honor pushed the eraser end of the pencil with her thumb three times, like she was sending a message in Morse code. “And he really needs that apartment.”

“I understand,” he said.

Her eyes glittered, scrutinizing him. “Do you? Because he doesn’t have anywhere to go, and he can’t afford a big increase in rent.” The woman had missed her calling. He could’ve used her for interrogation purposes during one of his missions in Iraq.

“He won’t have one. Lavonne knows that.”

“He told me you asked him to move to the middle floor because you changed the first floor into two larger apartments instead of three.”

“That’s correct,” he said.

“He can’t afford a two-bedroom. The studio was all he could manage. I don’t appreciate you screwing him over.” She moved closer to him. “That’s not how we do things in Cliffside Bay.”

He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. No taller than five feet and a few inches, she was like a jelly bean snake can. The minute you twisted off the lid, a plastic snake jumped out and hit you in the eye.

“Ms. Sullivan, I’m not sure where you got your information. I told Lavonne he could have the two-bedroom on the second floor for the same rent he paid for the studio.”

“He told me that’s what you said, but I couldn’t believe it. Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m not in the business of kicking tenants out on the street. Especially Lavonne, whom I consider a friend. That’s not how I do things, regardless of where I live.”

“How will you pay for all the renovations if you don’t raise the rent?” She pointed the pencil at him. For a moment he was back in Sister Rosemary’s seventh-grade English class. “That’s not smart business.”

“I’m not a smart guy.”

She flushed a deeper pink and lifted her chin slightly. “I didn’t say that.”

“No offense taken. I’m not a business guy,” Rafael said. “I didn’t buy the building to make money or even as an investment. I bought the building so my mother and her friend Ria and Lavonne and I could have a safe and beautiful place to live.”

“I don’t understand. Buying an apartment building without the intention of making money is ridiculous.” She stuck the pencil behind one ear.

“Maybe to you. But I’m a soldier. I protect my own. Lavonne’s my friend. I didn’t want him living in that damp, awful studio one minute longer. I aim to get my mother out of a neighborhood infested with gang activity. I’m knee-deep in debt because of it. But what’re you going to do? That’s as good as a guy like me can expect.”

She played with the diamond tennis bracelet around her wrist. “I didn’t believe Lavonne. He told me you guys were friends and that you would never let him down. I thought he was confused. I couldn’t imagine you saying that.”

He winced. What did that mean? “Why?”

“Because of the way you look. Okay, that sounds terrible, but you’re all Navy SEAL-ish and cop-like—you have eyes like scanning devices. And I’ve never seen your teeth.”

“My teeth?”

“You never smile.”

“I smile.” More now that he had veneers. Thanks to his job with the Mullens he’d been able to afford them. For years he’d perfected a tight-lipped smile to hide his gray teeth, damaged from the acne medicine he’d taken as a teenager.

“No, you don’t. You’re this dead-serious, stealthy guy in the background, like a black panther. I couldn’t imagine you having the patience for Lavonne.”

“Patience? Why would I need patience?”

“He’s like a child. Simple. You two couldn’t be more different. You’re a hero and stuff. Lavonne’s my nanny, although sometimes I think Jubie takes care of him and not the other way around.”

“We may seem different, but I’m an outsider. Like him.”

“He doesn’t always understand things, so I thought maybe he was confused.” She continued to look at him as though he was a criminal. Talk about eyes that scanned everything. Took one to know one.

“I understand why you would be concerned,” Rafael said. Lavonne did think slower than some. Sure, he wasn’t going to win any academic contests anytime soon. Exploitative assholes would take advantage of him if they could. However, Lavonne was more emotionally intelligent than most men, Rafael included. “Lavonne gets things on a different level than some guys. He’s all intuition. He knows when someone’s his friend. He says you taught him that.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He told me about the time you were both living with the same foster family and how you looked after him. He told me what you did for Jubie. Taking her in, I mean.” Honor and Zane had adopted Jubie when she was six years old.

“She’s our daughter as much as our baby boy,” Honor said. “From the beginning, we knew she belonged with us.” “She’s an awesome kid. Before we had to move out for the renovations, Jubie and Lavonne came up to hang out quite often.”

Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. “You’ve spent time with Lavonne and Jubie? Like real friends? Just like he said?”

“Jubie likes to look at my military medals.”

“That sounds like her,” Honor said.

“You don’t have to worry about Lavonne as long as he’s living in my building.” Rafael shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?”

Still with the suspicion.

“Yeah. Friends. We watch sports or hang out. We’re both new to town. It’s hard to meet people here. Everyone already has friends and doesn’t seem interested in more.”

“Are you talking about my husband and his friends?” Honor asked. “Are they unfriendly?”

“I’m the hired help, Ms. Sullivan. I don’t expect an invite to one of their poker games.”

“The Mullens don’t think of you as hired help.” Honor tilted her head to the side. “As far as the poker games go, he and the Dogs go way back. You know how men are.”

“Men can only handle so many friends,” he said.

“Something like that.”

“Anyway, you can rest easy about Lavonne. I’ve got his back.”

“You don’t give him beer, do you? He shouldn’t drink. It would be like giving alcohol to a child.” She played with the necklace around her neck.

“I’m not his babysitter. I’m his friend. That said, he’s never asked for a beer. I keep the fridge stocked with root beer just for him.”

She sighed and took a step back, her brown eyes calm after the storm. “Fine, then. I was wrong. I thought he was confused. I’m sorry if I insulted you. Sometimes I’m bossy and bullheaded. My husband’s quick to point it out.”

“It’s no problem. I understand looking out for the people you love.”

“I’m glad you’re Lavonne’s friend. I didn’t realize…the kind of guy you are.” She gazed up at the clear sky for a moment before looking back at him. “Your mother’s moving here?”

“That’s the plan. If I can talk her into it. She’s stubborn and independent, so it’ll be a fight.”

“Sounds like me.”

He nodded as he got into his truck. “Not a thing wrong with either one of you. Have a nice night, Ms. Sullivan.”

“It’s Mrs. Shaw now.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you took his name.” She didn’t seem the type. Maybe he had her pegged wrong, too.

“I’m still getting used to it myself.” Honor took the pencil from behind her ear and grinned. “Mrs. Shaw, wife and mother.”

“Good night, Mrs. Shaw.”

“Good night.” She turned in her high-heeled sandals and strode across the driveway and into the Mullens’ house.

“Hurricane,” he said under his breath as he turned on the engine. If I’d wanted to mess with Lavonne, I certainly wouldn’t now.

Not that he would have. He didn’t have much to claim as his own, but he had his integrity and his loyalty. Without those qualities, what kind of man would he be? Not the one his mama raised.

He was about to take off when Kara came running across the driveway.

Rafael rolled down the window. “Everything all right?”

Dressed in shorts, tank, and tennis shoes, she squinted into the light. “Yes, yes, everything’s fine. Brody’s plane’s been delayed. I didn’t want Michael to worry when he didn’t show up later.” In stark contrast to Honor, Kara Mullen was tall with an Italian complexion. As nurturing and even-tempered as anyone he’d ever known, it was not much of a stretch to imagine why she’d become a nurse.

“I’ll let him know on my way out,” he said.

“Thanks. Are you headed to the apartments?”

“Yes. The guys are waiting for me. We’re celebrating.”

“I can remember like it was yesterday the first night I stayed in that place,” Kara said with a shiver. “It was so cold and damp. I’d never felt more alone in my life. Now no one will ever have to suffer through another cold night in that place.”

“Stone and Trey have done a phenomenal job.” Between Stone’s contractor work and Trey’s interior design, the place had transformed from depressing to airy, beachy rooms filled with light.

“I’m so happy for you,” Kara said.

“I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay at Flora and Dax’s place these last few months.” Flora, the Mullens’ longtime housekeeper and her husband, Dax, lived in Oregon for part of the year, leaving their home empty. He’d been thrilled to stay there during the renovations.

“They were happy to do it for you. You’ve done so much for our family.”

He ducked his head, embarrassed. “Just doing my job.”

“You know it’s more than that to us,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When I was over at Kyle and Violet’s the other day, Stone mentioned the renovations cost a lot more than you thought they would.”

He scratched his neck. “Yeah, I’m now beholden to the suits for the rest of my life.”

“I know you wanted a place for your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am. Worth every penny,” he said.

She flushed and shuffled her feet, then looked down at her hands. “Discussing money is so awkward. We want to give you a bonus. You’ve been beyond good to me. Trust me, having good security is life-and-death to me.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This should help with the renovations. It’s a small token of our appreciation.”

He stared at the envelope. “This isn’t necessary.”

“It is to me. Open it later.” She patted the window frame and backed up a few feet. “You go have fun. Say hi to the guys for me.”

He watched her sprint across the driveway and disappear into her house. Unsure how to react, he tossed the envelope onto the seat. He’d look later and decide whether it was a bonus or  charity.

He drove out of the driveway, the Mullens’ palatial house in his rearview mirror.

***

Minutes later, Rafael arrived at his albatross. Located on the main street of town, the run-down Victorian mansion had long ago been turned into apartments. Now it finally fit in with the rest of the quaint, scenic town. With Stone’s help, he’d chosen a soft shade of gray for the exterior, and white for the trim and wraparound porch. He loved that stupid porch more than he should. There was just something about a porch that screamed family and friends. He’d already imagined his mother, Ria, Stone, Trey, and Lavonne gathered on a warm summer day for a barbecue. Against his better judgment, he’d sprung for a nice grill that was now tucked into the corner of the porch waiting for a few steaks.

Rafael Soto from Oakland owned a Victorian. Go figure. Life was nothing if not full of surprises.

The property was big enough for a small parking lot behind the house. Rafael took the spot between Stone’s truck and Trey’s vintage sports car. The vehicles were like the men themselves. Stone was a massive workhorse of a man, whereas Trey was compact and fast, both in mind and body.

He found them inside one of the first-floor apartments, leaning against the kitchen counter with beers in their hands.

“Hey, man,” Stone said as he reached into a small cooler and pulled out one of the IPAs from Zane Shaw’s local brewery. “We’re celebrating.” He tossed the bottle to Rafael, who caught it with one hand.

“It’s official. Operation Save Mama is complete.” Trey’s aqua-blue eyes seemed to dance as his mouth lifted in a slight smile.

“It’s surreal, I’ve got to admit.” Rafael screwed the top off his beer, then took a long swig. “God, I love the smell in here.” The scent of mildew had been replaced by the aroma of fresh paint and stained wood.

Rafael stomped his feet. Solid. Floors no longer creaked. Stairs were now sturdy.

“What do you think? Will this do for your mama?” Stone’s chiseled, almost hard features could scare anyone with a pointed look in their direction. Until he opened his mouth and it became obvious that he was a giant man with a giant heart.

“Do you think she’ll love it as much as we do?” Trey asked.

“Dude, you guys killed it. She’s going to love every inch,” Rafael said. They’d gone high-end with the cabinets and countertops in all the apartments. To give it a beachy feel, Trey had chosen white cabinets and light granite countertops, but dark floors. Light green paint on the walls looked anywhere between beige and white, depending on the time of day.

Two years ago, when he moved to Cliffside Bay for the job with the Mullens, Rafael figured his chances of finding anything to buy unlikely. Real estate in the sleepy seaside community rarely came on the market. The few available properties were way out of his price range. He’d given up his dream of owning his own home and moved into the damp and cold apartment on the top floor of the old Victorian.

When Old Man Cooper, as he was known in the community, had announced he’d like to sell the building, Rafael had gone to him with an offer. To his surprise, Cooper had a soft spot for veterans. With twenty percent down, he’d taken a loan for the rest, and the building was his. After inspection.

During inspection, they found as many problems as the Victorian was years old—rotting floorboards, plumbing problems, and electrical issues. The building was deemed unsafe for tenants without a major rebuild. Everything would have to be gutted and replaced. Knowing that additional financial debt was inevitable, and he’d have to live frugally, he’d gone forward with the deal. The debt didn’t matter. Now he had a place for Mama and Ria. Finally, he would get them out of the old neighborhood.

Stone took his baseball cap off and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, then put it back on again. “We want the other third-floor apartment.”

“You two?” Rafael asked. “Sure.” The apartments on the second and third floors were two bedrooms. One of the second-story places was slotted for Lavonne. Rafael had the top-floor apartment with the ocean view, but the other one was still available. “That just leaves one empty on the second floor.”

“We decided we could afford it if we rented it together,” Trey said.

“I can’t live in that RV for another winter,” Stone said.

“And neither of us can afford a house right now,” Trey said.

“Plus, we need a place to entertain the ladies,” Stone said.

“What ladies?” Trey laughed. “It’s not like college. That was like shooting fish in a barrel.” He took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a cloth from his pocket. Although often in slacks and a jacket when he met with his fancy clients, Trey was dressed casually today in trendy jeans, a perfectly cut button-down shirt the same color as his eyes, and tan loafers Rafael wouldn’t be caught wearing, dead or alive.

“Rafael and I didn’t go to college. We were too busy defending our country,” Stone said as he tossed a bottle cap at him.

“Sorry,” Trey mumbled.

“I’m just messing with you,” Stone said. “My ego is plenty big enough without having gone to college.”

“Huge,” Rafael said.

“But let’s face it. We’re on some serious loser streaks when it comes to women,” Stone said.

“It’s because we’re broke,” Trey said.

“True,” Rafael said.

“Girls like dudes with money,” Stone said. “If you’re ugly, then you better be rich.”

“Which means you’re screwed,” Trey said.

Stone put everything he made back into his business and lived in an RV on his brother Kyle’s property. Despite his sophisticated, arty vibe, which women seemed to love, Trey didn’t stand a chance. An interior designer who had lost most of his money to his ex-wife and lived in the basement of an old lady’s house wasn’t exactly marriage material.

And what about him? He had a scar from a bullet in his shoulder and a scar on his soul from the moment in Iraq that he could never take back. No amount of wishing could make either of them disappear.

“I forgot to tell you. Lisa Perry asked about you the other day,” Stone said to Rafael.

“What? When?” Rafael asked.

“I was over at Maggie’s, installing a new shelf in the baby’s room, and Lisa happened by,” Stone said. “She was like, ‘Hey, how’s Rafael? I haven’t seen him around all summer.’” His voice went up in a terrible attempt at imitating beautiful, sweet Lisa Perry.

“You’re lying to me,” Rafael said.

“Swear on my life,” Stone said.

“Lisa’s the blonde one, right?” Trey asked as he put his glasses back on.

“The blonde one?” Rafael asked. “That’s how you describe her? She’s like an angel inhabiting the earth. Seriously, she’s the most beautiful woman ever born, not to mention sweet and kind.” He’d been walking past the church in town when she’d come out with Maggie and Jackson. At the sight of her, he’d stumbled on the sidewalk like a total dork. “Have you seen that show she’s in? Indigo Road?”

“Yeah, Violet made me watch it with her,” Stone said. “I did not cry at that one part, no matter who tells you differently.”

“How come you haven’t asked her out?” Trey asked. “I mean, given that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and everything?”

“Lisa Perry doesn’t go for a guy like me,” Rafael said. “She belongs with a guy like Mullen.”

Stone tipped his hat. “True enough. Or rich guys like my brother and the rest of his friends.”

“What do they call themselves again?” Trey asked.

“The Dogs.” Stone rolled his eyes. “My brother thought of it. Which is embarrassing.”

“The Dogs. Rich, good-looking, successful. Gorgeous, smart wives,” Trey said with a mournful sigh. “Those guys have it made. We’re more like the mangy wolves of Cliffside Bay.”

Rafael laughed. “The Mangy Wolves. Perfect.”

“Wolves can be sexy,” Stone said. “We’re bad boys, right?”

“Rafael yes,” Trey said. “You? Not unless teddy bears are bad.”

“I’ll have you know I used to beat the crap out of anyone who even nodded sideways at my brother or Autumn,” Stone said. “And I was a marine, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“Other than your thick neck, it’s hard to imagine.” Trey gave him a good-natured shove.

“God’s honest truth, though,” Stone said. “I wish I could get somewhere with that sassy Pepper, but she hates my guts. I have no idea what I did.”

“You probably put your big foot in your mouth,” Trey said.

“In an attempt to be funny,” Rafael added.

“You two are going to make me cry.” Stone stuck his lip out and pretended to wipe his eyes.

“We may be total losers when it comes to women, and we’re dead broke—and you two are ugly—but we did good when it comes to this building.” Rafael turned to look around the apartment once more, admiring the gleaming chrome appliances. “Joking aside, I can’t thank you enough for making this place world-class.”

Stone grinned and hopped down from the counter. “Come on, we’ve got a surprise for you up in your apartment.”

“I don’t like surprises.” Rafael grimaced. Knowing Trey, he’d taken it upon himself to install some antique bathtub he’d had shipped from Italy.

“You’ll like this one,” Stone said as he grabbed the cooler of beer.

“I wish I had a little money left over to decorate,” Rafael said as he followed the guys out of the apartment. “My old crappy furniture is going to look even older and crappier now.”

“Yeah, but this is yours, man,” Stone said.

“No one can take that away from you,” Trey said. “Unless you get married and your wife takes everything you own.”

“Dude, we’ve got to get you laid,” Stone said. “Your bitterness is starting to stink up the place.”

They walked up the wide stairway that led to the third floor. When they arrived at Rafael’s new apartment, Trey opened the door and stood aside. “Go on in.”

Rafael gasped and froze in the entryway. “What the hell?” The main room was fully decorated. “It’s incredible.” Black and gray furniture with splashes of cobalt blue in pillows and lamps gave it a masculine feel but not overly so. “But how? I mean, all this stuff must have cost so much money. I don’t get it.”

“Kara Mullen,” Trey said. “She called me last month and said she wanted to pay for the entire apartment to be decorated.”

“But how did you know what I liked?” Rafael asked.

“I had to take some guesses from the photos you’d pinned on your Pinterest board,” Trey said.

Rafael went hot. “You know I have a Pinterest board?”

“It took a little digging, but I found it, Latinlover83,” Trey said with a laugh.

“Latinlover83? No way.” Stone doubled over with laughter.

“Okay now, calm down,” Rafael said. “I was collecting photos for when I could afford to decorate.”

“How’d I do?” Trey asked. “It was rough doing it without input.”

“You did great, man. Seriously.” The dark gray accent wall and white trim had been in one of the photos on his board. Abstract prints in soothing blues and greens that reminded Rafael of the landscape of Cliffside Bay hung on the walls. His medals were now in a glass display case on a bookshelf behind the couch.

Rafael walked over to the black stone gas fireplace. A framed photograph of his mama and him as well as an arrangement of seashells decorated the mantel.

“Your mom sent the photo,” Trey said. “She said you might like it for your mantel, so I got it framed.”

Rafael ran his finger over the bumpy pattern etched in the wooden frame. Mama smiled back at him, her narrow shoulders thrown back like she was the queen of everything. She was the queen. To him, anyway. He set the photo back on the mantel and turned to his friends.

“Check out the view,” Stone said.

“That’s the only part I expected,” Rafael said.

Trey pointed to the off-white waffle shades that hung from the windows. “I chose something simple. When these are down, you’ll still get some light, but they’ll keep out the harsh afternoon sun.”

In a daze, Rafael ambled over to the bay windows that faced out to the sea. They’d had to comply with height restrictions, but the view from this floor skirted above town and looked out to the long stretch of public beach at the end of Main Street. Today, umbrellas in every color populated the beach from one end to the other. Kids played in the sand; surfers rode waves; a long line of tourists waited in front of a food truck parked in the dirt lot above the beach. He sighed with pleasure.

“Come see the kitchen,” Trey said.

He followed his friend. The cabinets and granite were the same as the other apartments, but Trey had added a teal sea-glass backsplash. Vases and bowls in the same soft color adorned a shelf in the corner. “I’m going to have to learn to cook.”

He placed both hands on the distressed wood of the dark-chocolate-colored rectangular table. Like an upscale picnic table, long benches took the place of chairs. Three large pendant lights in the same sea-glass shade hung over the table.

“In case you ever have people over for dinner,” Trey said. “Kara’s idea.”

“We can have dinner parties like grown-ups,” Stone said.

“The three of us sitting around this table is just sad,” Rafael said with a laugh.

They went to the bedroom next. Trey had chosen soothing blues and distressed mahogany furniture. There was a partial view of the ocean from the west-facing wall. The other window looked out to the houses that crawled up the hillside. Directly below, tourists dressed in shorts and tanks strolled by with ice cream cones in their hands.

“This is really mine?” Rafael asked as he turned to look at his friends.

“It’s yours, man.” Stone raised one of his monster arms, biceps bulging, and tipped his beer bottle toward Rafael. “Hell of a lot better than our cots in the military, huh?”

Rafael raised his bottle. “Thanks for this. It’s more than I expected. More than I deserve.”

“Come on, let’s get another beer and enjoy your living room,” Trey said.

When they all had new beverages, Stone set his beer on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch with his arms folded over his massive chest. “I have something I want to run by you guys. Have a seat.”

Rafael and Trey sat in the armchairs across from Stone. “What’s up?” Trey asked. “You look serious.”

“What do you guys think about going into business together?” Stone asked.

“How do you mean?” Rafael asked.

“Do what we did with this one. Buy a building or house, clean it up, and either rent it out or flip it,” Stone said.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Rafael said. “For you two. You’re the ones with the talent. Plus, every dime I had I put into this place.”

“We could take out loans. Veteran loans,” Stone said. “My brother said he’d lend me some money if we wanted to get started. And he’s here if we need advice.”

Kyle was a commercial real estate developer. If anyone could help, it would be him.

“As far as what your part would be, you’re the most anal, organized, money-tracking bastard I’ve ever met,” Stone said to Rafael. “You could run the business and find us places to buy and flip.”

“My best friend from college is a landscape architect.” Trey’s eyes lit up as the idea seemed to take hold of him. “Nico might be interested in joining us. He’s working for a jerk down in San Diego right now. He’s coming up in a few weeks. We could talk to him about it then.”

“A fourth partner would be good. Less risk,” Stone said.

“Less reward, but I get what you’re saying,” Rafael said. “I’d have to keep my day job, though. At least until we started making a profit.”

“Would we need an architect?” Trey asked.

“We can hire that out if we need one,” Stone said.

“I’ll think about it,” Rafael said. He reached into his pocket for the envelope Kara had given him. Now that he saw what she’d done, he felt even less like cashing it. However, if he used it more like a loan for the business, he could possibly pay them back.

“Like seriously think or like blowing me off because you don’t want to hurt my feelings?” Stone asked.

“The first one,” Rafael said.

“We could be Wolf Construction,” Trey said.

“Wolf Enterprises. That sounds fancier,” Stone said.

“It has a nice ring to it,” Rafael said.

Stone raised his beer. “To the future.”

“To the future,” Rafael and Trey repeated.

A knock on the door drew their attention away from their toast. Who could that be?

“You expecting someone?” Stone asked as he crossed the room in three long strides and opened the door.

Lisa Perry and Pepper Griffin stood in the doorway.

Rafael’s stomach did a somersault as he rose to his feet. Even dressed in cutoff jeans and a tank top that hugged her slender waist, Lisa was otherworldly beautiful with her alabaster skin, white-blond hair, and ice-blue eyes.

“Um, yeah, come on in,” Rafael said, finally.

“Hello, boys.” Pepper Griffin was petite and skinny with white skin and black hair cut to chin level. He wouldn’t describe her as classically pretty, more striking, with dark eyes that seemed to take up too much of her face.

“What’re you girls up to?” Stone took his hat off and held it in front of him like a kid, obviously flustered in the presence of Pepper. The poor sap had it bad.

“We were at the bookstore and saw Stone’s truck.” Lisa crossed over and gave him a quick hug. They were on hugging terms? When had that happened? Stone lived on his brother’s property, which was next door to Jackson and Maggie’s place. Maybe they’d spent time together over the summer. He knew Lisa had been staying there for a few weeks at least.

“Come in. Have a seat,” Rafael said.

Lisa sat on the couch, but Pepper moved about the room, seeming to inspect every square foot. Stone watched her as he leaned against the mantel and drank his beer.

“We’re sorry to come by uninvited,” Lisa said. “This apartment is gorgeous.”

“Kara Mullen surprised me and hired Trey to decorate it,” Rafael said.

Lisa’s dainty hands clasped together. “Really? That’s so sweet.”

“Supersweet,” Pepper said. “Trey, it looks amazing.”

“Appreciate it,” Trey said.

“The Mullens must love you,” Lisa said to Rafael.

“They’re mega rich,” Pepper said. “This is nothing to them. That’s how rich people exploit the working man. They do something like this and their employee stays with them forever, even if you pay them like crap.”

“Pepper, how gauche.” Lisa shot Rafael a sheepish smile. “I can’t take her anywhere.”

“They’re very good to me,” Rafael said. Pepper was like her name. A little bit went a long way. “Trey decorated the entire apartment without any input from me. He totally nailed it.”

“He had Rafael’s Pinterest board for a reference point,” Stone said.

Note to self: Kill Stone in his sleep.

“I love Pinterest.” Lisa smiled at him, and his heart grew. “I’ll follow you.” The whole world fell away for a moment as they stared at each other.

“Maybe you two can exchange recipes,” Stone said.

“Or I could just cook something for you,” Lisa said to Rafael.

“I have a lot of favorite recipes.”

Cook something for you.

Lisa turned her attention to Trey. “Someday I’m going to have a house and I want you to decorate it. You did such a good job with Maggie’s home.” A hint of wistfulness touched her voice. “I’m in love with every room.”

“And Maggie’s baby.” Pepper perched on the edge of the ottoman.

Lisa colored. “I have baby lust, it’s true.”

Baby lust. Could she be any more adorable?

“I built everything in here with my sweat, blood, and tears.” Stone held up his giant hands. “With my bare hands.”

Lisa smiled at Stone. “You big baby. You’re wonderful, too.”

“Thank you. I feel better now,” Stone said, grinning. “Calluses are sexy, right, Pepper?”

Pepper lifted a haughty chin and shot darts from her eyes aimed right at Stone’s chest. “If you like dead skin, sure.”

Stone laughed and winked at her. Pepper turned away, focusing her attention on the bowl of seashells on the table.

Lisa pointed at the cooler. “Are you having a party and didn’t invite us?”

“Worker bee party,” Stone said.

“We finished the renovations and got this place decorated. We’re celebrating,” Trey said.

“Would you ladies like anything? We only have beer,” Rafael asked, remembering his manners.

Lisa nodded. “We’d love one.”

“We’re never one to turn down adult beverages,” Pepper said.

“And we’re celebrating too,” Lisa said. “Pepper’s been offered a movie role.”

“That’s great,” Trey said.

Pepper shrugged her narrow shoulders and tossed her black curls. “It’s a horror film. I’m dead by the end of the first act.”

“Her character just has to look in that closet.” Lisa’s eyes danced as she took a beer from Stone.

“I’ll get my own,” Pepper said when Stone reached back into the cooler.

He grabbed a beer and held it out to Pepper with a saucy grin. “No. You’re our guest. I insist.”

Pepper smirked and took it from him. “Yes, sir.”

Okay now. He wasn’t sure what was going on there, other than five thousand sexual sparks and a major attitude from Miss Pepper.

Stone settled back into the couch, returning the smirk.

“What brings you by, anyway?” Rafael asked.

“We’ve come about an apartment,” Lisa said. “Is there one available?”

Rafael almost choked on his beer. Lisa Perry, living in his building? “Just one. It’s a two-bedroom on the second floor.”

Lisa’s face lit up. “That’s perfect. We want a place to share.”

“We’ll be in and out because of our work,” Pepper said. “But we want an apartment in Cliffside Bay to be by Maggie.”

“I hate living alone,” Lisa said. “So Pepper’s agreed to put up with me.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Until this movie role I was so broke she took pity on me and offered to pay for a place.”

“Stop it. That’s not true,” Lisa said, with a shy duck of her chin.

“Lisa Perry is about to become a huge star,” Pepper said.

“Did you hear about Raven yet?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Rafael knew everything about Lisa Perry that was possible to know without having said more than a half dozen words to her. Unlike some, information about Lisa was easy to find. She was an actress with a recent hit series as the main character on a period piece called Indigo Road that aired on HBO. He’d watched every episode. Twice. Next week, her first feature film came out. According to what he read on the internet, she was about to become the next big thing.

“Pepper’s going to jinx me,” Lisa said. “She tells everyone we meet.”

“It couldn’t happen to a sweeter girl,” Stone said. “I’m happy for you.”

“She’s not a girl,” Pepper said. “Why do guys like you always call women girls?”

Stone raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”

“Well, you should think before you talk,” Pepper said.

“Yes ma’am.” Stone saluted her. “A guy like me will take that under advisement.”

Pepper’s eyes flew open even wider.

“Why do girls like you always call us guys?” Stone asked.

“It’s very offensive. We’re grown men.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a jackass,” Pepper said.

“A guy like me or a jackass? Which is it?” Stone asked.

“You know what—” Pepper said, before Lisa interrupted her.

“Pepper, give it a rest.” Lisa put her hand on her arm. “Maybe we could see the apartment now?”

“Sure, yeah,” Rafael said. The thought of Lisa Perry living downstairs from him made him light-headed. Not like it would give him more of a chance with her. Frankly, it was probably the perfect recipe for misery. She’d have men over and he’d see every one of the bastards leave from his building having spent the night with an angel.

He left the guys with their beers and took the ladies down the stairs to the second floor. The two apartments were mirror images of each other. One had a peekaboo view of the ocean. The other faced east and would have beautiful views of the sunrise over the mountains. Since Lavonne had already chosen the ocean view, he opened the door of the other apartment.

Lisa squealed and did this cute bouncy thing on her feet. “Rafael, it’s gorgeous. You guys did an amazing job.”

Pepper was at the window. “We’ll see the sun rise.”

They’d gone with an open-floor concept in the first- and second-floor apartments, with the kitchen and great room one big room. Trey had assured him that it would be the best use of space and light. He’d agreed, knowing nothing about either.

The ladies loved the bedrooms and complimented the bathroom for being spacious.

“Pepper’s a total slob,” Lisa said.

“I am not.” Pepper smacked her playfully on the shoulder.

“Who’s living directly above us?” Lisa asked. “Are they noisy?”

Neither of the other guys had said a word about the other apartment belonging to them. Instinct told him to keep quiet for now.

“Not that I know of,” he said.

“When can we move in?” Lisa asked.

“Don’t you want to know the rent?” he asked.

Lisa smacked her forehead. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I forgot to ask.”

He kept his voice steady, embarrassed by the amount. “Two thousand. Includes utilities.”

“Great,” Lisa said. “We’ll take it.”

“Come on. I’ll get your set of keys.”

Chapter 2: Lisa

Lisa woke the next morning in the guest room at Maggie’s house and reached for her phone. Using the bank app, she pulled up her savings account. She stared at the beautiful seven-figure sum and grinned. Soon, she would invest most of it, but for now she liked to remember how far she’d come.

Her manager, Sasha, had negotiated a good deal for a relatively unknown actress. The director had wanted her after seeing Indigo Road. If she was smart and invested conservatively, she could make it stretch over the rest of her life. She might not get another acting job. It was possible. Raven could be a flop. They could change their minds about a second season of Indigo Road. One never knew. For now, she was content knowing she would never have to take another cocktail waitressing job or search for coins in the cushions of the couch.

In a few days, she would leave for weeks of promotional activities, including the premier of Raven. As part of her contract, she was to appear on a variety of talk shows. Her reward would be to come home to a cute apartment where she would have a few months to relax before heading north to film the new season of Indigo Road.

After they left Rafael yesterday evening, she’d texted Trey to see if he could decorate the apartment for them while she was away. He’d agreed to have it ready for them when she returned at the end of August.

She showered and headed downstairs. Maggie and Jackson would have been up for at least an hour. Lily woke early and liked to have her breakfast after a good snuggle with Mommy. Jackson would already be at the office. As the primary doctor of Cliffside Bay, he probably had a slew of patients waiting.

The house smelled of coffee and cinnamon. A freshly baked breakfast cake was cooling on the counter. Lisa took a big sniff but made a piece of dry toast instead. Standing at the sink, she ate her piece of toast and watched the sparrows play in the birdbath. She loved these beautiful creatures, so delicate and graceful, yet strong enough to soar across the yard.

Her thoughts turned to Rafael Soto. During the weeks she’d been at Maggie’s this summer, he hadn’t appeared at any of the parties or nights out at the brewery. She hadn’t asked anyone about him, not wanting to give herself away. Yesterday, she’d thought about taking him aside and asking him to dinner, but she was too shy. She couldn’t tell if he liked her. He was so reserved it was impossible to make a guess either way. Stupidly, she’d asked Stone Hickman about him. The answer was noncommittal. “He’s fine. We’ve been too busy with the renovation to do much but work.”

She followed the sound of Maggie’s music into the living room. Maggie was on the couch with her guitar in hand. Music sheets were spread across the coffee table. Lily played on the floor with blocks. Pepper lounged in the chaise in the corner of the room, reading the book she’d bought yesterday. Neither of the grown-ups did much in the way of greeting, other than a grunt from Pepper and a headshake by Maggie. The little one, however, let out a joyful shriek and flung herself into Lisa’s arms.

“Hello, love.” Lisa sat on the floor with her back against the couch and brought Lily onto her lap. She kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of those red curls. She was a beautiful child, with white skin and red hair like her mother. She looked like Maggie, except for her blue eyes. Those were all Jackson.

“Sasaw,” Lily said as she snuggled into her chest. This was her nickname. Lisa turned to Sasaw.

Pepper sneezed. “I think I’m getting sick.” She didn’t seem to require a response, as she didn’t even look up from her book.

The three of them knew one another so well, there was really no need for talking. It could have been their apartment in New York except for the luxurious furnishings, the enormous house, and the most beautiful blue-eyed one-year-old on the planet.

Although she and Pepper adored staying at the house, it wasn’t fair to Jackson that they were always here. He never said anything, other than how much he loved Lisa’s cooking and appreciated Pepper’s insistence on doing the dishes. However, Lisa knew they needed to be alone in their nest without Pepper and Lisa mooching around. She’d been thrilled when Kara mentioned Rafael’s apartment building. The fact that Rafael owned it had nothing to do with why she wanted to rent the place. Right? Wrong. Fine. He was icing on an otherwise delicious cake. Who was she kidding? Rafael Soto was the best icing on the best cake ever made.

The plan was to live part-time here and part-time in Los Angeles, as needed. She and Pepper didn’t have a place in LA, but they’d agreed to discuss that after Pepper returned from British Columbia, where she was shooting the horror film.

She stretched and smiled as she gazed at the copper head against her chest. Morning sun softened the room. Outside the French doors, red flowers climbed a trellis. On the other side of the stone patio, the swimming pool was a deep blue. Life was different here in the land of sea and sunshine. The moment Lisa and Pepper arrived in California, their lives had fallen into place. At long last, it seemed their dues had been paid, and the lives they’d dreamed of were unfolding before them.

Maggie had reconnected with her childhood sweetheart, and now they had a beautiful home and a precious daughter. After a hit debut folk/rock album, Maggie was going on a short concert tour.

Life was good and about to get better.

Pepper sneezed again. “I’m definitely getting sick.”

“Don’t give it to the baby,” Maggie said.

“We have the concert tomorrow,” Lisa said. “You can’t get sick.” She and Pepper were heading north to a country music festival before they had to ship off to their destinations.

She startled when the doorbell rang. Maggie didn’t look up from her guitar, nor Pepper from her book. “Come on, Lily, let’s go see who it is.” With the baby on her hip, she traipsed down the hall to the front door. She tried to open it, but realized the lock was latched. Jackson always locked the door after he left in the morning.

She unlocked the door and yanked it open.

Rafael Soto.

Goodness, the man was hot in a T-shirt. He also wore cargo shorts and those sports sandals that were so popular out here. A manila envelope dangled from his right hand. Her name was written in even handwriting across the top. She was always impressed by how tidy he appeared: closely cropped hair, trimmed and clean fingernails, freshly shaven. A precise man. One who wasted no energy on false moves. She wondered if he’d take those same skills into the bedroom.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hi,” Lily said, loud and clear, then waved. They joked that Lily waved like a pageant girl.

“Is this Lily?” Rafael asked. “She’s gotten so big.”

“She just had her first birthday, and she’s walking.”

“Is that early?” he asked.

“Um. No, not early. Right on time.”

“I’m sorry to bother you but I forgot to give you the paperwork to fill out.” He held up the envelope. “It’s a few legal documents to fill out.”

The morning sun was causing her to squint. “Come in, please.”

He grimaced and scratched behind his ear. “No, I can just give them to you and be on my way. You can drop them by later, or I can come back out to get them.”

“Please, come in. Lily and I are just hanging out. I have coffee cake.”

His dark brown eyes darted to his truck as if he wanted to escape. “I do like coffee cake.”

She moved aside so he could step past her.

“It smells good in here,” he said.

“This house always smells good. It’s because a family lives here.”

She avoided the living room and went straight into the kitchen. “Sit. Would you care for coffee?”

“Only if it’s already made.” He placed the envelope on the island and sat on one of the stools.

“You want cake too, Lily?”

Lily smiled and nodded her head with more enthusiasm than was necessary. “Yes. Cake.”

“She likes cake as much as I do,” Rafael said.

“She has limited experience of the world, but I’d have to say cake is her very favorite thing.”

“Cake,” Lily said.

Lisa set Lily in her high chair and latched the seat belt. She put the baby’s tray in place, then turned to get a coffee cup.

“You must have a lot of experience with babies,” Rafael said.

“A little. My twin brother has two. My niece is a little older than Lily. My nephew, Oliver, is almost four.” She poured coffee into a mug. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Just a little cream.”

She set a small pitcher in front of him.

“Fancy,” he said.

“Maggie keeps it in the fridge,” Lisa said. This house was all about the coffee.

Lily thumped her tray table and yelled cake three times in a row.

Lisa laughed as she cut a small piece for the baby and set it on the tray. Lily stuffed the entire thing in her mouth.

“She’ll need a bath later,” Lisa said.

“Is Maggie out?” he asked.

“No, she’s in the living room. She’s working on a new song. When she’s like that, I watch the baby so she can work. She gets laser focused.” Lisa cut a large square piece and set it on a plate, then slid it over to him. “Would you like a fork?”

“Yes, please.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “If I was alone, I’d just stuff the whole thing in my mouth like my friend Lily.”

Lisa warmed at the sight of his smile and handed him a fork. “You should smile more. You have a beautiful one.”

He cut into the cake with his fork. “You’re the second person in two days to say that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Honor Shaw pointed it out yesterday when she was threatening me with a sharp pencil.”

Lisa laughed. “Honor is like Hermia. ‘And though she be but little, she is fierce.’”

He looked at her blankly. “Hermia?”

“Shakespeare. Midsummer Night’s Dream. Never mind. Theater geek joke.”

“I don’t know much about Shakespeare.”

She flushed. Why had she said that? It had obviously made him feel bad. So thoughtless. No wonder she could never find a good man.

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say,” she said. “Most people wouldn’t recognize that quote. I probably sounded pretentious.”

He looked up from his cake. As he held his fork in midair, his brown eyes looked straight into hers. “Why are you apologizing? You should never say you’re sorry for knowing something others don’t. Just because I’m an uneducated slob doesn’t mean you should apologize for sharing your expertise. Men love to make women feel shamed when their fragile egos are threatened, so women have learned to pretend they know less than they do. Real men know smart women are sexy.” He went back to his cake.

She had no idea what to say. For one thing, she’d never heard him say that many words in a row. Secondly, he sounded about as opposite of an “uneducated slob” as one could get.

“That’s very enlightened of you,” she said, finally.

He looked up, amusement in his eyes. “If you met my mama, everything about me would be perfectly clear.”

“Given your experiences, I’d bet money you know a heck of a lot more than most.” She topped off his coffee.

He touched the napkin to his mouth. “The stuff I know—I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

“Oh dear.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in one of his quarter smiles.

“It’s okay. I took the gig. The military got me out of poverty. I live with the consequences.”

“You’re a hero, though. That must mean something to you.”

“It’s validating when people thank me for my service. But what happens in war is never as black and white as civilians like to think. Whether or not I was heroic is something only God can decide.”

“I suppose that’s true for all of us.”

He picked up his plate and mug. “Thank you for the coffee and the cake. You made my day off even better.” He came around the island and set the dishes by the sink. Rafael Soto moved like a stealthy panther, without making a sound and with dexterous ease. When he passed by her, she caught the scent of him—fresh soap and a spicy deodorant. No cologne. He wasn’t the type.

He knelt by Lily’s high chair. The muscles in his shoulders and back rippled under his thin shirt.

“How’s your cake?” he asked the baby.

She held up a sticky hand in response and smiled.

Rafael straightened and put his hand over his chest. “She’s a heartbreaker.” He touched the top of her head. “This hair.”

“I know. I hate to leave her, but I have work stuff coming up.” Three weeks without Lily and the sea breeze.

“When will you be back?”

“At the end of August. I’ll have some time off before we film the second season of Indigo Road.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Second season’s taking forever to come out.”

What? He’d seen the show? “You watch?”

“Yeah.” His gaze flickered to above her head.

“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Soto.”

“It’s not my usual type of show, but since I kind of know you, I had to tune in. It’s not every day a guy like me knows a beautiful movie star.”

“I’m not really a star.”

“You’re extremely talented. I can’t take my eyes off you.” He cleared his throat. “Onscreen, I mean.”

“Really?”

“It’s hard to imagine how anyone could.”

“I can. Trust me. I hate watching myself. And my voice. I’m always, like, ‘Do I really sound like that?’”

“Everything about you is beautiful. Including your voice.” He nodded toward the door. “I should go.” He crossed the kitchen without making a sound.

Everything about you is beautiful. Had he just said that, or had she heard him wrong?

Do it. Just do it now before he leaves and you lose your chance.

“Would you ever want to go out sometime? Like for dinner or something?” she asked his backside.

Almost to the door, he whipped around to look at her. “You want to go out with me?”

“Yes. I mean, if you want to.” Why had she asked him? He didn’t want to go out with her. If he did, he would have asked her already.

“I can’t afford much, as far as dinner goes.” His hands were back in his pockets. “Everything I’ve got is sunk into the building.”

“I’ll cook for you then. In my new apartment.”

He looked at the floor and tugged on his collar. “I’m not boyfriend material. Not for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” What did that mean? She wasn’t good enough for him? Too many ex-boyfriends for a good Catholic boy? Too New York jaded?

“Hollywood. Old-school glamour.” He glanced behind him, like he was expecting someone to walk through the door. “You didn’t ask how much the rent was.”

She looked down at the counter and placed her sweating hands flat against the cool granite. Stupid girl for thinking he might like you. “All right. Enough said. Forget I asked.”

She waited for him to leave, wishing the floor would open and whisk her away.

“Lisa.”

She looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Trust me when I say, it’s not you but me.”

“Yeah. No problem. I get it.” She didn’t get it. What did money have to do with anything? Up until recently she’d had less than Rafael.

“I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Really. I misread the signals.” Just leave, please.

“You can fill the paperwork out and bring it by whenever you can.”

“Will do.”

He turned to go, but then stopped and returned his gaze to her. “The reason I don’t smile is because my teeth used to be gray.” He tapped his mouth. “I got these Hollywood teeth put on a year ago. I’m still learning how to smile.”

She nodded. There was a time she needed to learn how to smile, too. During those dark days she wasn’t sure she ever would again. “I understand perfectly.”

“See you around.”

And with that he was gone.

***

Lisa stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers under the unforgiving August sun. Mist from the sprinklers strategically placed around the fairground’s concert arena was the only relief from the heat. Dust covered her feet and ankles. The air smelled of beer, popcorn, and sweaty bodies.

They were waiting for the last act of the day—headliner Wyatt Black.

Lisa smiled at the woman next to her.

“Popcorn?” she asked.

“I’m good. I’ve got my beer,” Lisa said.

“I’m Cheryl. Seeing Wyatt was on my bucket list,” she said.

“My husband got these tickets for my fiftieth birthday. He was supposed to come, but he got called into work.”

“I’m sorry. My best friend was supposed to come but she’s sick.”

“Well, we can be each other’s dates then,” Cheryl said.

“Done.” They exchanged another smile.

She wished Pepper could be here. Sadly, those initial sneezes were indeed the beginning of a cold. This morning she hadn’t been able to get out of bed. Lisa had borrowed Maggie’s car and driven by herself. It was fine, she’d told herself during the hour it took to get to the festival from Cliffside Bay. Being alone was good for her. She needed to do more things alone. Twins were never alone. Then she’d become a triplet with Maggie and Pepper. She had to learn to be comfortable doing things solo.

As Wyatt Black took the stage, the crowd roared its welcome. Wyatt Black was the hottest thing in country music. Classically good-looking but with a bad-boy aura, he crooned a love song like no one else.

After the audience applause lessened, he sang the opening notes of his current hit. She and Cheryl locked arms, strangers united by their love of music. Lisa noted Cheryl’s sandals, a little ragged and faded. Her husband had probably saved for months to afford these tickets.

The crowd sang along with Wyatt. They all knew the lyrics, as though they’d helped write them. His was the voice of the people in this audience. Hardworking Americans felt a kinship with this man. He was them. Wyatt had grown up in a trailer in the woods with his single mother. The odds to break out of the cycle of poverty were stacked against him. Yet he had. By writing songs that gave a voice to the poor, the working class, the disenfranchised. His lyrics were about real struggles: money problems, heartbreak, family, love. They were deceptively simple, in Lisa’s opinion. The words and music combined with Wyatt’s soulful voice touched a chord in people, made them feel less alone in a terrifying world. Women swooned for him. Men felt as if he were their brother.

Her thoughts drifted to Rafael. He’d misjudged her. She understood the people in this audience far better than she did the people she’d met in Hollywood. These were her people. If he weren’t so prideful, Rafael might have taken the time to see beyond outside appearances. He had no idea of the dark places she’d been. Now he never would. Whatever. He was just another jerk, like all the guys she liked.

A popping sound interrupted the music. Was there something wrong with the sound system? Wyatt continued to sing for a moment, then stopped, looking confused. Crew rushed onto the stage and pulled Wyatt and the band off arena. The popping sound continued, like the loudest popcorn maker ever made.

Someone shouted, “There’s a shooter.”

That was the popping noise. Bullets. A shooter.

Bullets rained from the sky.

She and Cheryl looked in each other’s eyes. “We have to get out of here,” Lisa said as her beer fell to the ground.

Lisa grabbed Cheryl’s hand. The crowd surged, this way, then that, both the individual and the collective searching for shelter. Bullets, one after the other, with no space between, pelted the crowd. Someone pushed her from behind and she stumbled. Cheryl jerked and fell. Lisa knelt beside her. A hole the size of two fists had ripped open her chest. Blood soaked into the dry earth.

A man shouted at her. “You have to run.”

She looked up to see a gray mustache and eyes the color of a muddy river. A cowboy hat shaded his face.

“But she’s hurt. I have to take her with me.”

“I’m sorry, sister, but she’s gone. C’mon now.” He lifted her to her feet, the strength of him like an electric shock that shook her awake. “Hold tight to my hand.” She gripped his fingers and tried to run, but in truth, he dragged her. She fixed her gaze on the back of his brown boots. Don’t lose sight of his boots. Don’t let go of his hand. Around them people passed. The awful cracking sound continued, louder than the screams.

Someone tumbled into her. She fell face-first. Blood covered the grass like morning dew. She sobbed and tried to rise to her feet. The man lifted her into his arms. He ran with her clinging to his neck. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise you. Just hang tight.”

They ran with the surging crowd.

 

Shop the Cliffside Bay series

Secrets never stay buried...

Growing up abandoned by her father and raised by a single mother, Celeste was determined to create the perfect family but even perfect families have secrets. Celeste's days are filled with a rewarding career, a devoted husband, and her four-year-old daughter. Only Celeste knows the precarious house of cards her family is built upon until the day her daughter falls critically ill. Celeste's world quickly spirals out of control as her secret threatens to destroy her marriage, family, reputation, and sanity. She'll go to any lengths to protect her family-take any risk, break any law-anything except tell the truth.

"A natural fit for fans of Gone Girl-style narrators and fast moving plots- Closer Weekly

Profound wisdom for today's busy thinker

Are you a professional who is on a spiritual path but doesn't have much time for philosophical inquiry? An executive who gets things done at work but seeks higher joy? An entrepreneur who wants to make a dent not just in business but in the universe? Modern Wisdom, Ancient Roots is for you! In it, unconventional and highly successful coach Dr. Srikumar Rao distills and condenses valuable life lessons, from ancient sources, literature, and his own experience, into quick-to-read, easily digestible chapters.

Through Dr. Rao's compelling parables, you will learn how to:

• Achieve great success while remaining as serene as a Zen monk
• Feel radiantly alive every day and bursting with gratitude
• Bounce back from disaster so quickly that others didn't even notice you were down
• Jettison dysfunctional mental models that prevent you from soaring
• Banish the incessant mental chatter that is sapping your energy
• Bring joy into your life and annihilate your fears
• Help others reach heights they never dreamed possible

And this just scratches the surface. As a bonus, the book includes a self-assessment to help you implement the chapters' lessons. If you apply the concepts in it, Modern Wisdom, Ancient Roots will make you prosper in all areas of your life.

★★★★★ "It caught my attention from the start, I was drawn into Billie's world. Every word, every emotion I felt it. Couldn't stop reading and wishing it wouldn't end. (Goodreads Review)

Billie Murphy's life is about to change.

It's her 20th birthday and her final days in Paris after years of living abroad with her father, a top US diplomat, and Billie is feeling all the feelings-saddened to leave her friends and abuzz with anticipation about what comes next. A night of dancing, wine, and a chance encounter with a handsome Princeton athlete, is a near-perfect send-off.

When Billie's dad gifts her the keys to her own NYC apartment, she embraces the chance for a fresh start in a new city, even if she has to remain under the watchful eyes of her caretaker and bodyguards, including Caleb, who may be more than just a protector and friend.

Within days of her arrival, Billie senses a change in Caleb, who's suddenly apprehensive about her rekindled relationship with Thomas-the handsome American, her wealthy new friends, and the beguiling (and not to mention gorgeous) Swedish family upstairs. He's been over-protective of her since the mysterious death of her mother years ago, but lately, he's been acting like there's more at stake than ever before.

As Billie steps into an eye-opening world of wealth and secrets-where everyone may not be who they seem-she'll have to navigate her volatile new relationships and the mysteries of her past to find her path forward.

★★★★★ "The author has a very unique way of developing characters who will make you fall in love with them." (Goodreads Review)

★★★★★ "I just love the way Alejandra writes. She literally makes you feel like you're there. And the unexpected twists will make your heart explode!" (Goodreads Review)

★★★★★ "Couldn't stop reading, love every part of it! Can't wait for book 2!" (Goodreads Review)

About the Author
Andrade, Alejandra: - Alejandra lives in Mérida, Yucatán, México with her husband and son. She's a music lover, a geek at heart, and a fan of all things Christopher Nolan, Star Wars, LOTR, GOT, et cetera. Moonstruck at Midnight is her debut novel of the Moonstruck Series. You can find her on social media on Facebook & Instagram as long as her 30-minute social media app limit hasn't elapsed.

Kilteegan Bridge, Ireland 1974

For each member of the O'Sullivan family there are turbulent times ahead.

Eli's need to do his best for his patients is a cause for a bitter divide in the community. Emmet seems hell bent on going down a path in life his parents dread but they're unable to stop him. Jack's life and liberty are in grave peril as his secret faces exposure, while Emily's troubles are, it seems only just beginning with the return of someone she would much rather had disappeared forever. And Maria must decide, is blood really thicker than water, and should family always come first, no matter the cost?

In More Harm than Good, the Kilteegan Bridge Series continues, as the modernity of the 1970's challenges Irish traditional ways, and generations clash, sometimes with deadly consequences.

On a trip to reignite the spark in her marriage, Alaina Grace's upgraded first-class ticket places her far from her husband and next to the notorious Jack Volmer, a former teen actor who'd previously hung on posters in her childhood bedroom. When an unusual storm forces their plane out of the sky, her ticket will save her life and force her to question everything.

Ripped from the comforts of her world and injured, Alaina finds herself on a raft in the ocean, completely separated from her husband among eleven strangers.

Seeking comfort in the presence of the single familiar face, Alaina quickly finds herself torn between her past and her present; between two loves in two contrasting worlds, and must let go of one in order to keep the other.

Arriving on an island in the middle of the Pacific, strangers become family as they navigate unfamiliar terrain to uncover hidden mysteries, endless adventure, and love where they least expected to find it.

A young man's search for adventure, the birth of a new nation, and a war that would change southern Africa forever...

The year is 1890, and the sun never sets on the British Empire. James Carregan is eager to find fortune and excitement, far away from his protective father's influence. Setting off for Cape Town, he joins a pioneer column advancing its way into disputed territory in the kingdom of Mashonaland. But little does he know, what he finds there will change his life evermore...

Despite the pioneers' agreement with the mercurial Matabele King Lobengula, their journey north is fraught with treachery and danger. Although the king has promised them safe travel, each day brings the possibility of a brutal attack by the tribal inDunas.

But when the column finally settles, conflict erupts. A savage war ensues. And as the corpses of friends and enemies alike litter the ground, James must decide if this new life he has built for himself is worth the price he has paid...

Morgandale is the first book in an epic historical adventure that sweeps readers away on a journey into British colonial Africa.

The world is losing hope.Political and social infighting threaten to destroy the world. Rancor and hatred only grow stronger, engulfing entire nations. And each day moral and economic strife brings embroiled countries ever closer to war. But hope is not dead. Everywhere, pockets of honor and compassion continue to persevere. Where human lives are cherished and valor endures. And one small, extraordinary group fights to save us all. A team in possession of the mother of all secrets. The one secret - the one discovery - that could bring the world back from the brink.

"Takes the sweeping size, bustle, and chaos of Tokyo and makes it small, introspective, and personal," Independent Publisher.

"Captures the essence and allure of Tokyo." Feathered Quill.

"A memoir to be savored like a fine red wine," Publishers Daily.

Motions and Moments captures the ceaseless flow and brief momentary dramas of the biggest city in the world with gentle humor and rich detail. As in his first two books, this third memoir of life in Tokyo explores the uniqueness of living in small spaces, learning to love crowds, sitting under cherry blossoms, and surviving the 2011 earthquake. These short, personal pieces go deeper into the fascinating undercurrents of life in Tokyo.

After two-plus decades living, teaching, and writing in Tokyo, the author remains fascinated by how Tokyoites work, commute, and eat standing up at elbow-bumping counters. With an eye for detail and a passion for the city, the writing is steeped in the city's perpetual energy. Motions and Moments is one American's exploration of the intricate life in one of the most dynamic places in the world.

Winner Best Indie Book Award Non-Fiction

Indie Groundbreaking Book Independent Publisher Book Review

Gold Award Readers' Favorite Non-Fiction Cultural

Gold Award Global E-Book Awards Travel Writing

Gold Award Non-Fiction Author's Association

More at: www.michaelpronko.com

About the Author
Pronko, Michael: - Michael Pronko is a Tokyo-based author who writes in three genres-murder, memoir and music. His first mystery, The Last Train, was selected as the winner of the Shelf Unbound Contest for Best Independently Published Book of 2018, and his second novel, The Moving Blade, won the Independent Press Award for Crime Fiction and was named by Kirkus Reviews as one of the best Indie Mysteries and Thrillers of 2018. The third in the series, Tokyo Traffic, was published in 2020. He has written about Japanese culture, art, jazz, society, architecture and politics for Newsweek Japan, The Japan Times, Artscape Japan, as well as other publications. He has appeared on NHK and Nippon Television doing video versions of his essays. He also runs his own website, Jazz in Japan (www.jazzinjapan.com). He teaches American Literature and Culture (novels, film, art and music) at Meiji Gakuin University in Tokyo. www.michaelpronko.com https: //www.facebook.com/pronkoauthor/ https: //www.instagram.com/michaelpronko/ @pronkomichael and the other usual suspects...

SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY WITH A SMIDGEN OF HOMICIDE

USA Today Bestselling author Tonya Kappes brings you southern and quirky characters in her mystery series. Her stories are charged with humor, friendship, family and life in small southern towns.

Welcome to Normal, Kentucky where NOTHING is normal.

Mae West, owner of Happy Trails Campground, never thought she would become an actress like her namesake.

Calling herself an actress might be far stretch as she plays a minor role in the local Civil War reenactment BATTLE AT CAMP WILDCAT.

When the reenactment doesn't go as planned, not one but two of the town's folks aren't playing dead...they were MURDERED!

Come to find out there was a prison break and the serial killer is believed to be in Normal and someone has stolen a motorhome from Happy Trails Campground. Are these connected?

Mae lets boyfriend and hunky detective, Hank Sharp, follow all the leads about the murders and on the trail of the serial killer because she's got bigger s'mores in the fire. The motorhome owners have filed a lawsuit and suing her for the deed to Happy Trails Campground.

Mae has embraced Normal and there's nothing or no one going to take her campground. She's determined to find the motorhome and return it to the owners before she hands over any deed to anyone.

Mae just might find out that tapping into her namesake just might come in handy when coming face to face with a serial killer.

AUTHOR BIO

Tonya Kappes has written more than fifteen novels and four novellas, all of which have graced numerous bestseller lists, including USA Today. Best known for stories charged with emotion and humor and filled with flawed characters, her novels have garnered reader praise and glowing critical reviews. Kappes lives with her husband, two very spoiled schnauzers, and one ex-stray cat in northern Kentucky. Now that her boys are teenagers, she writes full time but can be found at all her sons high school games with a pencil and paper in hand.

A duke's governess, a gentleman scientist, and a castle full of flowers is the perfect setting for a summer romance.

As the new governess to the duke's family, Alice Sharpe must learn to control her impulsive ways. Employment in the duke's household is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and could mean living in comfort the rest of her days. Unfortunately, her first encounter with the duke's neighbor, a handsome scientist, proves she may not be ready for the austere role of governess.

Rupert Gardiner has one goal: to have his work in botany published by the Royal Society. He is fortunate that his neighbor, the duke, believes in him and enlists Rupert to make a record of all the flora on the castle grounds. But Miss Sharpe's spontaneity and continual appearance during his work is a rather annoying distraction. At least, that's what he tells himself.

While Alice struggles to adapt to her new role, constantly battling who she is and the person she believes she must become, she cannot help but admire Rupert's intelligence and focus. The more often they fall in together, the more her admiration deepens. But could a gentleman such as he ever fall in love with the governess?

As the first stand-alone novel in a new series by author Sally Britton, this story begins the Clairvoir Castle romances. This is a light-hearted series set in the Regency period.

Sally Britton's other works include:

The Inglewood Romances:

Rescuing Lord Inglewood

Discovering Grace

Saving Miss Everly

Engaging Sir Isaac

Reforming Lord Neil

and her seven novels in the Branches of Love Series.

“Sexy. Suspenseful. Heartbreaking. Empowering. And that just describes the writing—wait until you devour the story. Nothing I say will do this book justice. It's the best book I've ever read. Simple as that." —Colleen Hoover, New York Times bestselling author

When reclusive novelist Senna Richards wakes up on her thirty-third birthday, everything has changed. Caged behind an electrical fence, locked in a house in the middle of the snow, Senna is left to decode the clues to find out why she was taken. If she wants her freedom, she has to take a close look at her past. But, her past has a heartbeat...and her kidnapper is nowhere to be found. With her survival hanging by a thread, Senna soon realizes this is a game. A dangerous one. Only the truth can set her free.

Author Bio:

Tarryn Fisher is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of ten novels. Born a sun hater, she currently makes her home in Seattle, Washington with her children, husband, and psychotic husky. Tarryn writes about villains.

Falling in love with a Bennet is not an option.

My mother has summoned me home to take my place at Bower Bouquets, and I’m expected to sit by her side as she does her best to decimate the Bennet family and their flower shop, Longbourne. If I don’t play by her rules, she’ll ruin me too.

But the day I crash into Marcus Bennet, my life is left scattered in the wreckage.
When he catches me in the rain, the topography of his lean, rugged body leaves a permanent impression. His arms locked around me are forbidden, even though they’re the only place I’ve felt truly safe.

And when he kisses me, there’s no turning back.

If my mother finds out, I’ll lose everything—my family, my life, my security. Worse, she’ll make sure the Bennets pay for my mistakes.

Falling in love with a Bennet is not an option.

But I might not have a choice.

Author Bio:

Staci Hart writes romance for that feeling you get at the end, like you’re standing on top of a mountain with a backpack full of hundred dollar bills. She writes romcoms because is there anything better than banter and grand gestures? She writes because she loves to create and she loves words. She loves books, and she loves stretching her imagination. She loves love, and if you do too, bring your coffee and have a seat.