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401 products
Her Turn: A Bookish Romantic Comedy
Addie Snyder's first novel is becoming an overnight sensation. Unprepared for being thrusted in the limelight, she is desperate to shelter her brother, Owen, who has Down syndrome. After her father abandoned them when Owen was just a baby, she is his sole guardian after her mother passed away. She must protect him from the harsh world, but how can she do that with public events coming up? An unlikely ally in her cold and emotionless publicist, Jameson Ford. As a former Navy Seal, Jameson has his own demons, but there is something about Addie that defrosts his icy wall. Together, they navigate the twists and turns as her book becomes a world-wide phenomenon.
Her life becomes even more complicated when her long-lost father arrives threatening to take Owen away from her and her distant relatives trying to hoard in on Addie's success. But, through the drama, Addie maintains her humor while popping chocolate kisses as if they were Xanax and seeking solace behind her computer creating stories that fill her soul. Even though all of her dreams are coming true, no one can prepare her for what lies ahead. It's true when they say, be careful what you wish for.
About the Author
Jones, Allison: - Allison Jones was born and bred in Louisville, Kentucky. She has spent most of her career writing for various regional publications and growing her blog, Square Peg, Round Hole, an online diary that provides a humorous account of her real life. When she isn't writing, she enjoys hanging out with her husband Brian, and two sons, Bailey and Bryce.
The Gambler: The Wedding Pact #3
The Player: The Wedding Pact #2
Silent Partner
"Gripping and beautiful. Truly a masterpiece of the heart." - Becky Monson, USA Today Bestselling Author ★★★★★
He thinks his silence will protect her. She needs to hear what's in his heart.
When it comes to love and life, Kinsley Kramer knows one thing-she's always second best. Tired of feeling like she's never enough, she decides to give up on men and adopt a cat. What Kinsley doesn't know is that Brant Holland wants nothing more than to tell the world how much he loves her, but he has kept his distance to protect Kinsley from the secrets he keeps and from his ex-fiancée's family.
But when Kinsley is about to lose her restaurant, Brant can't help but act. He steps in and becomes her silent partner. Unable to deny the passion that sizzles between them, they must open painful doors to the past, and the secrets Brant has been keeping must be unleashed. Secrets that threaten to destroy everything and everyone he holds dear. Kinsley must now decide if she can bear the pain of Brant's past choices and an uncertain future as everything in the Hollands' world hangs in the balance.
See how it all unfolds in this heart-tugging final chapter of the Pine Falls series.
The Substitute: The Wedding Pact
Don't Lie to Me
When twelve-year-old Sophie Williams went on a Girl Scout summer camp, she never returned home.
Three months later, her body is found inside her sleeping bag in the most frequented area of Cocoa Beach, and the town is outraged.
The girl isn't just any child. She's the town's most beloved surf idol, and it was believed that she could be the next Kelly Slater.
As another child, the son of a well-known senator is kidnapped, and the parents receive a disturbing video, FBI profiler Eva Rae Thomas - who has just returned to her hometown, divorced and out of a job - plunges into the investigation, breaking her promise to her children not to do police work again.
Local law enforcement, with her old flame Matt Miller in charge, are the ones who ask for her help in a case so unsettling that only she can solve it. But the deeper they dig, the deadlier it becomes for Matt and Eva Rae. Soon, everyone she holds dear is in grave danger as this case hits a little too close to home.
DON'T LIE TO ME is the first book in the Eva Rae Thomas Mystery Series and can be read as a standalone.
Scroll up and grab a heart-pounding mystery today.
Riverstorm
This second chance small town romance about two hard-headed attorneys by USA Bestselling author Tess Thompson might keep you up all night. Tissues recommended for this feel good love story with a dash of mystery.
Los Angeles attorneys Grant Perry and Liz Teeny were once in love, until youth and circumstance tore them apart. Ten years later, they're reunited while working on an important trial. He's successful and handsome, but childhood demons haunt him. Liz, lonely and driven, has devoted her life to work.
When unexpected personal events bring them to River Valley, they learn of family secrets that could change their lives forever. How will what they learn impact their lives? Will these secrets bring healing or more heartbreak? Is it too late for a second chance?
The fifth installment in Tess Thompson's beloved River Valley Series explores themes of family, home, and the way childhood trauma can follow you into adulthood. Old friends from previous books, an epic love story, and a dash of mystery will keep you smiling as you turn the pages of this feel-good, small-town romance.
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.”
Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2
Beneath The Willow Tree
Plus, catch up with your favorite characters including Julie, Dawson, Dixie and more!
Wisteria Island
She's running from the most embarrassing moment of her life when she finds herself smack dab in the middle of an island full of misfit old people.
Danielle Wright has had an illustrious career as a nurse, but when the unthinkable happens, she has nowhere to run to get out of the gaze of prying eyes and judgmental people. When she takes a job as the nurse for Wisteria Island, she has no clue what she's agreeing to.
The brainchild of a wealthy entrepreneur, Wisteria Island is home to a cast of quirky, and often difficult, characters. When Danielle finds out why the previous eight nurses have all quit within days, she has to decide whether to stick it out or go back to a life she no longer recognizes.
This women's fiction novel from USA Today bestselling author, Rachel Hanna, will make you laugh out loud, tear up and smile until your cheeks hurt!
Sweet Tea Sunrise
In book 2 of the Sweet Tea B&B series...
Mia's high school sweetheart breezes back into town, but will she let him stay at her B&B and risk her heart again?
Kate tries to expand the business, but will she and Mia butt heads over the future of their mother's beloved bed and breakfast?
As usual, Evie is up to no good. Will this little prank get her in hot water?
A woman arrives to stay at the B&B who has some secrets of her own...
Lighthouse Cove
In book 7 of this USA Today bestselling series, a new person comes to town to run the newly renovated lighthouse. But what is the running from and will her secret come out?
Meg needs to make a decision about her upcoming wedding, but will her choice shock her mother, Julie?
William makes a life-changing decision, but then everything keeps falling apart. How will it affect his relationship with Janine?
Catch up with the rest of your favorite characters including Julie, Dawson and Dixie! If you love southern women's fiction, you will enjoy all of the books in the South Carolina Sunsets series.
Sweet Tea & Wedding Rings
Somebody is getting married at Sweet Tea B&B!
In book 4 of this USA Today bestselling series. Mia and Kate are still working on building their new honey business while Travis and Cooper are keeping a big secret that could wreak havoc in both of their relationships.
Meanwhile, a former guest of the B&B shows up in the dead of night, and she needs a place to hide. Will her cover get blown?
There's also a reporter coming to the B&B, but does she plan to write a nice piece about their business, or is she trying to sabotage it?
A Seagrove Christmas
It's time for Christmas in Seagrove
Are you ready to catch up with your favorite characters on the tiny lowcountry island of Seagrove, SC?
When we last left off, there was a big wedding and an addition to the family. But, what happens when a new resident moves to town and shakes things up?And what will everyone do when a familiar face shows up and creates chaos during the holidays?
Click to start reading book 6 in this USA Bestselling series
The House Around the Corner
A mysterious, emotional women's fiction, perfect for fans of Peyton Place.
Annette Best is losing her grip. First went her business, then her house. Now, she's on the brink of losing her marriage, too.
But the forty-something realtor has one thing going for her: girl friends. The women of Apple Hill Lane show up on moving day, ready to help Annette kiss her old life goodbye... until an eerie discovery turns up in her very own backyard.
Suddenly, Annette finds herself at the center of a small-town scandal and in danger of risking the biggest sale of her career. Others on Apple Hill Lane have been down this road--but not Annette Best. After all, she is the Best on the Block.
There's a chance Annette can keep her secrets--and those of Harbor Hills--buried. But only if her neighbors are willing to share the burden of protecting a local, decades-old mystery.
Can Beverly, Quinn, Annette, and Judith make sense of the past? Or will the women get caught up in the gossip of the present?
- - -
Romance, secrets and mystery, family ties and female friendships abound in this heartwarming saga about four women who find friendship right next door.
These stories are best enjoyed in chronological order as follows:
The House on Apple Hill Lane
The House with the Blue Front Door
The House Around the Corner
The House that Christmas Made
The Garden Guild
From a USA Today bestselling author, comes a story about three women, one small-town rumor, and a gardening project that's not for the faint of heart.
Lillian Gulch's husband died, and she's ready to be something more than a small-town widow. So, she turns to the only friends she knows: a gardening club she joined years before. The only problem? They think she had something to do with her husband's death.
Betsy Borden is a forty-something who happens to be Gull's Landing's most prolific, single socialite. But if she can't find a way to make friendships (much less relationships) that last, then she's destined to be nothing more than a gossipy spinster forever.
Emily Addams is twenty years old and twice divorced. Now, she is truly ready to start fresh, and the idyllic boardwalk town of Gull's Landing seems perfect. Until she learns that the grass is never greener. Even if the only job available is secretary at Second Street Mortuary.
Female friendships, romance, and mystery-The Garden Guild is a standalone women's fiction that has it all. This heartwarming, quirky story follows three very different women with one common goal: to survive the rumor mill. The only way they can do it? If they stick together.
Each book in Gull's Landing is a standalone women's fiction. These novels are not written sequentially and can be read and enjoyed in any order.
The Summer Society
The Garden Guild
The Country Club
Bells on the Bay
Now a USA Today bestselling author, Elizabeth Bromke delivers another heartwarming story of family secrets, romance, and mystery.
A year ago, Nora Hannigan died. But she left behind a haunting legacy of untruths and mysteries. Now, her four adult daughters are ready to face the past and find happiness on their own terms.
Oldest Kate thought she'd put family drama behind her. But then a new commotion crashes onto the shoreline of her very own backyard, and she's once again thrust into a small-town scandal.
Amelia just received the role of a lifetime. But will it get in the way of her goal? Or is it the one part she was always meant to play?
Megan's life is finally perfect, and she's even moving into her new house in the fields of Birch Harbor. But then she gets a call about her daughter. There's a situation at the marina... again.
Clara is finding her way in her new job and with a budding romance, but then her beau makes a quiet discovery that might change everything...
Escape to Birch Harbor, Michigan and visit the Hannigan sisters, who live and love on the quaint shores of Lake Huron. Birch Harbor is a romantic women's fiction series and a family saga by the author of The Summer Society. These books are best enjoyed in order.
Book One: House on the Harbor
Book Two: Lighthouse on the Lake
Book Three: Fireflies in the Field
Book Four: Cottage by the Creek
Book Five: Bells on the Bay
Cottage by the Creek
Intriguing mystery, romance, and a new small-town scandal: visit Birch Harbor, Michigan with USA Today bestelling author Elizabeth Bromke.
As she cleans up the cottage her mother left behind, Clara Hannigan discovers a locked hope chest. Inside is a book that might have the answers to her questions... if she can connect the dots between her mom and a prominent local. Complicating matters is one of Clara's students: a mean girl who has a bone to pick with the Hannigans.
Meanwhile, Clara's oldest sister, Kate, is ready to take her romance to the next level. She could have everything she wants by Thanksgiving, until her boyfriend's daughter is implicated in Birch Harbor High School drama... and it has nothing to do with theatre club.
Amelia is ready to open her new business to locals and tourists. But that means she must finally bury the search for her father. It would be easy, if one of her sisters didn't show up with an old yearbook and a new interest in the case.
Megan is in the throes of fixing her life. With a new career and a new home, all she needs now is to ensure her teenage daughter will fit in at the local high school. But when Megan expects special treatment from the familiar staff at B.H.H.S., her fresh start is compromised and rumors begin to spread.
Cottage by the Creek is the fourth installment in the Birch Harbor family saga. These romantic women's fiction titles are best enjoyed in sequential order.
Escape to Birch Harbor, Michigan and visit the Hannigan sisters, who live and love on the quaint shores of Lake Huron. Birch Harbor is a romantic women's fiction series and a family saga by the author of The Farmhouse. These books are best enjoyed in order.
Book One: House on the Harbor
Book Two: Lighthouse on the Lake
Book Three: Fireflies in the Field
Book Four: Cottage by the Creek
Book Five: Bells on the Bay
The Innkeeper's House
A sweet-as-pie teacher. A hometown hero. And the local B&B, complete with innkeeper's quarters...
Fresh on the heels of a broken engagement and a dead-end subbing gig, would-be English teacher Greta Houston goes home for the summer. She needs to recharge, and the farm town is just the place. Friday night fish frys and dusty back roads bring her down to earth, but Hickory Grove is only a pit stop on Greta's way back to the big city. Then she gets an interview... with the last place she'd ever thought to apply.
Football coach Luke Hart has too much on his plate. After moving to Hickory Grove to be closer to his ailing grandmother, he spends his days teaching, coaching, and volunteering at church. Life is good, until Mamaw Hart passes away, leaving him with a daunting heirloom: The Hickory Grove Inn. Luke needs help to run the place, or else he'll have to sell the one thing that connects him to his past.
Take a trip to the heart of America and fall in love with Hickory Grove's quirky residents who work hard, enjoy the simple life, and always put love first. Each title is a standalone read.
The Schoolhouse: Book One
The Christmas House: Book Two
The Farmhouse: Book Three
The Innkeeper's House: Book Four
The Quilting House: Book Five
The Schoolhouse: A Hickory Grove Novel
To move forward, she might have to take a step back.
Divorced empty-nester Becky Linden wants a fresh start. After two decades away, she returns to her hometown to find herself. What she discovers instead is the long-abandoned schoolhouse where she had her first kiss as a teenager. Others might see an eyesore, but Becky sees the neglected building as a charming business opportunity and... her future. However, she can't do it on her own. The one man who can help her is the last one she ever thought she'd ever ask-her ex-boyfriend.
Zack Durbin works for the school district that owns the run-down building, and he agrees with locals: the schoolhouse is a problem. What's more? It's his job to solve the problem. Then Zack's old high school sweetheart shows up with a dream to open a bookshop and reboot her life. Is Zack willing to sacrifice his career for the only woman he's ever loved? Or will the past haunt him forever?
The Schoolhouse is a heartwarming, second-chance romance about a determined forty-something, her high school sweetheart, and the abandoned schoolhouse that just might have a little life left. Order your copy today.
Hickory Grove, Indiana is an old-fashioned small town full of big-hearted people with quirky stories. Each book is a sweet, standalone read.
The Schoolhouse: Book One
The Christmas House: Book Two
The Farmhouse: Book Three
The Innkeeper's House: Book Four
The Quilting House: Book Five
Fireflies in the Field
A "heartwarming" novel by USA Today bestseller Elizabeth Bromke: Four sisters are ready to start fresh... as soon as they settle the secrets of their past (Goodreads).
On the verge of divorce, Megan Hannigan needs a distraction. So, she turns to the sunny tract of farmland left in her mother's will. It's the perfect locale for a budding business, but locals disagree. Only a third party can help navigate this pesky small-town grudge or else Megan's career plan is dead in the water.
Meanwhile, Megan's oldest sister, Kate, hosts a grand opening for her newly renovated Heirloom Inn. Everything is going smoothly until her high school sweetheart reveals a disastrous confession.
Amelia and her new flame are working to bring a local monument back to life. They figured the mysteries of the past were dead and buried, until Amelia accidentally discovers more information.
Claire, a teacher, capitalizes on summer break by working on her new cottage and lounging near the water. But then her principal makes a midsummer request...and a new revelation shocks the shoreline and changes everything.
Fireflies in the Field is the third installment in the Birch Harbor family saga. These romantic women's fiction titles are best enjoyed in sequential order.
Escape to Birch Harbor, Michigan and visit the Hannigan sisters, who live and love on the quaint shores of Lake Huron. Birch Harbor is a romantic women's fiction series and a family saga by the author of The Farmhouse.
Book One: House on the Harbor
Book Two: Lighthouse on the Lake
Book Three: Fireflies in the Field
Book Four: Cottage by the Creek
Book Five: Bells on the Bay
Nantucket News
Until her rental cottage is available, she's going to stay at the Beach Plum Cove Inn, Abby's mother's bed and breakfast.
Abby meanwhile is dealing with an issue she thought she'd resolved.
Rhett discovers someone that works for him is a thief and tries to figure out who it is.
Rumor is there's a celebrity or two on the island and the media (including Taylor's co-worker, Victoria), is in hot pursuit to track them down.
Nantucket Threads
Izzy's life is about to change soon in the biggest way possible. She is excited and nervous and torn about whether or not to give her ex, Rick Savage another chance. Rick has tried to be a better man. He's gone through anger management classes and really seems to be making an effort. But is that enough? Does she owe it to him, to them, to try one more time? Or is it okay for her to move on and possibly even consider a future with someone else? Not that she is looking to do that, but there is someone else who she has known as a friend for a long time. He's a very good friend and at times she wonders if there could be something more there. But, she has bigger things to consider first. Someone other than herself and it's all new to her. But, her sister Mia is there to help. Izzy is now living with Mia since her condo was renovated. And Mia has a promising new romance. And there's a lot going on with the Hodges family too. Kate has a very big announcement and Lisa learns that she has been violating a major rule for her bed and breakfast. So changes are coming.
Nantucket Weddings
Mia Maxwell used to have her dream job. She is a sought after wedding planner on Nantucket, with no shortage of business. But she is struggling a bit to get back to loving her job. It has been bittersweet to plan other people's weddings--ever since her own fiance died two weeks before their wedding.
That was a year ago and she was just starting to feel better, when she came back from a vacation to find her house burned down. So she will be staying with Lisa at the Beach Plum Cove Inn for a while, until her house is renovated.
Mia's also worried about her younger sister and best friend Izzy--she has a serious boyfriend who has grown more controlling over the past year.
As it turns out, there are several member of the Hodges family that may be in need of Mia's services--she'll be planning not one but two weddings. There are a few road bumps along the way however.
Lisa has another long-term guest that she eagerly introduces to Mia. She finds this temporary neighbor equally intriguing and frustrating and she makes it clear that she's not even close to ready to date. She's not sure if she ever will be.
About the Author
Kelley, Pamela M.: - Pamela M. Kelley is a USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of women's fiction, family sagas, and suspense. Readers often describe her books as feel-good reads with people you'd want as friends. She lives in a historic seaside town near Cape Cod and just south of Boston. She has always been an avid reader of women's fiction, romance, mysteries, thrillers and cook books. There's also a good chance you might get hungry when you read her books as she is a foodie, and occasionally shares a recipe or two.
Nantucket Neighbors
An instant USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestseller
In the first book, The Nantucket Inn, Lisa turned her waterfront home into an inn, so she could afford to stay on the island near her four adult children and friends. And she's loving it so far. Lisa's first guest, restaurant owner Rhett Byrne quickly became a close friend and then something more. In her early fifties, it sounds strange to her to call him her boyfriend, but that's what he is. Her daughter Kristen, finally ended things with Sean, the separated man that no one in the family was excited about. When the cottage next door is sold, she discovers who her new neighbor is and though she wasn't in a hurry for a new relationship, it's certainly tempting. Chase, the only boy in the family, has never been serious about anyone before. But he's suddenly withdrawn and has been secretive about who he's seeing, which only makes everyone that much more curious. Lisa's best friend, Paige, has a new neighbor too and it's one she is most decidedly not enthused about. Violet was one of the women who stood up at town meeting and protested against Lisa's inn being approved by the selectman. The inn is doing well and bookings are up, but then one Friday night, a guest that prepaid for the weekend never shows up. And quite a few people, including the police, come asking questions.If We Never Met
“Barbara Freethy never disappoints. This newest [book] has it all—romance, drama, danger and a little steam. Make sure you add this one to your TBR list” —My Bag of Books Blog
One moment can change a life...or two
Keira Blake agrees to the blind date simply because she has a wedding coming up and no plus one. Tired of being the last single girl standing in her group of friends, she shows up at the bar with low expectations, but her ruggedly handsome date is far more attractive and interesting than she'd imagined. In fact, he seems too good to be true...
Dante DeAngelis, the star pitcher for the Miami Mavericks, is in Whisper Lake for a month to rehab a shoulder injury away from the spotlight of his baseball career and his famous girlfriend. When the beautiful brunette assumes he's her date, he momentarily plays along, enjoying the rare instance of not being seen as a celebrity but as himself...
When their true identities are revealed, Keira and Dante try to stay away from one another. Keira has family commitments that will keep her in Whisper Lake, and Dante is just passing through. He also has a girlfriend and a job miles away. But sometimes love gets in the way of the best laid plans...
Author Bio:
Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home.
Shop the Whisper Lake Series
Daring Deception
He didn't just break her heart, he broke her soul...
When a bomb exploded at her college, Caitlyn Carlson's life changed in an instant. Ten years later, she's no longer a vulnerable, trusting girl, but a tough, ruthless, FBI agent. But her hard exterior covers a deep, aching hole in her heart.
Quinn Kelly has changed his life, too, trying to make up for the horrific mistakes of his youth. But some mistakes can't be outrun or forgiven. Some feelings don't stay buried, no matter how hard you try.
An explosion at a local university takes them back to the past, to the one place they never wanted to go again...and to each other. They barely survived loving each other the first time around. The secrets and lies almost killed them. Will this be their second chance, or will this be the end of everything?
Don't miss this thrilling romantic suspense by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy
Also Available in the Off The Grid: FBI Series
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3
Elusive Promise #4
Dangerous Choice #5
Ruthless Cross #6
Critical Doubt #7
Fearless Pursuit #8
Daring Deception #9
Risky Bargain #10
What the readers are saying...
"The action was intense and kept me on the edge of my seat Barbara Freethy is an amazing writer who captures the reader's attention from the very first sentence, so much so, I read this book in one sitting." 5 Stars Booklover's Anonymous
"Barbara Freethy writes a beautiful, edge of the seat story, full of intrigue, mystery and romance. This is my favorite FBI series Can't wait to read the next book " Christine - Goodreads
"PERILOUS TRUST is a non-stop thriller that seamlessly melds jaw-dropping suspense with sizzling romance, and I was riveted from the first page to the last." USA Today HEA Blog
"You will love Reckless Whisper. From the first sentence of the book until you end, you are on a suspense filled ride." J. Stryker - Goodreads
"Words cannot explain how phenomenal this book was. The characters are so believable and relatable. The twists and turns keep you on the edge of your seat and flying through the pages. This is one book you should be desperate to read." Caroline on Desperate Play
Fearless Pursuit
Secrets and lies...strangers and spies...
After the death of an asset, Special Agent Jax Kenin goes undercover bartending at an exclusive Hollywood club in hot pursuit of a spy ring. His mission gets complicated when a beautiful brunette begins asking questions about an old murder. She's making people nervous, and he needs to get her out of the way before she blows up his operation.
Maya Ashton is on a mission of her own, determined to make a movie about the mysterious death of her famous grandmother, Natasha Petrova, a Russian-born movie star who died before her thirty-sixth birthday. Unfortunately, Maya keeps running into roadblocks, including one particularly sexy and attractive bartender.
When danger follows Maya home, Jax has no choice but to protect her. Their missions become entangled, their pursuit of two separate truths suddenly becomes one. And what they discover will shake up their personal lives in ways they never expected. To survive, they must find the truth, before it kills them.
Don't miss the next book in the OFF THE GRID: FBI SERIES by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy
Also Available in the Off The Grid: FBI Series
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3
Elusive Promise #4
Dangerous Choice #5
Ruthless Cross #6
Critical Doubt #7
Fearless Pursuit #8
What the readers are saying...
"This was such a gripping story. Not only were Jax and Maya fantastic characters, the story was really complex and fascinating. Freethy's books are always well developed and her characters jump of the page." Booklovers Anonymous
"Fearless Pursuit will have you on the edge of your seat until the very end. What an intriguing, mysterious story. Jax and Maya have immediate chemistry The twists and turns that this story takes keeps guessing. The Off The Grid: FBI series is a fabulous series but Fearless Pursuit is by far my favorite one " Cindy - Goodreads
Can't Fight The Moonlight
“…WOW such an emotional book. The characters were so well written, with so much depth. There were scenes in this book that gave me a lump in my throat.” —Booklovers Anonymous
Justin Blackwood can't remember a time when he believed in the magic of anything, least of all love. A cynical businessman, who grew up in a broken home, he guards his heart with every breath he takes. His job has taken him all over the world and roots are the last thing he wants...until he meets a beautiful innkeeper in Whisper Lake.
Warm-hearted, free-spirited Lizzie Cole wants it all—the dream job of running her own inn and a man who wants to settle down. Despite a previous romantic setback, she still believes in happily ever after and her perfect soulmate. She just has to find him. While the dark-haired man with the shockingly blue eyes makes her heart beat faster, Justin Blackwood is the last man who should leave her breathless. He's her complete opposite and they don't want the same things.
But when a lunar eclipse throws Whisper Lake into darkness, Lizzie and Justin find themselves struggling to fight the moonlight and a love that could change their lives—if they're willing to take the risk.
Author Bio:
Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home.
Shop all Barbara Freethy books
Critical Doubt
They met in a war-torn city on the other side of the world and shared an anonymous night of passion. They didn't intend to meet again. Nor did they think they'd be reunited by sinister secrets...
Five years later, FBI Agent Savannah Kane is headed to a small town in Georgia for the funeral of her best friend's husband. Going home is fraught with complications, but Savannah never imagined one of those would be Ryker Stone, the stranger she'd shared an unforgettable night with.
Haunted by an ambush that took the lives of two men in his unit, Ryker now copes by living a solitary civilian life. Attending the funeral of yet another soldier, this one lost to a senseless accident, he is shocked to run into the beautiful stranger he has never forgotten.
When another man in Ryker's former unit dies under suspicious circumstances, it's clear that someone is targeting his team. He's determined to get the truth; Savannah is just as determined to get answers for her friend. Neither wants to work with the other, and as they struggle with trust and attraction, the truth grows murkier...and more dangerous. Will finding answers reveal secrets neither one of them is ready to know?
Don't miss this twisting, suspenseful, romantic page-turner by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy
The Sugar Queen
True love requires commitment, and many times unending sacrifice…
At the tender age of eighteen, Brandi Vargas watched the love of her life drive out of Emerson Pass, presumably for good. Though she and Trapper Barnes dreamed of attending college and starting their lives together, she was sure she would only get in the way of Trapper's future as a hockey star. Breaking his heart, and her own in the process, was the only way to ensure he pursued his destiny. Her fate was the small town life she'd always known, her own bakery, and an endless stream of regret.
After a decade of playing hockey, a single injury ended Trapper Barnes' career. And while the past he left behind always haunted him, he still returns to Emerson Pass to start the next chapter of his life in the place his ancestors built more than a century before. But when he discovers that the woman who owns the local bakery is the girl who once shattered his dreams, the painful secret she's been harboring all these years threatens to turn Trapper's idyllic small town future into a disaster. Will it take a forest fire threatening the mountain village to force Trapper and Brandi to confront their history? And in the wake of such a significant loss, will the process of rebuilding their beloved town help them find each other, and true happiness, once again?
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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:
Chapter 1: Brandi
The ghosts of Emerson Pass haunt me. Not the spirits those who built this town from bricks and dreams. They’re all resting in peace, probably sitting around a table eating my great-great-great-grandmother Lizzie’s chicken stew. No, these apparitions are the loves of my life.
They’re only memories now, replaced by gaping holes of grief. One is a secret buried in the town cemetery under a gravestone with no name. The other is Trapper Barnes, professional athlete and descendant of the infamous Alexander Barnes. The boy who left and never returned. The boy who chose hockey over me.
The boy I sent away.
Until he returned on an ordinary afternoon in August.
The bells over the front door of my bakery jingled as I was about to close for the day. I looked up, surprised to have a new customer. Emerson Pass was a small town. Everyone knew my sandwiches, muffins, cookies, and cakes were gone by three. By four, I had only a few sad scones begging for a buyer.
My heart stopped for at least three seconds. Trapper Barnes stood before me.
I blinked three times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. But no, it was him. Tall and tanned with the same thick brown hair and big brown eyes.
“Hey, Brandi.” A deep voice, masculine yet soft. He smiled, showing his straight white teeth. Other than his dimples, all youthful roundness had disappeared, leaving chiseled cheekbones and a defined chin. The years had broadened his shoulders and chest. He was even better-looking than he’d been when we were kids. Of course he was. This was Trapper Barnes. Town hero. Hockey star. Love of my life.
I’d seen him on television and magazines over the years. Not often, as I avoided anything to do with professional hockey. If I accidentally caught a glimpse of him, the wound opened fresh, and I was wrecked for days. None of those photographs did him justice. The man was sinfully beautiful.
I couldn’t utter a sound. Instead, I stared at him. Could he see the way my chest ripped open and bled onto my counter? I stole a glance at his left hand. No ring. Thank God, nothing but one long, gorgeous finger. I’d accepted long ago that he would never be mine, but belonging to someone else? The weight of that pain would crush me.
“It smells fantastic in here.” His brown eyes sparkled as if he were on the brink of laughter. “Now that I’m no longer training, I can have a treat every once in a while. I’ll take the pumpkin one.”
I grabbed the last pumpkin from the platters. No longer training? What did that mean? I set the scone on a plate and slid it across the wide counter. God help me, I could smell his cologne. He smelled the same as the last day I’d ever spent with him.
“How much?” he asked.
I shook my head. “On the house. The scone’s dry by this time of day.”
His mouth lifted in that same drowsy smile he’d had since we were kids. “You speak. I thought maybe you’d gone mute since I left.”
“Yes, sorry. You surprised me.” The understatement of the century.
“The Sugar Queen.” He gestured toward the doors. “It’s perfect.”
“Thanks.” I’m never a woman of many words, but my dry mouth made elegant oratory even more difficult.
“Mama tells me this is the best bakery in town,” he said.
I glanced around, wondering what it looked like through his eyes. Industrial lights hung over the counter. Round bistro-style tables and chairs looked out to the street. A silver espresso machine and a refrigerator with premade items took up one side, with the register and counter on the other. A chalkboard with the menu hung on the wall, written in my neat handwriting. Every morning I set out the day’s offerings on various platters and boards in an attractive display on the counter.
“It’s the only bakery in town,” I said.
He smiled again and lifted one thick eyebrow. “Probably because no one dares compete with you.”
Trapper. Always kind and encouraging to everyone he ever met. Lifting people up was like a mission with him. He could find the best part of a person, no matter who they were. He never missed an opportunity to inspire or encourage. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to bask in the glow of his compliment. Back in the day it had been the only antidote to my mother’s criticism. And there it was. I ached with wanting him, as if no time had passed. No, I screamed silently. Don’t let him break you. Not again.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked. “I mean, here in town.”
“I’ve moved home. Didn’t Breck and Huck tell you?”
Breck and Huck and Trapper were best friends from childhood. And no, they had not mentioned that Trapper was moving home permanently. Oh God. How could this be happening? I couldn’t have him here. Not living and breathing and stopping in for a damn scone. How would I look him in the eye, knowing what I’d done? The secret I’d kept from him.
“They don’t come by often.” I came out from behind the counter and turned the Open sign to Closed. “Anyway, it’s none of my business what you do.”
As I turned to face him, he placed his hand over his heart and smiled. “Ouch.”
Damn that smile. Still melted me like butter over a biscuit.
“You look beautiful,” he said. “More so than ever.”
“Not really.” I wondered if I had any flour on my face. When I was in the zone I didn’t think twice about my appearance. In the shop, I wore my long blond hair in a braid and usually didn’t bother with more than mascara and blush, always promising myself to remember lipstick but never quite managing. Truth is, I didn’t care about what I looked like. Everyone in this town had already seen me. I wasn’t interested in romance. The only Friday night date I wanted was a television show and a glass of wine.
The only man I’d ever cared about looking pretty for had left a long time ago.
“I always knew you’d do something spectacular,” he said.
“Baking bread is hardly spectacular,” I said.
“Tell that to the customers lined up out your door every morning.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
His chiseled features softened. I saw a hint of the vulnerable, sensitive boy I’d loved instead of the giant, confident man before me. “I’ve been by a few times. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me, so I just kept walking.”
“Why today then?” I kept my words clipped, unemotional. All I wanted was for him to leave so I could sort through what to do. I didn’t want him here. Not in my shop or my town.
“I couldn’t stop myself,” he said. “I wanted to see you.”
My stomach churned. “I would’ve thought Emerson Pass was a little small for you these days. Did you get hurt? Is that why you’re retiring?”
“That’s right. Bad knee. I lasted longer than most. It was time to come home and start a new chapter. I got some advice from my friend Brody Mullen. After my injury, he said to move back home. Start a new chapter with no regrets.”
I had no idea who that was. “I don’t follow hockey.”
His eyes widened. “Brody Mullen’s a former football quarterback. Some say the best there ever was. You don’t watch sports anymore?”
“No time. The world of professional sports is irrelevant to my life.” I motioned toward the back where my ovens resided. “Common people like me are just trying to make our rent.”
“There’s nothing common about you. Never has been.”
I ignored the praise. I’d be damned if he was going to suck me in with his effortless charm. Had I not evolved from a lovesick teenager? Remember your secret, I reminded myself. Remember what you kept from him.
“You used to love hockey,” he said. “If I recall correctly, you never missed a game.”
“I loved watching you. When you left, hockey lost its appeal.”
“Oh, okay.” He glanced down at the counter. “Guess that answers that question.”
“What’s that?” I asked, then silently cursed myself. Stop engaging. Tell him to leave.
“Sometimes when I played, I wondered if you were watching me on television.”
“I wasn’t.”
He flinched. “Got it.”
“What did you expect? That I was here pining for you?”
“Jeez, Brandi, you don’t have to be mean.”
The hurt in his eyes nearly undid my resolve to remain cold. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that way. You had the life you dreamed of, and I’m glad for you.” His dreams had come true. I’d wanted that for him. Remember that, I reminded myself. “I’m just surprised you ever thought of me at all.”
“Do I need to remind you how it all went down?” he asked softly. “You’re the one who ended things. You’re the one who made the rules. No contact, remember? You made it so I couldn’t come home.”
“How’s that exactly?” My voice cracked. “Your family owns most of this town. It’s yours more than mine.”
“Because I couldn’t come home and risk seeing you. It hurt too much.”
His words nearly knocked me across the room. I gripped the edge of the counter to stay in place. He didn’t mean it, I reminded myself. He chose hockey. Not me. “From what I could tell, you made up for it by dating a plethora of actresses and models.”
His mouth lifted in a sad smile. “You didn’t watch my games, but you read tabloids about me?”
“It’s hard to avoid. I stand in grocery store lines.” I wiped crumbs from the counter into my apron and tossed them into the garbage.
“Most of that stuff is lies. I only dated half the women they said I did.”
An arrow pierced my chest. Half the women. Women who were not me. My lunch continued to churn in my stomach. A drop of perspiration slid down my lower back. “You were a girl magnet in high school. Some things never change.” I looked past him to the street. The wind had come up, shaking the leaves of the aspens that lined Barnes Avenue.
“I never noticed anyone but you,” he said. “I never wanted anyone but you. Surely you remember that accurately?”
I avoided eye contact by reaching under the counter for a cloth I had soaking in bleach. “Where are you living?” I wiped the counter with short, furious strokes.
“I had a house built on my dad’s property. You didn’t know?”
“I don’t exactly get updates about your life. Neither of your parents has ever set foot in this place.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, about that. What happened between our mothers? Do you know? Mama said your mom shut her out after we broke up. Refused to answer her calls or emails. They were such good friends.”
How could I explain this without telling him the truth? “After we broke up, my mom thought it would be best if they were no longer friends. Less messy that way, I guess.”
“That’s sad,” he said. “The whole thing was sad.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Trapper.” I hadn’t planned to say that, but somehow it slipped out of my mouth.
He shrugged one muscular shoulder. “You did. Bad.”
“We were young,” I said. “I wasn’t ready.”
“I remember your reasons.” His jaw clenched as he looked down at the floor. “Didn’t make it any easier to lose you, though.”
I fiddled with my apron strings as waves of pain slapped me. “Have you been happy?” I asked through clenched teeth. “All your dreams came true—just like you planned.” My chest ached as I waited for him to tell me. Please, I thought, say yes. Please let one of us have had the life we wanted.
“Yeah, all my hockey dreams did come true.” He ran a hand over the top of his head. “They didn’t make me as happy as I figured they would.”
“What do you mean?”
“I loved playing, don’t get me wrong. But as the years went on, I started to understand it was simply a job. Not family. Not friendship. Not love. When the docs said my knee was shot, I figured it was time to find some of what I gave up when I left. So I came home. Back to the place where I left my heart.”
I almost reached over the counter to touch him but pushed my hands into my apron pockets to stop myself. How could I still love him this much? “Not much has changed here.” Lame, I thought. What a stupid thing to say after he poured his heart out to me.
“Can I ask you something?” He shifted weight from one leg to the other.
“Sure.”
“Did you ever have any intention of going with me to University of Michigan like we’d talked about, or did you know all along you wanted to stay here?” He asked this as if the words were being yanked out of him by an invisible rope.
“I’d planned on going, but I changed my mind,” I said.
“What did I do wrong?” His voice softened. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I swear to God, he looked like the little boy I’d met on the first day of grade school. “I’d like to know that. For peace of mind.”
“Nothing. Trapper, it was never you.” The back of my throat ached. I swallowed, trying to keep my composure. “We were young. It was a high school thing—not meant to last.” Liar, liar, liar.
“I never thought it was just a high school romance. I thought we were forever. I’ve never been able to move on.” He rubbed the heel of his hand on his forehead. “I should probably stop talking now.”
We were more than high school sweethearts. I’d known it then, and I knew it now. “I haven’t either.” The words were out before I could stop them.
“Why haven’t you ever reached out to me?” His eyes filled. “I would’ve been so happy to hear from you. There’s not a day that’s gone by that I haven’t thought about you.”
“It would’ve been wrong of me. You and I just weren’t meant to be. For so many reasons.”
“I can’t think of one.” He swiped at his eyes.
I knew one. Her name was Ava Elizabeth, and she was buried in the town cemetery. Our baby. Our stillborn baby.
“I didn’t get into Michigan,” I said. “That’s why I couldn’t go with you.”
He rocked back on his heels, as if I’d smacked him. “What? How come you didn’t tell me that?”
“I was ashamed.”
He studied me for a few seconds before speaking. “If you’d gotten in, would you have gone with me?”
“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t get in. I couldn’t just follow you and make your life my life. Eventually, you would’ve come to resent me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Think about it, Trapper. What was I supposed to do? Live in your dorm room and work at a fast-food place? Michigan was your dream, not mine.”
“I wish you’d have told me the truth,” he said. “You owed me that at least.”
“What good would that have done?” The truth? My rejection from Michigan was nothing compared to the other lie.
His cheeks reddened. “Because it would’ve helped me understand what the hell happened between us. One day we’re in love and the next day you’re breaking up with me. None of it made sense to me. It still doesn’t.”
“Do you remember the fight we had the week before we broke up?” I asked.
He nodded and shifted his gaze to the floor. “When you asked me if a circumstance demanded it, would I choose you or hockey—and I said hockey.”
After all these years, I could still feel the way those words had knocked a hole right through my middle. “That’s right.” I’d known I was pregnant by then. I hadn’t yet told my parents or Trapper. I’d planned to tell Trapper that night and see if we could come up with a plan together. However, the moment he’d said those words, I knew what I had to do.
Let go. Send him away to begin the rest of his life. At least one of us would have all our dreams come true.
He looked up at me. “That answer is the biggest regret of my life. I should never have said something so cruel.”
“It was hard to hear but necessary,” I said. “You were eighteen years old, and your whole career was in front of you. I was just the girl in high school you thought you loved.”
“I did love you. Not thought I loved you,” he said.
“No eighteen-year-old boy with the kind of drive and talent you had should ever pick a teenage romance over a college that would lead to a professional career. That would simply be stupid. Do you hear me? Don’t regret your honesty. It saved us both a lot of heartache in the end.”
“Did it? Or did it drive you away? I always felt like it was some kind of test and I failed and ruined everything between us.”
It was and it did.
“We were kids.” This wasn’t how I’d wanted this conversation to go. I needed him to leave. “What did we know about love? High school love never lasts. I was just a blip on your life. You know that.”
“I never knew that. In fact, I thought the opposite. Until you sent me away, I thought we’d get married. I thought we’d have a few kids by now.” His face twisted in obvious pain. “And then I ruined it by telling you hockey was more important than you.”
“Trapper, listen to me.” My chest hurt so much I could hardly breathe. “If I’d tagged along, you would’ve outgrown me.”
“I disagree.”
“What does it matter now?” I asked.
His voice rose in pitch. Tears dripped from his eyes. “I thought we were in love. Like epic love. The kind that lasts forever. Did you ever love me? I thought you did, and then you didn’t. I’ve never understood what happened.”
I looked at him too long. His expression changed from sad to expectant. The truth must have leaked out of my eyes along with the tears that suddenly blurred my vision. “I loved you enough to let you go.”
“That makes no sense.”
“What I needed from you was more than you could give.” My careless mistake would have cost him everything. Two nights in a row I’d forgotten to take my birth control pills. Instead of telling him, I kept it to myself. The first of the secrets I’d kept from him.
“What did you need?”
“I needed you to want to stay here and have a simple life. In the end, we simply didn’t fit together. I couldn’t leave here. I never have, you know.”
He watched me with those eyes that still drew me in like no one else’s ever had. “Well, I’m back now for good. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Too much time has passed, Trapper. We don’t even know each other anymore.”
“Fair enough.” The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile that did nothing to hide his sadness. “But we could get to know each other again.”
“I…I can’t,” I said.
“Are you seeing someone?”
My first instinct was to lie. However, this town was too small for yet more deceit. “I’m not. I don’t want a relationship. I’m too busy.”
He picked up a napkin from the counter and wiped his eyes.“Right. Got it. I feel like an idiot coming in here and talking about this stuff. If it means anything, my intention was to come in and say hello to an old friend. I didn’t plan for us to get into the past to this extent.”
“You know what they say about best intentions.” I smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.
“I guess so,” he said. “I’m still trying to find a way to move on.”
“I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.” I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking like a burned, brittle cookie. “There’s no reason to hold on to the past.”
“I guess I should go, then.” He turned toward the door.
“Don’t forget your scone. I can bag it up for you.” Why had I put it on a plate in the first place?
“Nah, I lost my appetite. See you around.”
I watched him walk out the door. He looked left, then right, as if deciding which way to go. In the end, he crossed Barnes Avenue and hopped into a shiny black truck and drove away, just as he’d done ten years earlier.
Find a way to move on. He’d never been able to move on or get over me? As hard as this was to believe, I knew it to be true. Trapper had never lied to me. I was the liar.
If I’d gone to him back then and told him about the pregnancy, would the course of our lives have been altered but not ruined? Did my grief kill our baby? I’d never know now. Trapper could never be mine. Not after the secret I kept from him.
I sank to the floor behind the counter and cried.
***
Thirty minutes later, I drove out to the cemetery and parked in my usual spot. I walked down the winding cement path to the Strom family plot where my baby rested. I sat on the grass next to her. My mother had not allowed me to have her name or dates etched into the simple headstone. Only a simple outline of a bird carved into the granite marked her existence. Ava meant bird. My little bird.
I traced my fingers over the etching. “He came back. And it turns out I still love him. I know, not surprising. I never stopped. All his dreams came true. At least I was able to give him that.”
I’d had to lie to him, pretend I didn’t love him, and hide my pregnancy so that he might have the life he deserved. Hockey was his destiny. “When he was a little boy, all he ever cared about was hockey. You should’ve seen him on the ice. He was a sight. I couldn’t hold him back from his dreams.”
I knew if it came down to it, he’d choose the game over me. He proved me right when I asked him. Which would you choose? Me or hockey? We’d been sitting in lawn chairs at his Grammie and Pa’s house on the first warm day of spring.
“I don’t have to choose. I can have both,” he’d said, flashing me that confident grin.
“In this game, you have to choose.” I’d turned away, afraid to show him my reaction.
“Hockey. I mean, for now anyway. If I’m to give you a great life, it has to start with me playing hockey.”
There it was. The answer. I knew what I had to do.
Now I spoke to my daughter as if she were there. “When he moved away to college, I thought I might die without him.”
I didn’t, obviously. It was just my heart that had died. The rest of me was intact. After he left, I told my parents I was pregnant. My mother hatched a plan. A secret pregnancy. Adoption. No one would know, including Trapper and his parents. “I’ll be damned if I let a baby wreck your life like it did mine.”
It? “It” was me. I was her baby. And I was still here, ruining all her plans.
She’d wanted everything for me that she’d had to give up when she became pregnant at seventeen. She’d wanted a college education. She’d wanted a life with intellectuals and professionals. Instead, she’d gotten pregnant and married my dad. What had been a summer camp counselor fling had created a baby. Dad had brought her home to his mountain town in Colorado. As far as I could tell, she’d hated every moment of her life here.
Everyone seemed to understand that I lacked the brains to pursue academics except my mother. She couldn’t see me as I was, refusing to have me tested for learning disabilities, berating me that if I only tried harder my grades would be better.
In the end, it didn’t matter what she wanted for me. I was a disappointment. Even my compassionate father, who loved me more than anything in the world, was crestfallen at my failure to get into college. Then I broke his heart further when I got pregnant.
My mother had located a wonderful couple who desperately wanted a child. He was a doctor. She was a professor. The family my mother wished we’d been. Little did she know, I’d had no intention of giving my baby to anyone.
I’d been confined to the house as the baby grew inside me. To keep occupied, I’d baked bread in my mother’s kitchen. Loaves and loaves. Sourdough, wheat, oat, pumpernickel. I’d kneaded and measured and watched the yeast rise day after day. After I conquered bread, I’d moved on to cakes and cookies and muffins from the recipes from my great-great-great-grandmother Lizzie.
All the while I’d tried to work out how I was going to escape with my baby. I was a young woman with no skills and no family support unless I did exactly what they wanted. Still, I’d been determined that somehow, I would find a way to raise her on my own.
Finally, in desperation, I’d called my friend Crystal Whalen. She’d lived in Seattle during the school year and visited her grandparents during the summers. Descendants of Harley and Merry Depaul, her grandparents had continued the family’s horse breeding farm in Emerson Pass. However, her mother, Jennifer, had had different ideas. She’d chosen pottery over horses and had moved to Seattle, where she’d opened her own studio. When I told Crystal about the baby and my parents’ wishes, Jennifer had offered the baby and me a room in her home. I could stay with them until l got on my feet. She, too, had been a single mother, raising Crystal by herself. By choice, she assured me. “Who needs a man?”
Me, I’d thought. I wasn’t independent or progressive thinking like Jennifer. I had no talents or ambitions.
Sweet little Brandi Vargas. Blonde and cute in my high school cheerleader uniform, but without an ounce of brains. I’d wanted Trapper and babies and to bake bread on Sunday afternoons in my kitchen. No woman in this day and age was supposed to want such a simple life. Despite that, I had.
When it came time for the baby’s arrival, my parents had driven me to Denver, not wanting the local doctors to know about my pregnancy. In triage, the doctor’s face had blanched. He hadn’t looked me in the eye. I’d known something was wrong.
“What is it?”
“I’m not getting a heartbeat.”
No words strung together in the English language had ever been as cruel.
I’d given birth to a baby girl. A baby girl who’d died in my womb.
I’d begged my parents to let me take her home and bury her in the plot with Lizzie and Jasper and the rest of our family. They’d agreed, as long as I kept her name and dates off the headstone. We’d asked the funeral director to please keep it quiet.
For months afterward, I’d barely left the house except to go to the cemetery. I’d bring a blanket and stay for hours. Other than that, I kept to my room watching television or staring out the window. An entire season went by, then another. Finally, one day, my father perched on the side of my bed and proposed an idea.
“There’s going to be a farmers’ market in town on Wednesdays,” he’d said. “How about you bake some bread and sweets to sell?”
I’d agreed, mostly to quell the look of worry in his eyes. The very first Wednesday, I’d sold out of every loaf of bread, all the cookies, and most of the muffins. News of my delicious baked items spread, and people started stopping by the house, asking if I had anything to sell. People referred to me as the Sugar Queen.
When my mother couldn’t stand the flour on her kitchen floor one more minute, Dad encouraged me to take out a loan and open my own shop. He owned the building that used to be the Johnsons’ dry goods store back in the day. The former tenants had used it for a frozen yogurt shop that went under. I’d blamed the cold winters. Who wanted frozen yogurt when icicles hung from the rafters?
From the moment I’d walked in, even before Dad and I had installed the industrial ovens and painted the walls a cream color, the voices of the Johnson family seemed to speak to us. Offer a good product and service, and customers will come.
Dad had suggested I use my nickname for the shop. He’d painted the doors red, then we hung a sign: The Sugar Queen. I’d practically heard the Johnson sisters cheering me on as Dad and I’d given a face-lift to the front of the building. Cherry siding and tall windows with hanging baskets of bright flowers brought the storefront into this century. I’d decorated the inside with bistro tables and a wide counter made of repurposed wood from the original floors.
From that day forward, I started work every morning at 4:00 a.m. and opened the doors at 7:00 a.m. The inside always smelled of sugar, butter, and fresh coffee. Customers flocked to my little place. A hit, despite my deficiencies.
Our guidance counselor had once advised me to use my pretty face and sweet disposition to my advantage, implying I didn’t have much else going for me. Didn’t I get the last laugh? I did have a talent. A talent for which I was admired and adored. Or my products were, anyway. Notwithstanding the tears that sometimes fell in the batter, I was the Sugar Queen.
Most days, I worked so hard proving everyone wrong I didn’t have time or energy to think of all I’d lost. I made a good living doing what I loved. Crystal moved to Emerson Pass after her husband’s death and opened a kitchen shop next door to my bakery. Mom and I came to a distant truce. Dad was still my biggest fan.
A happy ending, of sorts. Until the day Trapper came home and I had to face the past, my lies piling up like sticky, messy muffins on a platter.
“What do I do, little bird?”
But my little bird didn’t answer. She never did.
Chapter 2: Trapper
An hour after I saw Brandi, I walked under the melodic rustle of the aspens that lined Barnes Avenue. Not much had changed in our quaint tourist town since I’d lived here as a child. Baskets with vibrant displays of begonias, lobelia, petunias, and creeping Jenny hung from the retro streetlamps. Higgins Meat Shop, Puck’s Bar and Grill, and Al’s Diner remained in the same brick buildings they’d been in all my life. A high-end grocery store that sold fancy cheese and organic produce had replaced the more pedestrian one of my youth. One of the original brick buildings had become Emerson Pass Brewery. A French bistro and a pizza joint shared another. Next to Brandi’s bakery, a kitchen shop, new since I was last home, had a sign in the window advertising gourmet cooking classes.
Emerson Pass was built in the valley between two mountains. The northern sister, as we called her, was brown and bare in patches where ski paths had been cleared. Once ski season arrived, it would be covered in snow. Our southern sister remained wooded, other than roads and a peppering of homes.
I stopped in the town square, a grassy area where a statue of Alexander Barnes and his wife, Quinn, hinted at the influence my family had had on Emerson Pass for over a hundred years. Alexander had built the town in brick on his own dime after a fire destroyed it in the latter part of the nineteenth century. They stood strong and proud to this day. I ran my fingers down the bronze rendition of the man I’d come from. When I was a kid I’d often come here to stare into the image of his face, wondering if I would ever be the leader and man he had been.
Today, as I looked into those lifeless eyes, the weight of my failures haunted me. Alexander had believed in love, family, and community. Legend said he fell in love with the beautiful schoolteacher Quinn Cooper the first moment he set eyes upon her. He spent his life making sure she knew she was loved. Alexander would never have told his Quinn that he would choose something over her.
Her question that day had been a test. She’d needed me to say I would choose her and instead I’d blurted out the words of a selfish young man. Brandi would not have asked me to choose. She simply needed to know that I would. I’d let her down, and she’d never forgiven me.
After seeing her today, I knew only one thing. I still loved her. As much as I’d wanted her to be someone I once loved—a fond memory of my high school sweetheart—it simply wasn’t true. I loved her the same as I always had.
I’d had such plans for us. First, college together, and then a wedding before I was drafted onto a professional team. I’d play for however long my body lasted, and then we’d come back here together and start a family. Some of the guys I’d played with were the type to take advantage of the women who offered themselves. Many of the married ones slept around just because they could. That wasn’t me. If I’d still had Brandi, I would have remained faithful to her despite the fame, money, and attention. From the first time I kissed her, I’d known she was the one. I’d never loved anyone else. Would I ever be able to? God, I wanted to. I wanted someone to fill this hole she’d left in me.
Was moving back here a mistake? This was a small town. I was sure to run into her frequently. Would it be too painful? I’d never be able to see her without this awful ache in my gut and a craving to touch her, be with her, make her laugh.
I turned to Quinn’s statue. The artist had carved her famous thick blond hair under a jaunty hat. She’d been good to Alexander and his five children, rescuing them from the heartache of losing a wife and mother. I knew from reading her journals how much she’d loved them all. Maybe that was my mistake. Reading those journals had made me too much of a romantic. Not everyone wins the one they love. Some of us are too stupid to keep them.
I’d thought from the time we had our first kiss that she and I were a love story like the one Quinn and Alexander had shared. For whatever reasons, we were not. Would I ever find anyone who would push aside her memory? I wanted that more than anything. At the moment it felt like a farfetched dream.
My phone buzzed from my pocket with a message from my real estate broker.
The ice rink and property are officially yours. We just closed.
Temporarily cheered by this great news, I sat on a bench and typed back a response.
Fantastic. Can’t wait to get started.
***
My broker, Bill Schaefer, handed me a ring of keys. “It’s all yours. For better or worse.” A good friend of my father’s, Bill handled all our real estate deals. My mother called him a “silver fox” and was endlessly trying to fix him up with eligible widows.
We stood in what used to be the lobby of the ice rink. Remnants of the old carpet remained in shaggy sections of hideous red and blue. Paint peeled from the walls. The place smelled of mildew and decaying wood.
I peered through the clear plastic that separated the actual skating area from the lobby. What had once been covered in ice was now rotting floorboards. “I can’t believe they let this place get this bad,” I said.
“The Morrison family couldn’t afford to keep it up and running,” Bill said. “They shut it down about eight years ago. No one’s touched it since.”
“I’ll make it shine,” I said. “This town needs its rink back.”
When I’d learned the old place where I’d learned to skate was in foreclosure, I’d made an offer a few months before I moved home. I’d gotten it for a steal and planned to completely renovate. I’d restore the inside rink and add an outdoor one for the winter months. Not only would it be ideal for recreation, I wanted to create a youth hockey training program here. Boys and girls with the talent and drive but not necessarily the funds would be invited to participate in camps.
For years I’d thought Emerson Pass should have an outdoor rink for recreational purposes, like the one that used to be here downtown back in Alexander’s days. I’d grown up hearing stories of my forefathers wooing their women while skating. Now that we were a tourist town, I planned to bring that pastime back with a seasonal outdoor rink.
My great-great-grandfather Flynn had loved to skate and ski. Like me, he loved competition. My father says I must have inherited his love of sports and competition, because I came out kicking. After World War I, Flynn had become obsessed with skiing for recreation. While overseas, he and his twin, Theo, had seen the ski mountains in Europe and had been inspired to bring the sport home to Colorado.
The Barnes family cleared the mountain of trees, creating downhill ski routes. Using the logs, they built the first lodge, securing our fate as a ski town. Without that industry, I suspected the town would have died a natural death. People need commerce to thrive. Since then, every Barnes generation had run the mountain. My sister, Fiona, still at college, would someday come home to take over from my dad. Her passion, like his, was skiing. Skating and hockey, though, had my heart. As Bill had said, for better or worse, I’d added the rink to our list of family enterprises.
I shook Bill’s hand. “Thanks, Bill. I’ll be sure to invite you to the opening.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” He adjusted his blue tie as his forehead crinkled. “But don’t tell your mother.”
“Why’s that?”
He shook his head slowly. “She means well, but last time I attended one of her parties, I was trapped in the corner with one of her female friends who apparently had been encouraged by Rose to pursue me.” He shuddered. “She was scary.”
“My mother or the woman?”
“I was referring to the woman, but same goes for your mother.”
“I feel you. Trust me.”
***
I squinted into the brilliant blue as I left the grocery store with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. Mama had invited me to dinner, and I knew better than to go emptyhanded.
I rolled the windows down as I traveled the country road toward my parents’ home. Wildflowers in purples, reds, and yellows peppered the meadows. Their sweet scents drifted through my open windows. I draped my right arm over the back of the seat the way I’d done in high school. Only then, Brandi had been next to me. What I wouldn’t give to go back to those days.
I turned down the Barneses’ gravel road. There were several houses on the fifty acres, built by various offspring of Alexander and Quinn. Two years ago, long before retirement seemed a possibility, my parents had asked if I wanted to build a house somewhere on our land. I’d agreed, knowing that someday I would want a place of my own in Emerson Pass. After all, this place was part of my DNA. Five generations of Barneses had spent their lives here. I knew it was my ultimate destiny to return.
Mama had spent the better part of a year working with the architect and contractors on my house. We’d corresponded throughout the whole process via email and phone calls, but I’d trusted her to make decisions about furniture and paint colors. Mama was a woman of exquisite taste, which sadly had not been passed on to me. I could barely tell the difference in shades of blue she presented as possible wall colors for my bedroom. I’d asked her for a house filled with light and airy rooms, comfortable over formal. A home where family and friends could gather on the patio or in the kitchen for parties. She said I leaned toward a modern farmhouse feel and favored light colors and traditional lines. I had no idea what that meant. All I knew was the sanctuary she made for me was now my favorite place on earth. I guess it’s true that no one knows you like your mama.
I hadn’t expected to be back here full time by now, hoping to play for at least a few more years. After my knee injury, I knew it was time to come home. Mama’s hard work had made sure I had an actual home to soften my landing. The house had been completed two winters ago, but I hadn’t spent much time there until recently. I’d come home during a few of my breaks, but our team schedule kept me on the road. I’d made sure not to go into town for fear I’d run into Brandi. My instincts to stay away were right. I should have done so today.
Besides the master, my house had five bedrooms. Mom had decided it would be best if I had a place for out-of-town guests, like former teammates. Given the popularity of Emerson Pass as a ski destination, she said, it was best to have places for friends. I’d agreed. In general, it wasn’t wise to question Rose Barnes. She was always right in the end. When my dad brought her to Emerson Pass for the first time, she’d offended her future mother-in-law by suggesting that the decor of the lodge needed an update. Two years later, the entire place had been redecorated. Grammie Harriet was not one to stay mad for long and quickly forgave my bossy and energetic mother. Grandfather Normandy always said Grammie was the sweetest woman he’d ever met. She couldn’t hold a grudge to save her life.
I parked in the gravel driveway and grabbed the wine and flowers. My parents lived in the original Barnes home, built around 1900. Over the years, it had been remodeled, bringing the kitchen upstairs from the basement to the main living floor. The original wood floors had been replaced, but the vaulted ceilings and large windows remained. Having inspected photos of earlier times, I knew the outside had remained pretty much the same as the original—red brick and beams of hardwood made from trees on the property. Family lore told us that Alexander Barnes took several years to build the house. Had he imagined it would remain over a hundred years later?
My father’s roses were in full bloom. A slight breeze brought their scent as I headed across the yard and walked in through the unlocked front door. White wainscoting, put in by my mother, contrasted nicely with the original dark wood of the foyer and stairs. Off to the right of the entryway, what had once been called the library was now the primary family room with comfortable furniture and a large-screen television. The basement where the old kitchen and staff quarters were was now my dad’s man cave. He’d installed a pool table and bar, where he entertained his buddies during sports events.
“Mama?”
“In here,” she called from the back of the house.
I scurried down the hallway, passing family photos placed decoratively on the wall. Many were of my sister, Fiona, and me during every stage of our lives, as well as my parents’ and grandparents’ wedding photos. There were also a few of longago relatives, including one of Alexander and Quinn Barnes with their seven children. I stopped to look, drawn to it for some reason during times of uncertainty. Seeing Brandi had shaken me. I needed to look at the photo of a happy family.
This one had been taken in 1918 before Flynn and Theo had joined the army to fight in WWI. They’d been only seventeen and had lied about their ages. Josephine, a striking blonde and the eldest, was tall and slender and stared unsmiling into the camera with a fierce intelligence. Her sisters, Cymbeline and Fiona, both with dark curls and delicate beauty, smiled, but I could see the fear in their eyes as they contemplated the dangers of war. The two younger children, born to Quinn and Alexander after their marriage, were around five and seven in the photo. Both girls looked like their mother, with dark eyes and massive amounts of wavy blond hair. The beauty of the Barnes women was legendary in this town. One had only to look at the photographs to know it wasn’t unfounded.
I poked my head into the library—we still called it that a hundred years later—to see if my father was there, but the room was empty. Often, during the off-season from the slopes, he spent time reading or watching sports in the early afternoons. I wandered over to a cabinet where Dad kept the journals, letters, photographs, and marriage and death certificates of the Barnes family, dating back to Alexander. One of the leather-bound journals was on the chair next to the cabinet. Dad had been piecing together family stories for a few years now, hoping to compile everything into one volume for the family.
I picked up the journal. From the loopy handwriting, I knew this was one of Quinn’s. She and Alexander had kept detailed notes about their family. This passage was from 1914.
It’s been months since I’ve written here in the pages of this journal. The children keep me so busy that it’s hard to find time for an entry. I promised myself when Alexander and I married that I would include passages at least once a month on the state of the children and any other news of our friends and family. Thus far, I’m failing miserably.
I told Alexander last week that we’re going to have another baby. With Adelaide being almost three, I didn’t think I would have another. Given how amorous we are at night, I didn’t imagine this much time would stretch out before another pregnancy unless I was incapable of producing another. I thought perhaps, given the difficult birth of our Addie, that something had gone wrong inside me. Alexander was overjoyed, as I expected he would be, although not surprised. He said I have the same glow I had with Addie. I’m quite certain he’s lying about the glow. I’ve been nauseated from morning until night for the past week. He would have had to be blind not to notice my green complexion.
Alexander seems to have no concerns over the number of children we have! Which causes me to love him even more than I did yesterday. I think often of the time before I came here. The hunger and worry seem from another time, another life.
We’ve agreed I will not go back to teaching in the fall. Handing over the school is harder than it probably should be. Many women dream of having the opportunity to simply run a house and raise children. I see myself, despite being the mother of six, as the schoolmistress of Emerson Pass. However, I know it’s better for me to be home with our children. Luckily, Martha Johnson has returned from her time at university and is anxious to take over for me. She’s grown into such a fine young lady, pretty, capable, and smart. I’m proud to have been her teacher. Her sister will begin her second year at university in a few months. Soon, perhaps, both the Johnson girls will teach together. Alexander wants to add another classroom to meet the needs of our growing town.
Mother saw our new doctor, Leo Neal, yesterday. He’s a great deal better than Dr. Moore, understanding modern techniques and caring for his patients with compassion instead of as a nuisance who pull him from his chair at the bar. Dr. Neal is amazed at Mother’s recovery and says it’s the mountain air that’s made it easier to breathe, not the powder Dr. Moore prescribed.
On another note, young Dr. Neal asked if Martha had a beau. I had to hide my amusement at the way his ears turned bright red when he asked. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the two of them dancing together at our social this Friday evening. Seeing young love turn into marriages and families gives Alexander and me much satisfaction. We can’t help but feel pride to see our little town grow and our young people blossom. I can remember clearly the first day of school when I looked out on the frightened faces of my class. To see how far they’ve come is nothing short of miraculous.
Josephine and Poppy have begged us to allow them to attend the dance this weekend. They’re both seventeen now, so I suppose it’s time. I’d rather keep them young for a while longer, but that’s not my decision. God has a plan for each of them, I’m sure. Jo remains resolute
about opening a library in town. Last week, she sent a letter to Mr. Carnegie. Bold, that one. Especially when it comes to books. Poppy wants to become a veterinarian and look after all the farm animals. I worry if either of them will be given a chance in this man’s world. This is the crux of motherhood—this mixture of worry and love and pride until it seems my heart might explode with the enormity of it all.
The twins had their thirteenth birthday yesterday. They wanted a picnic down by the creek for their party. The weather’s warm enough to swim, even in that frigid water, so we all dressed in our bathing clothes and headed across the meadow. Last summer, Flynn and Cymbeline managed to make a pool for swimming by damming up a section of the creek with rocks. They worked on their project steadily for a month. Keeping up with Flynn has given Cymbeline muscles like a boy. The spot is a good five feet deep and perfect for a refreshing swim.
For our picnic, Lizzie and Mrs. Wu made the boys’ favorites: fried chicken, potato salad, and pound cake. Alexander and Jasper have a fascination with the new ice cream maker and made another batch to go with our cake. Even I managed to eat a little and keep it down. The Cole family, Li and Fai, and even Mrs. Wu joined us. Flynn is thick as thieves with Noah and Roman Cole. They run wild in the meadows and forest, creating worlds of make-believe. Li and Theo, the intellectuals of our clan, are inclined toward books and quiet games. They have an ongoing chess game here in the library. Since the Wu family came to live with us, Fai and Li have become as robust and lively as the rest of our enthusiastic bunch. Mrs. Wu has learned some English. She and Lizzie share duties in the kitchen, which has been a blessing since Florence came.
Harley and Merry have had their second son since I last wrote. Jack’s a fat, happy baby and looks exactly like Harley. Henry just turned four and is his father’s shadow. He loves horses like no child I’ve ever seen. Even more so than Flynn and Cymbeline, which I didn’t think was possible. Alexander gave Harley two colts for Christmas a few years ago and they’ve bred them twice now, producing fine horses, which they’ve sold for a handsome profit.
Lizzie and Jasper’s little Florence, born a month before Adelaide, has finally recovered from her fever and cold. We fretted for a week. I don’t believe Lizzie or Jasper slept the entire time she was ill. Even Mrs. Wu’s miraculous tea didn’t work. Today, however, Florence is well and playing out in the barn with the others. They’re all excited because we’ve had another litter of piglets. She’s quite the character. As pretty and pink as a cherry blossom like Lizzie, but with the personality of her father. By that I mean wickedly smart with a propensity for dictatorship. The other day I observed Florence, Jack, and Addie playing with toys in the nursery. Florence had sorted the toys by type and had a system for who could play with what, like her father with the wine inventory. Lizzie and I had a good laugh over that one.
Rachel Cole has finally stopped wearing all black. It’s been four years since her husband’s death, and she seems to be ready to live again. We had a nice talk yesterday, just the two of us, with our feet in the creek. She insists she’ll never remarry. I hope and pray that the right man will come along to give her a second chance for love. Her brother, Wilber, has gone back to Chicago, making it even more lonely out there by herself with just the children. Rachel says he’s gone to find a woman. She suspects he’ll show up one day with a bride by his side and stay for good.
Fiona’s as bubbly and sweet as always and soaks up learning like a sponge. Her brothers call her the Sweetheart of Emerson Pass because wherever she goes, people flock to her. I suspect it’s her positive and loving character that attracts others to her. It’s as if they feel her sunny presence will somehow rub off on them. Theo says she is magical. I have to agree. Of course, I think that about all my children.
Cymbeline, albeit smart and good at her studies, has a temper and a competitiveness I worry will get her into trouble later in life. It never occurs to her that she’s a girl and therefore not capable of doing anything a boy can do. That said, thus far, it seems she can do everything a boy can do. She’s sassy and opinionated yet has a heart as vast as the Colorado sky. I pray for the man she marries. He will have to be a patient, good-natured fellow and willing to marry a woman with her own accomplishments and will. I imagine a man as strong as an ox, with the mind of a fox and a heart like the most loyal puppy.
Adelaide’s had a growth spurt finally but will be small like me, I suspect. She’s shy and reserved, like my father, and is the pet of the household. I was afraid she wouldn’t learn to walk because the others carried her around for the first two years of her life. She worships Fiona and follows her all over the house begging to be included in whatever game her older sister is playing. Fiona, bless her, is patient and loving. Perhaps she remembers how she did the same with Cymbeline when they were younger. I can still remember her crestfallen face that first day we all went off to school.
My sister and Clive will marry in the spring. Mother has finally agreed that she’s old enough. Poor Clive has worked awfully hard to win Mother over. I never knew the woman could be so stubborn. Meanwhile, Annabelle has been hired to sew five wedding dresses in as many weeks. She’s working out of a room in Alexander’s office in town, using the new sewing machine we bought for her last year. We were all surprised when she started getting orders from Louisville! Soon, she’ll have a wedding dress empire.
Ah, well, this entry must come to a close. The children have all come in from outside, where they’ve been doing Saturday chores. I can smell them from the library! As it did with Adelaide, my sense of smell seems to have heightened during pregnancy. I’ll have to send them all upstairs for their baths or toss them back outside.
***
As was always the case when I picked up one of the journals from my relatives of long ago, I was transported back in time. It must have been peaceful to live in a simpler era. Children these days were always on their phones or computers rather than playing outside or being delighted by a litter of piglets. Sometimes I wished I’d been born in a different era. Then again, I wouldn’t have been able to play hockey. I might be a frustrated competitor like Cymbeline.
I set aside the journal and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Mama was chopping carrots and humming along to her favorite country station. I set the flowers on the counter and moved aside a section of blond hair to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi, Mama.”
“Hello, doll.” Mama had a Southern drawl that elongated every word with extra syllables. A former gymnast, she was short but strong. Dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, she darted around the kitchen. Mama had two speeds—full throttle or asleep.
“Open that wine. We can have a glass before dinner.” She tossed the carrots into a salad bowl and wiped her hands on a towel.
I obeyed. Mama said what she wanted, and most people gave it to her without question. I both feared and adored her in equal measure.
She put the flowers in a vase, then reached into the cabinet for wine glasses.
I poured us both a generous glass of the red blend I’d found at the grocery store. “That new store is kind of fancy. I’m not sure I like it.”
“Oh, you Barnes men and your insistence on keeping everything exactly as it was in the past is completely unrealistic.”
“Grammie thinks so, too,” I said.
“That’s because she’s from here, too.”
“You like it here, don’t you, Mama?”
“I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. I wonder if you miss Georgia and your sister,” I said as I handed her a glass of wine.
“My sister, yes. But I go home to Georgia twice a year, and my sister comes here often.”
“I was thinking about what it’s like to be from here—how it tugged at me the entire time I was away. I was wondering if it’s that way for you.”
“Not every place is like Emerson Pass that way,” Mama said.
“Anyway, when I agreed to marry your dad, I knew Emerson Pass came along with the package. In fact, how I feel about him is wrapped up in this place. Even this house. This became my new world the first time he brought me home to meet Grammie and Pa.”
“I’m glad to be back, Mama.”
She clinked my glass. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I’ve missed you more than you can know.”
“I didn’t think it would happen this fast. I’d hoped for a few more years, but now that I’ve accepted it, I’m at peace.”
“For real?” She peered at me with bright green eyes almost too big in her small heart-shaped face.
“It’s an adjustment to be without the routine of practice and games, but I’m actually all right. I knew this day would come eventually.”
“I remember the first year after I was done with gymnastics felt strange and empty,” Mama said. “At first I didn’t know what to do with myself, but after a time my days were filled with new passions.”
“Speaking of which, I closed on the rink today. We’re starting the renovation next week.”
Her face lit up as she smacked the counter. “Wonderful news. I’m proud of the way you’ve handled forced retirement. Jumping right in on the next season of life is exactly what you should do.” She sipped from her glass before setting it aside to shred lettuce.
“You don’t think it was impulsive?”
“I think you can be impulsive, but this one feels right. I’d say it’s about time someone took the rink into the current decade. The carpet in there must be older than me.”
“You’ll have your decorating skills put to the test.” I perched on one of the stools at the island and watched Mama season three steaks.
“I’m not worried as long as you don’t insist on carpet with geometric shapes in psychedelic colors,” she said. “Like they did the last time someone renovated the place.”
I chuckled. “You have my word.”
“What else did you do today?”
I hesitated to tell her I’d stopped by to see Brandi. My mother had loved her when we were dating but after she abruptly broke up with me, Mama’s allegiance had vanished. She’d been the one who had to pick me off the floor the night I’d come home devastated.
“What is it?” she asked. “You have that look on your face that you used to get when you, Huck, and Breck had done something you weren’t supposed to.”
I laughed. “No, nothing like that. I went by to see Brandi today.”
My father came in from the patio with a book in one hand and an empty beer bottle in the other. “Brandi, huh?” He set aside the book and tossed the bottle into the recycle bin. “How did it go?” Dad, tall and broad-shouldered, had skied and played hockey competitively in high school and now participated in triathlons for fun. We shared the same dark hair and eyes and olive complexion.
“I made an idiot out of myself.” I dropped my forehead into one hand as I flushed with heat.
“How so?” Mama asked.
“I basically told her I’d never gotten over her,” I said. “And then she dropped a bombshell. She didn’t get into Michigan.”
“Really?” Dad said. “Why didn’t she tell you back then?”
“She was ashamed, I guess. She also said she wouldn’t have gone with me, even if she had gotten in, so it doesn’t really matter. To her, we were just a high school thing. Not meant to last—I think those were words she used. Which is not how I experienced it.” I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “I guess I’m still trying to figure out what happened.”
“What happened,” Mama said, emphasizing every word, “is that she broke your heart.”
“Now, Rose,” Dad said, running a hand over the top of his salt-and-pepper hair. A gesture we shared. “It was all a long time ago, and they were young.” He turned toward me. “Too young to have made a life decision to get married. You kids needed to grow up a little before you could be together.”
“She could’ve done it in a kinder way,” Mama said. “To break up with you before prom and never speak to you again was uncalled for. Especially given how close you were.”
“Honey, I thought we talked about this,” Dad said.
“About what?” Mama widened her eyes, as if she were completely innocent.
“Not to talk harshly about the girl he loved,” Dad said. “I thought it was a good decision on her part. She couldn’t just follow you wherever your path took you. She needed to find her own way.”
I nodded, thinking through what he said and how it stacked up against what she’d shared with me this afternoon. What would she have done if she’d followed me to college with no skills or plan? She would have been miserable. I wiped the rim of my glass where my lip balm had made a smudge. “You’re right, but damn, it hurt.”
Mama reached into the cabinet for another glass and slid it over to my father. “I can see her point, I suppose. No woman wants to follow a man around.”
“You came here when I asked you to,” Dad said.
“We were already finished with college and had jobs,” Mama said. “That’s different.”
“I don’t understand why I’ve never gotten over her,” I said.
“It’s been ten years.”
“It’s time to move on, honey,” Mama said. “She made her choice a long time ago.”
“You’re right. I need to spend time finding the right woman instead of crying over the wrong one.” I scratched the back of my neck. “The moment I saw her all the same old feelings rushed back. Being with her was like no time had passed.”
“Well, it has passed,” Mama said. “She was your high school sweetheart. Now maybe she can be an acquaintance you remember fondly. You have a beautiful home and a new passion.”
I nodded. She was correct. However, my heart didn’t seem to know what my head did. Brandi Vargas was not my past, present, or future. She was just a girl I used to date back in high school.
I looked up from my glass to find my dad watching me. “What’s up, Dad?”
“What is it you’re not telling us?” he asked.
I hesitated, embarrassed. “A week before she broke up with me, she asked me if the circumstances were such that I had to choose between her and hockey, which would it be.”
“You answered hockey,” Dad said.
“I did.”
“Well, of course you did,” Mama said. “You couldn’t choose a girl over your career. Hockey was your focus, as it should have been when you were eighteen years old. Not a girl.”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it so many times since then. It wasn’t like she was asking me to choose. The question was more hypothetical. Like a test.”
“She knew by then she hadn’t gotten into school,” Mama said. “Maybe she wanted you to stay.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. She said today that it would have been foolish for me to give up my scholarship for her. In fact, she said she would never have asked me to.”
“Which makes the question confusing,” Dad said.
“Right,” I said.
Mama tucked her hair behind her ears and glared at my father, then me. “What’s confusing is why we’re talking about this instead of grilling steaks. I’m telling you—let this go. Move on. There are plenty of nice, smart women in this town,” Mama said. “One of them will be just right for you. As a matter of fact, the wedding planner we hired at the lodge is adorable. She’s from Nebraska. Very pretty and sweet as sweet tea.”
“Are you talking about Tiffany?” Dad asked.
“That’s right,” Mama said. “I’m certain she’s single.”
“I’m not sure she’s Trapper’s type.” Dad narrowed his eyes and studied me, as if I were a stranger to him.
“Why’s that?” I asked, chuckling. “Should I be offended?”
“She’s very prim and proper,” Dad said. “I don’t think she’d been off her parents’ farm until we hired her. She moved here for the job. I could see her with someone like Breck.”
“What’s Breck got that I don’t?” I asked.
“He’s gentle,” Dad said. “Soft-spoken and considerate. You’d probably scare her to death.”
“He’s a veterinarian. She’s not a cat or dog,” I said. The way Breck held a kitten in his big hands was enough to break your heart.
“He’s a special boy,” Mama said. “Always has been.”
“What about me?” I asked, feigning hurt. “I want to be special.”
“You’re special.” Mama laughed as she rolled her eyes. “Just not in the same way.”
“Might I remind you that I was a superstar in the world of hockey?” I asked.
“That’s all fine and dandy, but you’re home now.” Mama pointed at me with a salad tong. “We all knew you before braces fixed your teeth.”
“This is a rough crowd.” I grinned at my mother.
Dad leaned closer and clinked his glass with mine. “We better grill those steaks before we get her any more fired up.”
“Yes, sir.” As I had so many times before, I followed my father out to the patio. Regardless of Brandi, it was good to be home. I’d made the right choice.
Angels on Overtime
"...so many laugh-out-loud moments....The whole message was so spiritually uplifting and inspiring...definitely recommend[ed]." —Readers' Favorite, Award Winner
In this whimsical romantic comedy with a divine twist, Jack and Emily are two lonely hearts trudging through unfulfilling lives. Though meant to be together, life keeps getting in the way of them even meeting—that is, until their angels begin working overtime. As the angels work behind the scenes, what actually happens behind those scenes?
Author Ann Crawford’s trademark humor, warmth and optimism shine through in this enchanting tale that reminds us it’s never too late to find love and for dreams to come alive.
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Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away—oh, sorry, that’s another story. But it could be this one, too. Could be the beginning of a lot of stories. All stories, really. But actually the galaxy isn’t far, far away, because nothing is far, far away, really…everything is just a thought away. Everything.
So in this galaxy that isn’t very far away after all is a very large room. Very large. Emphasis on very. And large. Oh, you wouldn’t believe the love and dedication that fills this room! This room spreads on for miles and miles and miles in every direction. You can’t even see its walls. But more about the room itself in a little bit. Right now we’re standing in front of an office. The sign on the office door reads MANAGER, ANGELIC AFFAIRS— which makes no sense at all, really, because everything, everywhere would fall under the category of affairs of angels. And we’d all be managers managing them. But anyway….
Henry, a plump, balding angel sits behind his large, angelificial desk. Now you might wonder why this angel would choose to be plump and balding and sitting behind a large, angelificial desk when he can choose to be anything, anywhere. Well, what do you think of when you see a plump, balding man? Wasn’t your favorite uncle like that? How about your favorite, old art teacher in that frumpy, navy-blue cardigan with the frayed elbows? And didn’t you just want to throw your arms around him in a big, sloppy bear hug? Well, that’s why Henry chooses to be plump and balding, and why anyone would choose to be plump and balding—because it’s all a choice. All of it, every last bit—it’s a choice. Maybe the choice isn’t made consciously, top-of-mind, but it’s made. Not sure how many big, sloppy bear hugs Henry, your uncle, or that old art teacher actually got, but I’m sure lots of folks thought about it.
Now as for sitting behind his desk, that’s another choice, because, as you now well know, anyone can be anything, anywhere. But Henry chooses to sit behind his large, angelificial desk to be of high service. And since he is a very organized angel and loves being an Angelic Resources Manager (you know, like the best Human Resources Manager in the best organization you ever worked for?), that’s what he chooses. And he chooses the angelificialness of his angelificial desk to weed out the ones who don’t really mean it. The chaff from the wheat. The angels from the, well, angels. Okay, the less-than-dedicated angels from the highly dedicated angels.
Henry looks to be about sixty-five—in Earth Time. Sitting in front of him is Brooke. Now Brooke is what you might picture an angel to look like...if an angel could be of Northern European descent, anyway: long, blond hair and big, blue eyes that soak in the worlds around her. She appears to be about twenty-five in Earth Time. But really, she’s as old as the universe. And so are you, by the way. Put in that perspective, you’ve been holding up very well. It’s truly amazing how wonderful everyone looks, considering.
Do angels have wings? Well, they do if they want to. Brooke and Henry don’t have them, nor do any of the angels in our story here, but many an angel or two have donned a pair of wings for that special occasion or two or eighteen million when they wanted to look especially angelic.
“Why would you want to do this?” Henry demands of Brooke. “It’s the hardest job in the universe!”
“It’s all you hear about,” Brooke answers, “all over every single galaxy: Earth, Earth, Earth. I figure if I can’t get in as a human, I could try it this way.”
“These humans can be as thick as wood. And just as pliable.” Henry looks at her over the top of his bifocals. Angels sometimes wear bifocals when they want to have that professorial look, too, just like humans. “Why don’t you go to Arcturus and just be content with peace, love, and instant manifestation?”
“This is what I want. More than anything in the entire universe.”
Henry sighs. “Alright then. Follow me. It’s not like we couldn’t use a willing volunteer down there.” But he smiles to himself, as if at some joke.
Henry leads Brooke out the door and through a tiny part of that seemingly infinite room. In thousands upon millions upon billions of cubicles, thousands upon millions upon billions of angels sit at their computer desks in groups of three, sometimes four, and sometimes two groups of three or four sitting side by side with numerous monitors in one bigger cubicle. The room has a distinct thrum as it hums with the voices of these thousands upon millions upon billions of angels. If you heard this thrum, you’d realize that, well, you do hear this thrum. All the time. The Earth has this thrum, the galaxies have this thrum, the universe has this thrum, and you have this thrum. The thrum is everywhere, resonating in one universal harmonic.
At first glance, a first-timer—which would be you— might think that the room’s vibrant radiance comes from the monitors and other external light sources. But a second glance would inform you that the monitors are actually somewhat dim and there are no other light sources. Oh, what love and devotion in billions of angels can do. Just imagine what love and devotion in seven billion—well, we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.
Henry and Brooke pass two angels conferring over their computer monitors while the third in their triumvirate whispers softly into a microphone.
“No, no,” one angel says to the other. “You can’t have them meet yet. They’re supposed to have a child that’s going to be the Senator of Tennessee in 2067, and they can’t conceive her until after the accident, which can’t happen for another two years.”
Brooke looks at Henry in surprise. If she were one of your teenagers, I believe she would be saying, “WTF?”
Before Henry can say anything, the second angel answers the first: “Okay, let’s send this schlub along. That’ll keep her occupied for a little while.”
The first angel appears shocked. “Schlub?”
“Okay, okay,” the second angel replies, somewhat abashed, “a drop of divinity cleverly disguised as a schlub.”
Brooke again turns to Henry. “They do this while their assignment sleeps?”
“Right. Their assignment is obviously a late sleeper. Could be a hooker.” And then, to the surprise on her face, “Not to worry, it’s all good. It’s all a divine path.”
He leads Brooke past a closed office door. RAINDANCERS, the elaborate sign announces.
“Raindancers?”
“Oh,” Henry shakes his head, “you’d be amazed at how many humans want to rain on their own parade, keep worrying about nonsense, look at the bad side of anything. Raindancers only perform when asked, but they are in hot demand. You want to be extra busy, sign up for Raindancing.” And to her still-surprised expression, he adds, “It’s all good.”
Henry and Brooke continue walking and arrive at a bank of elevators. While Henry presses the down button, Brooke notices a very serious angel nearby, closely watching graphs and trends appear on his computer screen. His piercing blue eyes, which peer out from under hooded eyelids, look like they belong in a bird of prey, not in an angel.
“What’s his gig?”
Henry puts his fingers to his lips, imploring that she keep her voice down. “Karmic enforcer,” he whispers. “A job nobody wants. They have to recruit from the dark side.”
“Dark side? There’s no such thing!”
“Tell him that. Anyone in creation can believe anything he or she wants to and create that reality.”
“But—”
“And he’s found a lot of people on Earth willing to participate in that reality.”
“Yuck!”
Henry leans close to Brooke’s ear. “Don’t tell him this, or the humans who want to participate, but karma can be changed the instant the intent to change it is there.” Henry stops for a moment to consider what he just said. “Actually, no, my mistake—your job is to tell humans that. It’ll save them a lot of time. If they can hear you, that is.”
Ping! The elevator arrives and they hop aboard. Out of two hundred and fifty buttons with different codes, letters, and numbers, Henry locates E.
“E for Earth,” he tells her. “But it’s not too late to choose A for Arcturus or S for Sirius.”
“I’m good with E,” Brooke responds.
“Just double-checking.” Henry presses the E button and turns to Brooke. “Love and remember. Love and wake up. That’s all these humans have to do. And you’d be amazed how many mountains they put in their own way.”
The elevator departs from the enormous angelic hall—okay, it’s really part elevator, part rocket ship—and shuttles across the galaxies. Brooke gasps as the beautiful blue orb of Earth appears through the window. “Oh!”
“Beautiful, isn’t it? One of the finest creations in the universe. And they insist on decimating it, even though they have alternatives.”
The shape of North America appears in the window, and in just a matter of seconds, California appears to be rushing up to meet them.
“But they’ll get it,” Henry assures her. “That’s their job—to get it—and they have eternity.”
“They do?”
“If not here, somewhere. But it would be a shame to waste this incredible creation. Do what you can about that, okay?”
“Absolutely.” Brooke gasps again as the Southern California coast is now right beneath them.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yeah!”
“What?”
“Yeah!”
“What?”
“YES!”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You sure you’re sure?”
“I’m SURE I’m sure!”
THUD! The elevator lands on E. The elevator door opens and Brooke is too surprised even to gasp. They have landed in a small patch of grass by the 405 Freeway, somewhat near the Los Angeles airport. The trees, leaves, and grass shimmer and radiate with their own internal light. From Brooke and Henry’s vantage point, the veil has been lifted, and bending over every single blade of grass is an angel whispering, “Grow! Grow! Grow! Thank you for being here. You are so
loved. You are such a blessing. You are a miracle.”
As Brooke looks up and down the freeway, she sees more and more areas of grass, and she marvels at the amazingly stunning sight of more and more angels becoming visible to her.
The freeway is completely clogged. The cars are lit up by the light of the human occupants inside of them. But the exhaust from each car and the smog that hangs over the city seems to move, even dance, in a demonic way.
“What—what are they doing to themselves? Can’t they see what they’re doing?”
“It’s just wild how much denial humans can put themselves in. All of some can see, and part of the others can see, but they suppress it. It’ll be part of your job to help all of all of them see.” To Brooke’s confused expression, Henry adds, “You’ll see what I mean, all in good time.”
He gently takes her by the arm, and they float over the cars. “We landed a little too far east,” he tells her. “We have to cross over the freeway to that neighborhood over there.” The houses he points to are barely visible through the thick smog.
Brooke becomes aware of something that sounds like a beehive. And the beehive is growing louder and louder. As they glide over the freeway, she peers through the car windows. Inside each vehicle, accompanying but completely unbeknownst to the humans, are three angels—two are sitting beside their human and the third is in the backseat consulting a laptop computer.
A seriously suntanned man with a seriously bad hairdo shakes his fist out the window of his BMW to the driver that just cut him off.
“Goddamn son of a bitch! Where in the world did you learn to drive—on a farm?”
“Actually,” Henry chuckles to Brooke, “the answer to that is yes.”
They float over the car next to the boorish Beamer driver to find a woman who appears to be very composed—almost as if she’s about to step onto a ballroom dance floor. But inside her head, her thoughts are going a mile a minute.
“Oh, why didn’t I tell him what I really wanted to say? Why did I say what I said? What was I thinking? Should I call him and tell him what I really wanted to say? Oh, how could I have done that? What should I do?”
“Ouch!” Brooke winces, although she can’t feel pain. But she feels compassion—that’s her job. “That must hurt!”
“Oh, yes,” Henry sighs, “it does. Quite a bit. Takes most of ’em a long time to learn that—if they ever do, that is.”
The beehive, Brooke realizes, is really the cacophony of millions upon millions of thoughts drifting up to her.
Brooke and Henry float over the next car, where the driver is singing to his dashboard. “I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt!”
They float over the next car, where the driver is doing the exact same thing. “I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt.”
Puzzled, Brooke turns to Henry. “That sounded a little different.”
“He was singing in Japanese. But you can understand everything, everywhere.”
“Why aren’t their angels talking to them, any of them?” Brooke asks.
“How in the world could they hear their angels if their minds are so overly overactive?”
They float over another car and no thoughts float up to them.
“She must’ve meditated this morning,” Henry answers Brooke’s quizzical look. “And every morning for the past thirty years.”
Brooke notices the woman has four angels sitting in meditation around her. “So why aren’t her angels talking? They could get through to her.”
“No need,” Henry replies. “She’s on her right path. They speak to her from time to time just for a touch of guidance and reassurance.”
One of the angels opens one eye to look at the graphs on her laptop and then returns to her meditation. One of the other angels breaks from his meditation to address the woman: “Thank you for all that you do. You’re such a blessing.” As the woman smiles, the angel returns to his meditating.
“See?” Henry says to Brooke. “Actually, every single person on Earth has an angel who says that, over and over, when he or she can get through all the noise of the TV, radio, and the human’s own thoughts. But, even then, so few hear it.”
They float over another car with two people inside and six angels accompanying them. The radio is blaring loudly. The angels have their hands over their ears.
Brooke notices one lone angel over one lone blade of grass growing through a crack in the concrete by the freeway.
“Grow! Grow! Grow!” whispers the angel. “You’re a miracle. Thank you for being here. You’re such a blessing to us all.”
They float over the freeway wall, and Brooke sees an entirely different world as they glide down an attractive, tree-lined street of lovely, little homes with tidy, freshly mowed yards and well-tended gardens. Henry leads her to one particular house with requisite tidy yard along with innumerable angels talking to each blade of grass, each flower, even each leaf on a shrub.
“When it gets too much,” he tells her, “just fade them. You’re not even seeing all the dimensions. Even I don’t, when I can avoid it. It’d make you crazy if you did. But if you do want to see other dimensions, just choose. The choice is always there.”
The angels in the yard fade away as Brooke makes that choice.
The two voyagers float into the house. A pile of shoes greets them and piles of who-knows-what line the foyer. They float down the hallway and into a large family room off the kitchen. Now if you had just walked into the room, you would see a man playing with his young son and a woman potatoing on the couch to an early-morning quasi-news show. And if you could see like an angel, you would see the three humans and nine other beings in the room—a committee of three angels for each human. And that’s not counting the angels for the plants around the room, who are working even more intensely because their charges haven’t been watered in weeks.
Jack. Ohhhhh, Jack. He’s the man playing with the little boy. Yikes—you just want to grab him by those tightly hunched shoulders and shake him loose! The only thing tighter than his clenched fists is his jawline. Jack could be very handsome if he weren’t so sad. And even if you weren’t particularly sensitive, and even if it was a rare moment when Jack had a smile on his face,
you’d still know he’s sad. You could feel it, even across the room. If you were to take one look at him, you’d probably want to close your eyes so you could reenvision him as a strong, beautiful, powerful man—what he could be, perhaps what his original blueprint depicted about thirty-five years ago.
“But it’s kind of like someone came along and deflated the balloon of his being,” Brooke says.
“If someone else actually has that power,” Henry replies. “Which no one does.”
Three angels surround Jack: Christopher, Sapphire, and Blake. Your quintessential computer geek, Christopher wears glasses over his sharp, black eyes (yes, as you probably already surmised, angels wear glasses, too, when they want to proudly present that intellectual look). His ebony skin contrasts against his red and blond Mohawk—even angelic geeks like to sport that alternative look from time to time. Christopher constantly studies his laptop to watch graphs, analyze trends, make mental notes from the running tick of information gathered from all corners of the universe, and calculate statistics. On occasion, he looks up from his computer, but it has to be quite the occasion—which you know will happen because you certainly wouldn’t be reading a book about a non-occasion. But basically picture an angelic actuarial services analyzer albeit from the very hip part of town, and Christopher’s your guy...well, your angel.
Sapphire whispers into Jack’s ear. She’s the sweet librarian type—you remember that truly great librarian, the one you wondered about and asked your friends if they thought she had a life? At least a life that didn’t involve reference desks and card catalogs? Or for those of you younger ones who have never researched away from the Internet and are wondering what in creation a card catalog could possibly be, picture instead a woman who loves to look on her computer to see what wisdom is found where. At any rate, this librarian from your hometown library just loved researching things and helping you find information. She was born to work in a library, and you thought, wow, it’s really good we’re all interested in such different things, so it all gets taken care of. (And yes, everyone thought she had a very boring life, but oh how wrong they were—you wouldn’t believe the life she had!) Behind Sapphire’s thick glasses and tightly wound bun, she is actually very, very beautiful.
They’re all beautiful. Honestly, have you ever seen an ugly angel? Or, if you’ve never seen an angel, have you ever imagined an ugly one? Impossible. Just like humans. Maybe there are some less-than-attractive humans, but most are pleasant looking. A small percentage fall in the absolutely-breathtakingly-beautiful category and an even smaller percentage fall in the far-less-than-absolutely-breathtakingly-beautiful category. But they’re all beautiful—all angels, all humans. You know what we mean.
Sapphire’s job is to whisper continuously in Jack’s ear, which is exactly what she’s doing now. And what does she whisper? A compendium that goes something like this: “Jack, you are so beautiful. You are loved. You are a blessing. Thank you for being here. Thank you for blessing us. Jack, you are such a wonderful being. Jack, you are loved. You are so dear. You are such a blessing. Thank you for all that you do.”
Well, you get the idea. Everyone, everywhere on Earth, has an angel whispering to him or her like that. So why isn’t life a steady stream of perfection? Because very few can hear these words. But that’s starting to change, at least here and there.
Next to Christopher and Sapphire stands Blake. Remember your favorite high-school coach? Well, he probably was very Blake-like. “Atta boy,” or “Atta girl,” he’d say to you when you did a particularly good maneuver on the playing field. Or, if sports were not your thing, he’d say, “Nice try, kid.” And you’d know that while he didn’t understand how in the world sports weren’t first and foremost in your every thought, he really could tell you tried, and he sure did appreciate that.
Blake pats Jack on the shoulder. “Jack, you’re a wonderful father. You’re a wonderful businessman. But you know what? There’s more for you to do, son.” He pats him again—if Jack could’ve actually felt that pat, he probably would’ve fallen over.
“Hey!” Christopher exclaims, watching a graph on his computer. “Check it out—his awareness just went off the charts! I think he heard you. It looks like he might finally be getting it—no, no, forget it…just a passing thought.”
“Nah, he didn’t hear me,” Blake says. “His heart is open from playing with his little boy. You’ve seen this before—happens every day when he’s with him. With his baby girl, too. But it doesn’t stay.”
Meanwhile, Sapphire simply whispers in Jack’s ear: “You are so dear. You are such a blessing. Thank you for all that you do.”
“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Blake practically hollers to him, clapping his hands. He bends over next to him, hand on Jack’s shoulders, like a coach trying to pep up a reluctant-but-necessary player sitting on the bench. “It’s time to run with the ball, son. Time to know there’s even a ball in play. Time to know you’re even on the ball field. Time to know there’s even a game going on!”
Henry looks at the clock on the mantle. “He’ll be off to work soon,” he tells Brooke, “but he’s getting as much as he can of the most joyous thing in his life before he drops him off at preschool. One of the most joyous things, anyway. The other joy is his daughter. And this is Lacey, his wife,” he says, pointing to a form that has very successfully merged with the couch.
Brooke glances over at Lacey, who’s still doing the most wonderful job of potatoing. Yes, well, everyone on Earth has his or her special talent, and if a higher talent isn’t cultivated and nurtured, the lowest common denominator talent tends to prevail. Lacey might have been prettier in her day, and she could be on this day, if she wanted to be. Nope, doesn’t want to be: the bulge is winning this particular battle, dark roots are taking over the blond in her stringy, shoulder-length hair, her hazel eyes have long gone slack.
Surrounding Lacey are her three angels. If this team’s computer aficionado was from Earth, you would think she’s from Southeast Asia, and she’d be gorgeous if she weren’t so bored. She watches Lacey for a moment and then sighs as she starts to play a game of solitaire on her computer. There aren’t too many charts to watch when the human is so, well, uninvolved with life.
A chubby, adolescent-looking angel plays paddleball while an even younger-looking angel plays jacks on the floor. Adorable? Off the charts.
“Have they given up on her?” Brooke asks.
“Oh, no,” Henry answers. “But they have to wait ’til she turns off the TV. They’ll work on her when she gets up to use the bathroom. Can’t work on people while their minds are fully occupied with rot.”
“Why such young angels for her?”
Henry laughs. “Those two are ageless, timeless, eternal beings, just like all of us. But young-looking ones tend to act more young-at-heart. Sometimes angels like that are the only ones who can reach people like Lacey here. Special assignment.”
Brooke looks over at the couple’s son.
“And that’s Ben, their three-year-old.”
Ben’s three angels huddle around him, devoted to their tasks for him. (You’ll never see an angel working hard, but always with immense devotion and diligence.) One whispers in his ear, one studies her computer, one watches Ben carefully.
“You are so loved,” whispers Ben’s whisperer into his ear. “You are such a light. You have so much to give.” A smile spreads across Ben’s face.
Brooke glances into the kitchen. Piles of dishes from meals obviously long past sit in the sink, drops of milk and cereal decorate the placemats on the table, and there are more piles of that who-knows-what everywhere. Brooke notices that piles even surround Lacey on the couch.
Brooke points to Jack. “So he’s my assignment?”
“In living color,” Henry says.
Brooke watches Jack as he and Ben work on their creation, a dinosaur made of Legos. Giggling, Ben adds pieces of Legos in the shape of what you could guess is an elephant’s trunk. Jack chuckles. Wow! His shoulders start to move down to a level far more appropriate for a human shoulder. Lacey laughs—snorts, really—as a television announcer jokes, however; even though he doesn’t look up at her, Jack’s shoulders zoom right back up to his ears and his jawline goes rigid again.
“He doesn’t exactly flow with the go,” Brooke sighs.
“Go with the flow,” Henry corrects her. But he ponders for a moment. “Actually, I like it better your way.”
“Oh, Jack,” Brooke whispers to him, this man who clearly could be so very handsome and vibrant, but for some reason lives far, far below where he could be living. His son looks like a happier version of him in miniature: curly brown hair, big brown eyes, irrepressible smile. As Ben adds a giraffe’s neck to the dinosaur, Jack’s demeanor softens and relaxes—until Lacey snorts again, that is.
“At bottom, everything is a choice,” Henry says. “Everything.”
Seven Tales of Love
“…readers whose hearts aren’t made of stone will likely be moved by [Mahkovec’s] thoughtful explorations.” —Kirkus
Juliet, Offering, Peonies, The Asking, Romantic Love, Caramelized Onions, Solomon Grundy
Seven brief tales depict various expressions of love—unwanted, unrequited, passionate, enduring—in the bright beginnings of youth, the doubts and changes of middle age, and the comfort and familiarity of old age.
In these tales, a chance encounter with an old friend sheds light on a man’s failed love life; a young woman celebrates her day off in search of delight and pleasures, but encounters the unexpected; a young couple realizes that their relationship isn’t working, despite their affection; a middle-aged woman’s belief in her rock-solid marriage is shaken while on vacation; two friends disagree about the type of love that matters most; a woman chooses the memory of love over the possibility of new love; and an old man discovers that his love transcends the boundaries of life and death.
Lyrical and intimate, these stories portray love as sometimes thrilling, sometimes disappointing, but always what we yearn for.
SCROLL FOR SAMPLE!
Author Bio:
Linda Mahkovec is the author of World War II historical fiction, short stories, and contemporary novels.
Themes of love, family, and home dominate her stories, and though they may be set against the backdrop of war or deal with the disappointments in life, the overarching feel is uplifting and hopeful. Threads that run through her work are the search for beauty and meaning, and the artistic female character—whether she is a painter, a gardener, or simply someone who lives creatively and seeks connection.
Mahkovec was born and raised in a small town in Illinois. She then spent several years in the San Francisco Bay area and Seattle, and for the past thirty years has lived in New York City. She has a PhD in English, specializing in Victorian literature. She has previously published as Agnes Irene.
Book Excerpt:
Howard Ashbury strolled along Columbus Avenue, enjoying the fine weather—autumn in New York—a welcome break from the gray of Seattle. Something about the pulse of the city, the charm of the Upper West Side, brought back his younger self, and he felt happy, hopeful. He stopped in front of a little café, and, though it was too early for dinner, he decided to go in. He would read the new script over a glass of wine.
As he entered, he took in the exposed brick walls, the long windows, the candles just being lit in the softening light. Then his heart gave a little lurch when he saw her sitting there—Anna Avilov, his old Juliet. Suddenly, the twenty years since the production of Romeo and Juliet in San Francisco vanished.
My God, he thought. She’s as beautiful as ever. There she sat, with a dreamy look in her eyes, pen poised in her hand as she searched for some word or phrase. She wore her hair loosely swept up, and the shimmering aquamarine blouse caught the color of her eyes. What was she searching for—some hidden world of beauty? What did she see?
Howard felt the old chivalrous urge to help her.
But Anna had never needed anyone. He remembered how they were all in love with her, in love with the beauty and charm she possessed. Men and women alike took to her, as did the audience. They all wanted some of whatever it was she exuded—to possess it, to be in its presence, however briefly. He remembered how she had felt pulled down by that hungry need from everyone, and had shied away from the very attention the other actors sought.
Perhaps feeling his gaze, Anna looked over at him. Their eyes met, and her brow furrowed as she tried to place him.
Howard gave a small, wry smile. Have I changed so much? he wondered.
He walked over to her. “Hello, Juliet,” he said, hoping the name would bring back the memory of him. He waited a beat. “Don’t you remember your old stage manager?”
Anna’s eye widened as she gasped. “Howard!” She jumped up and hugged him. “I can’t believe it! Oh, how wonderful! Can you sit with me? I just can’t believe it!” In between each exclamation she searched his face, stepping back a bit to take in the changes.
He had forgotten how petite she was. She had to stand on her toes to kiss his cheek.
Howard pulled out the chair across from her, and waited for her to take her seat. He then sat down.
They ordered a bottle of wine. As Howard crossed his legs and turned the saltshaker around in his fingers, Anna clapped her hands in delight.
“Oh! You still wear red socks. You haven’t changed. Not a bit. Still so handsome and dapper!”
Howard smiled, realizing that it was ridiculous for her words to mean so much to him. But his recent failed affair had left him wounded and unsure of himself.
They talked and laughed and caught up on the last twenty years. Howard told her that he was still working as a stage manager, the last twelve years in Seattle. He described some of the more memorable productions.
Anna filled him in on the rather haphazard path she had taken. When she moved to New York eighteen years ago, she had found work as an off-off-Broadway actress, filling in the gaps between shows with waitressing and temping. The years since had been marked by a variety of unrelated jobs, a bit of travel, and, ten years ago, the meeting of her husband.
Howard was disappointed to hear that she had given up acting after she married. But Anna said it was writing that she had always felt more at home with.
“Yes, I remember that. You were always writing during rehearsals. What was it you used to say? That you were trying to create the world you were forever in search of. Have you found it? Or have you created it?”
Anna laughed. “Neither, I’m afraid. It still eludes me.”
“And are you still interested in theater?”
“Yes, of course.” She glanced at her watch.
“As a matter of fact, my husband has tickets for tonight. Dinner, and then Chekhov. He’s picking me up here. I’m so happy you’ll be able to meet him.”
She went on to say that she had written some one-act plays and was working on a screenplay. As he listened, he observed the old air of wistfulness about her.
After two hours of talking, Howard noticed that evening had crept closer to their window. The candles on the tables and the lights outside shone brighter now, against the dark. That artful thrill of early evening filled the air, and shone from the faces of the couples filling the tables next to them, and from people hurrying by outside—the thrill that the night might hold something wonderful.
Howard knew that her husband would be there soon to take her to dinner, yet there was so much more he wanted to know. He gave a small ironic smile; she still had the power to stir up a hunger in her audience. He poured the last of the wine into their glasses, and asked if she remembered William Chase.
“Of course, I do! Benvolio. Or was it Balthasar? You’d think I’d remember.” She looked above his head, scanning the stage of so long ago, squinting ever so slightly, as if the stage lights were still in her eyes.
Howard also wondered how she could forget. “Benvolio,” he said. “And so terribly in love with you.”
Anna nodded. “Benvolio. Of course.” She took a sip of wine. “What ever became of him? Do you know?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I ran into him last year in Portland. He became a lawyer, of all things.”
“A lawyer?” Anna asked, surprised. “Good for him.”
Howard had always wondered if Anna was aware of the effect she had on people. He thought it unfair that beauty could so effortlessly cause pain to others. He recognized his buried resentment, mixed with admiration, for all the things she represented to him. He had never wanted to sweep her into his arms, or make love to her. Rather, he had wanted to be like her, to move through the world with such power and beauty and ease.
Howard would later blame the wine for making him press on as he did. His words came out almost accusingly. “William told me that he never really got over you.”
Anna leaned slightly back, as if in defense. Her full lips shaped her words as she spoke.
“Well, there was never anything between us. I certainly never encouraged him. I guessed he had feelings for me, but you know how that is—how often that happens in an emotionally charged cast.”
Howard nodded and looked down. The image of the beautiful Roberto filled his mind: how their eyes had met across the stage, how their love had developed, those first perfect months. With bitterness, he remembered the torch he had carried for Roberto, long years after being rejected.
“You know,” said Howard, allowing some of his resentment to creep into his tone, “William always thought it was because of his height. He thought you never took him seriously.”
This was actually Howard’s belief, but he assumed this must be the case since William had been strikingly handsome. “That was one of the reasons he went into law, he said. More weight—or height, in his case.”
Howard waited for her answer. He wanted to know whether he had been correct all these years in attributing to Anna a certain small-mindedness; or whether he had ungenerously projected onto her the reasons for his own unrequited loves.
Again, Anna squinted into the past. “Yes. I remember him saying something about that once. He invited me to dinner, but I just wasn’t interested. He asked if it was because of his height. I think I laughed out loud at such a ridiculous notion. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his whininess that made him unattractive. It was so off-putting. Do you remember? He complained about everything and everyone.”
Anna swirled the wine around in her glass, and smiled. “Besides, I’ve always preferred short men. A better fit, you know.”
Howard snapped upright in surprise—both by her candor, and by his mistaken assumption. He had always believed that height was one of those universally desired attributes—attributes that he, for the most part, did not possess.
He responded with a simple, “Oh?” and began turning the saltshaker around again. His thoughts tripped over themselves as he attempted to reorganize them, realizing that he had indeed misjudged Anna—and perhaps his own beloved—all these years.
Anna spoke as if merely stating a fact, but a sly seductiveness played about her lips.
“Yes, whether kissing when standing, or cuddling at night, or...” Her aquamarine blouse shimmered in the candlelight as she gave a light shrug.
Howard quickly replayed the arguments with Roberto. He had always assumed that Roberto had rejected him because of his age, ethnicity, or some other quality over which he had no control. For the first time, the thought gripped him: What if Roberto had simply found him boring? Or, God forbid, whiny?
Then, as if on cue and choreographed to maximize the insight into his own failed affairs, in walked Anna’s husband—short, if not shorter, than William Chase. He was equally as handsome, though, Howard had to admit, in a more genial manner.
Anna’s whole being surged with pleasure at the sight of her husband’s flashing smile and warm eyes. She stood to embrace him—in a comfortable fit, Howard noticed—and introduced them.
As she slipped on her wrap, the three of them spoke briefly and exchanged business cards. Howard declined the invitation to join them for dinner, but promised to stay in touch.
Anna and her husband waved good-bye and left the café.
Howard sat back down at the table and tried to put his ruffled thoughts back in order, tapping the saltshaker up and down. As he shook his head at life’s vanities and wretched misunderstandings, the beautiful Anna Avilov tapped on the window and blew him a kiss, her arm linked with that of her Romeo.
Risky Bargain
FBI Agent Lucas Raines is a man on a mission, desperate to find a kidnap victim, the billionaire CEO of a video game company, who disappears during a horrific home invasion that leaves two people dead and others terrorized.
Kat Parrish never thought that sneaking into a billionaire's party would end with her hiding in a closet, her clothes spattered with blood, her ears ringing from the sound of gunshots. But her problems don't end with the arrival of the police. In fact, they are just beginning, especially when a handsome but ruthless FBI agent starts asking the hard questions. She has to decide whether a lie or the truth will not only save her life, but that of her friend.
As Lucas and Kat dive deep into the world of gaming, it quickly becomes clear that there are games being played on different levels. The players keep changing. The goal posts are constantly moving. No one is who they appear to be. There's a bigger mystery behind each door they open, and soon they can only trust each other. But should they?
Is their reality a game, or is the game their reality? Will love keep them alive or be their final play?
Also Available in the Off The Grid: FBI Series
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3
Elusive Promise #4
Dangerous Choice #5
Ruthless Cross #6
Critical Doubt #7
Fearless Pursuit #8
Daring Deception #9
Risky Bargain #10
PRAISE FOR THE OFF THE GRID: FBI SERIES
"PERILOUS TRUST is a non-stop thriller that seamlessly melds jaw-dropping suspense with sizzling romance, and I was riveted from the first page to the last." USA Today HEA Blog
"You will love Reckless Whisper. From the first sentence of the book until you end, you are on a suspense filled ride." J. Stryker - Goodreads
"Words cannot explain how phenomenal this book was. The characters are so believable and relatable. The twists and turns keep you on the edge of your seat and flying through the pages. This is one book you should be desperate to read." Caroline on Desperate Play
"For me a good romantic suspense book needs a good story, strong characters, honest dialogue, chemistry between the hero and heroine and believable suspense. Elusive Promise checks off all the boxes for me. Thank you Barbara Freethy for another great read!" Trude - Goodreads
"Dangerous Choice is a clever blend of mind games and breathtaking emotion. I felt the story come alive and twist my stomach into knots, but never did I even think about walking away." Isha - Goodreads
"My gosh...what an exhilarating ride CRITICAL DOUBT was... I can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday night than losing myself in one of Barbara Freethy's books. I love the Off The Grid series but I honestly think this one is my favorite. I have no doubt her next book will be awesome, too!" Booklovers Anonymous
Ruthless Cross
Everyone has a secret. Some are worth killing for...some are worth dying for...
The son of an art thief, FBI agent Flynn MacKenzie is no stranger to deception, but when the brutal murder of a federal judge unravels an intricate and shocking web of lies, he finds himself tangled up in personal life-changing secrets and in the arms of a woman he isn't sure he can trust.
Callie Harper not only wants justice for her stepfather, she also wants to protect her family. Staying close to Flynn seems like the smart option, until she starts to fall for the man who could hurt everyone she loves.
The lines between good and bad, guilty and innocent, are blurred. Callie and Flynn quickly realize their search for the truth could take them somewhere they don't want to go...if they can stay alive long enough to get there.
Don't miss this thrilling romantic suspense from #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy
Also Available in the FBI Series:
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3
Elusive Promise #4
Dangerous Choice #5
Ruthless Cross #6
Critical Doubt #7
What the readers are saying...
"Count on Freethy to thrill your socks off, while running away with your heart. RUTHLESS CROSS had me holding my breath and biting my nails as I sat on the edge of my seat. Caught in an epic battle of good versus evil, two strangers risk everything to get to the truth." Isha C
"RUTHLESS CROSS is another adrenaline-filled story, with well written and developed characters, Barbara Freethy is a master of her craft " Booklovers Anonymous
"Barbara Freethy writes a beautiful, edge of the seat story, full of intrigue, mystery and romance. This is my favorite FBI series Can't wait to read the next book " Christine
My Wildest Dream
“Full of the action-packed suspense and romance that Barbara Freethy is known for…this rapid page turner will have you on the edge of your seat from cover to cover.” —Page Turners blog
Brodie McGuire was a bold, fearless skier whose dreams of Olympic gold vanished in one career-ending fall. Now, he's following in the footsteps of his grandfather as a cop in his hometown of Whisper Lake. Surrounded by the mountains he once conquered, Brodie is trying to find stability and purpose in his new future...when a case brings him together with a beautiful woman, whose cool reserve intrigues him more than he'd like.
Chelsea Cole was a country music singer on her way to the top when her music inspired a tragedy. Unable to face her fans or the spotlight, she went into hiding, reinventing herself as a small-town music teacher. But Whisper Lake has its secrets, and a problem with one of Chelsea's students introduces her to a brash and altogether too sexy cop who wreaks havoc on her plans for a quiet, drama-free life.
As Chelsea and Brodie work together to solve a mystery, sparks fly between them. Brodie tempts Chelsea out of her safe cocoon, but will more pain be waiting? And when Brodie pushes Chelsea to find her voice again, will she be one more dream he has to give up?
Author Bio:
Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home.
Dangerous Choice
FBI Special Agent Diego Rivera is searching for his family when a clue leads him to a quaint Colombian village, which suddenly erupts into violence. Diego is caught in a shooting and discovers an explosive family secret.
Tara Powell comes to Colombia to look for her missing friend. When the village priest who's supposed to have information for her is gunned down, she finds herself entangled with Diego, who is on a personal mission of his own.
Danger follows Tara and Diego from Colombia to the US, and it's not clear which one of them is the target. As they search for the people they love, shocking details emerge. Will their fierce loyalty blind them to the truth...or will their trust in each other save them?
Don't miss this new thrilling, chilling, romantic suspense by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy.
Also Available in the OFF THE GRID: FBI SERIES
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3
Elusive Promise #4
Dangerous Choice #5
PRAISE FOR BARBARA FREETHY'S BOOKS
Powerful and absorbing...sheer hold-your-breath suspense."-- NYT Bestselling Author Karen Robards on Don't Say A Word
"Barbara Freethy is a master storyteller with a gift for spinning tales about ordinary people in extraordinary situations and drawing readers into their lives."-- Romance Reviews Today
"Freethy is at the top of her form. Fans of Nora Roberts will find a similar tone here, framed in Freethy's own spare, elegant style." -- Contra Costa Times
"Freethy's skillful plotting and gift for creating sympathetic characters will ensure that few dry eyes will be left at the end of the story." -- Publishers Weekly on The Way Back Home
"Freethy (Silent Fall) has a gift for creating complex, appealing characters and emotionally involving, often suspenseful, sometimes magical stories." -- Library Journal on Suddenly One Summer
"PERILOUS TRUST is a non-stop thriller that seamlessly melds jaw-dropping suspense with sizzling romance, and I was riveted from the first page to the last...Readers will be breathless in anticipation as this fast-paced and enthralling love story evolves and goes in unforeseeable directions." USA Today HEA Blog
"RECKLESS WHISPER is intriguing, complicated and chilling. Bree finds herself drawn into a web of deceit that has close personal ties. What makes this tale so scary is that the pieces to the puzzle are lying in plain sight but putting them together is a confusing mind game. The twists are endless, the danger is far reaching, and the thrills are nonstop." Isha C. Goodreads
"What I love best about Freethy's books are the characters and the depth she puts in them, the story can be as good as ever, but if you don't care about the characters you can't help but be unbothered by the events unfolding. This story has so many twists and turns that I read it in one sitting...a must read for everyone, I don't want to ruin anything so I will just say...WOW" Booklovers Anonymous Blog on PERILOUS TRUST
Elusive Promise
When tragedy strikes an engagement party, Special Agent Parisa Maxwell becomes the sole survivor and the only witness to a kidnapping and the theft of a legendary diamond. With her friend now missing, Parisa makes a promise to save the other woman, no matter the cost.
Jared MacIntyre's entire life is a carefully cultivated set of lies. He wasn't looking for the beautiful brunette when he ventured into the private rooms at the consulate, but he couldn't ignore the woman fighting for her life. Now their lives are inexplicably intertwined. The kidnapping and theft may be part of a bigger, deadlier plot--one that he's on a mission to stop before someone else he loves ends up dead.
Two strangers, each with their own secrets. Two strangers who never expected to find love amidst the danger. Two strangers who will have to take the ultimate risk: trust each other--or lose everything.
Don't miss this thrilling, chilling, new romantic suspense by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy.
Also Available in the OFF THE GRID: FBI SERIES
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3
Elusive Promise #4
Dangerous Choice #5
PRAISE FOR THE FBI SERIES
"Perilous Trust is a non-stop thriller that seamlessly melds jaw-dropping suspense with sizzling romance, and I was riveted from the first page to the last...Readers will be breathless in anticipation as this fast-paced and enthralling love story evolves and goes in unforeseeable directions." USA Today HEA Blog
"Barbara Freethy's first book in her OFF THE GRID series is an emotional, action packed, crime drama that keeps you on the edge of your seat...I'm exhausted after reading this but in a good way. 5 Stars " Booklovers Anonymous on Perilous Trust
"Reckless Whisper is intriguing, complicated and chilling. Bree finds herself drawn into a web of deceit that has close personal ties. What makes this tale so scary is that the pieces to the puzzle are lying in plain sight but putting them together is a confusing mind game. The twists are endless, the danger is far reaching, and the thrills are nonstop." Isha C. Goodreads
"Desperate Play is flat out wonderful and will have you gasping, twitching, frantically turning pages, and hoping our favorite author writes the next story quickly Undercover FBI agent, astrophysicist whose best friend has been murdered, a boatload of potential suspects, complicated family dynamics and lots of danger and yes, some heat all add up to a very satisfying read." Jane - Goodreads
"What I love best about Freethy's books are the characters and the depth she puts in them, the story can be as good as ever, but if you don't care about the characters you can't help but be unbothered by the events unfolding. This story has so many twists and turns that I read it in one sitting...a must read for everyone, I don't want to ruin anything, so I will just say...WOW" Booklovers Anonymous Blog on Perilous Trust
Desperate Play
DESPERATE PLAY brings you the third book in #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy's new romantic suspense series: Off The Grid: FBI Series.
Special Agent Wyatt Tanner has always worked undercover. He thrives in the dark of the night. He survives by turning himself into someone else. But living so long in the shadows can make a man forget who he really is. When people start dying, when he finds blood on his own hands, he questions the choices he has made, the people he is with.
Can he find his way back to the light? Can he trust the beautiful woman who needs his help? Or does she also have a secret life?
He'll have to make one desperate play to find out...
Don't miss this page-turning, heart-stopping romantic suspense novel...coming soon
Check out more books in the series
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3
Elusive Promise #4
Dangerous Choice #5
PRAISE FOR THE FBI SERIES
"Perilous Trust is a non-stop thriller that seamlessly melds jaw-dropping suspense with sizzling romance, and I was riveted from the first page to the last...Readers will be breathless in anticipation as this fast-paced and enthralling love story evolves and goes in unforeseeable directions." USA Today HEA Blog
"Barbara Freethy's first book in her OFF THE GRID series is an emotional, action packed, crime drama that keeps you on the edge of your seat...I'm exhausted after reading this but in a good way. 5 Stars " Booklovers Anonymous
"It's been a while since I have had the fun of reading a brilliant romantic suspense book - Perilous Trust gets me back into this genre with a bang " For the Love of Fictional Worlds
"Getting tangled up with Perilous Trust is a rush. Barbara Freethy sets the adrenaline level so high that it takes a while to come back down to solid ground. The suspense is killer, the danger is intense and the electricity generated between Sophie and Damon is off the charts. A lethally seductive thriller." Isha Coleman - I Love Romance Blog
Reckless Whisper
In RECKLESS WHISPER the suspense continues with the second novel in the Off the Grid: FBI Series by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy.
FBI Special Agent Bree Adams has a personal secret, something she has managed to keep hidden for the past ten years-at least she always thought so... But a chance encounter on a train, and whispered words of chilling consequence change everything. Is the truth about to come out or is someone playing with her mind and her life?
Nathan Bishop knew Bree when she was a street kid like him. Their dark past once put him in her debt, and he had to pay up. The last thing he wants to do is help her again. He has a new life now--a life he could lose with one wrong move. But the beautiful Bree is desperate--how can he walk away?
To get to the truth, protect innocent lives and their own, they'll have to fight their way through the past, as danger stalks their every move, and heartbreaking choices must be made.
Don't miss this emotionally deep and haunting story A thrilling psychological romantic suspense novel
Check out the other books in the series
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3 - Coming Soon
Elusive Promise #4 - Coming Soon
Dangerous Choice #5 - Coming Soon
PRAISE FOR OFF THE GRID: FBI SERIES
"What I love best about Freethy's books are the characters and the depth she puts in them, the story can be as good as ever, but if you don't care about the characters you can't help but be unbothered by the events unfolding. This story has so many twists and turns that I read it in one sitting.....a must read for everyone, I don't want to ruin anything so I will just say.....WOW" Booklovers Anonymous Blog on Reckless Whisper
"Perilous Trust is a non-stop thriller that seamlessly melds jaw-dropping suspense with sizzling romance, and I was riveted from the first page to the last...Readers will be breathless in anticipation as this fast-paced and enthralling love story evolves and goes in unforeseeable directions." USA Today HEA Blog on Perilous Trust
"Getting tangled up with Perilous Trust is a rush. Barbara Freethy sets the adrenaline level so high that it takes a while to come back down to solid ground. A tortured love affair sets off a chain of events that are explosive and deadly. The suspense is killer, the danger is intense and the electricity generated between Sophie and Damon is off the charts. All come together to a create a lethally seductive thriller." Isha Coleman - I Love Romance Blog on Perilous Trust
"The adventure that Barbara Freethy takes us on in PERILOUS TRUST is full of twists and turns. It is a perfect suspense that will keep you guessing until the very last moment. This book definitely deserves 5 stars." Reading Escape Reviews on Perilous Trust
PRAISE FOR BARBARA FREETHY BOOKS
"Powerful and absorbing...sheer hold-your-breath suspense."- NYT Bestselling Author Karen Robards on Don't Say A Word
"A fabulous, page-turning combination of romance and intrigue. Fans of Nora Roberts and Elizabeth Lowell will love this book."- NYT Bestselling Author Kristin Hannah on Golden Lies
"A page-turner that engages your mind while it tugs at your heartstrings...Don't Say A Word has made me a Barbara Freethy fan for life " -- NYT Bestselling Author Diane Chamberlain on Don't Say a Word
Perilous Trust
In PERILOUS TRUST, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy brings you the first book in a new romantic suspense series OFF THE GRID: An FBI Trilogy offers three breath-stealing books filled with action-packed plot, heart-stopping romance, and page-turning suspense.
It was one dark night that brought Damon Wolfe and Sophie Parker together. They were two tortured souls, looking for escape, and they weren't supposed to see each other ever again...
Four years later, Sophie's FBI father, who is also Damon's mentor, is killed in a suspicious car crash after leaving Sophie a cryptic message to trust no one from the agency. When Damon shows up looking for her, she isn't sure if he's friend or enemy, but she knows he could easily rip apart what is left of her heart.
The last thing Damon wants is to get involved with Sophie again. It was hard enough to walk away the first time. But she's in trouble, her father's reputation is under attack, and the lives of his fellow agents are at stake if there's a traitor in their midst.
When someone starts shooting at them, they have no choice but to go on the run and off the grid. Everyone in their world becomes a suspect. They want to uncover the truth, but will it turn out to be the last thing they expect? Proving her father's innocence might just cost them their hearts...and their lives...
Get the complete trilogy
Perilous Trust #1
Reckless Whisper #2
Desperate Play #3
PRAISE FOR BARBARA FREETHY BOOKS
"Powerful and absorbing...sheer hold-your-breath suspense." --NYT Bestselling Author Karen Robards on Don't Say A Word
"A fabulous, page-turning combination of romance and intrigue. Fans of Nora Roberts and Elizabeth Lowell will love this book." -- NYT Bestselling Author Kristin Hannah on Golden Lies
"In the tradition of LaVyrle Spencer, gifted author Barbara Freethy creates an irresistible tale of family secrets, riveting adventure and heart- touching romance." -- NYT Bestselling Author Susan Wiggs on Summer Secrets
"Freethy has a gift for creating complex characters." -- Library Journal
"An absorbing story of two people determined to unravel the secrets, betrayals, and questions about their past. The story builds to an explosive conclusion that will leave readers eagerly awaiting Barbara Freethy's next book." -- NYT Bestselling Author Carla Neggars on Don't Say A Word
"Freethy is at the top of her form. Fans of Nora Roberts will find a similar tone here, framed in Freethy's own spare, elegant style." -- Contra Costa Times on Summer Secrets
Tainted: Lance and Mary
“Tess Thompson has ‘wowed’ once again with her ease of writing and talents in storytelling, one that will have you crying, cheering and experiencing the ‘laughing-tears’ just as much, if not more than its previous installments. It's enjoyable to a fault which makes it that much more difficult in preparing yourself to say goodbye to such a lovable and meaningful story.” —Wild Sage Book Blog
In love, there are no mistakes, only detours. Find out for yourself in this standalone, swoon-worthy, small town romance from USA Today bestselling author Tess Thompson.
Businessman Lance Mullen is no stranger to mistakes, but he’s determined to get things right this time. Coming home to Cliffside Bay proves to be the first in a series of great decisions, and in no time at all Lance has his life back on track.
After losing her mother, child, and marriage, Mary Hansen is determined to keep her heart safe from any further pain. By convincing herself that her job and her books are enough, she’s sure to never be vulnerable to love or loss again.
When New Year’s Eve brings these two unlucky souls together over a bottle of tequila, their celebratory mood will get the best of both of them. But it won’t take long before one fun night turns into long days of panic when they discover that perhaps they’ve both made the biggest mistake of all. Is it possible that the things we don’t think we want can turn out to be the very things we actually need?
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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: Lance
Ten seconds before the clock struck midnight and tossed them into a new year, Lance Mullen had only one wish. He wanted to kiss Mary Hansen. Not a friendly peck on her alabaster cheek or a chaste brush of lips. No, his kiss must steal her breath and quicken her pulse and weaken her knees. He must make her swoon.
This was not a task for the shy or meek. Only a hero could rouse her from her half slumber.
It would take the kiss of the greatest love story ever written.
Around him, his friends began to chant the countdown.
Ten…
Mary stood next to him in Zane and Honor’s crowded living room. All night she’d stayed near, so close he could smell the subtle scent of her perfume and bask in the heat that radiated from her skin. She tugged the sleeve of his jacket.
“Lance, you have to count.”
Nine, eight…
He looked down at her. His pulse quickened, his knees weakened at the mere sight of her. With an oval face and one of those well-defined jawlines he found so attractive, she reminded him of fine china, meticulously honed into beautiful lines and curves. Tonight, she wore a dark blue velvet dress that clung to her slender waist and hips. Her caramel-hued hair was swept up into a pile on top of her head, exposing her long neck, the tips of her delicate ears, and the birthmark on her neck that reminded him of a question mark. All evening he’d longed to trace the birthmark with his finger as if it might unleash the answer to her heart. Yet, he wondered, too, would she shatter under his touch?
She played with the gold bangles around her wrist and counted down the seconds with the rest of his friends. Seven, six…
She smiled up at him with eyes as dull as a child’s crayon. Five, four…
One day she’d told him that all interesting characters in novels have a secret.
He had one.
He was in love with Mary Hansen. No one knew, not even his best friends. She was tainted in their eyes, prickly and cold.
Unlike a hero in Mary’s favorite novels, his secret did not make him interesting. More like pathetic.
Three, two, one…
Confetti floated and danced around him. “Auld Lang Syne” played from the speakers. His best friends and his brother kissed their wives—everyone married now but him. Maggie and Violet were pregnant. He knew his sister-in-law, Kara, wouldn’t be far behind. He was ashamed that their happiness made him sad. More than it should? Maybe. Was he wrong to want a love of his own? A woman to cherish and dogs and babies and the busy, messy lives his friends had made for themselves? If it was wrong, if he should not yearn for more when he had so much, then he was guilty. His new house and all the money in the bank and his expensive cars and clothes meant little when you woke up alone.
He wanted to wake up with Mary Hansen.
The passage into her heart was as mysterious as the Agatha Christie novels she lovingly displayed on the Staff Picks table of their bookstore. That said, he knew more than most about the damaged beauty by his side. During their late nights of easy friendship, she’d slowly revealed herself to him as they prepared to open the revamped bookstore. The plot? Six years ago, her baby daughter had died, followed closely by her mother’s death. Then, her husband had admitted to having an affair while she was pregnant. The subtext? Trained as a librarian, she lived only in the pages of the novels she coveted. They were her link to the living world.
Mary turned to him and played with the collar of his shirt. “Sir Lancelot.”
“Yes?” She labeled everyone by characters in books. He was Sir Lancelot. Every time she called him that, his heart fluttered. However, she was not his Guinevere but his Sleeping Beauty. If only he could waken her.
“You’re supposed to kiss me or it’s bad luck.” She held up her cheek.
This was his chance. Do it. Be bold.
“It has to be on the lips,” he said. “Or it doesn’t count.”
“I’m not sure that’s true, but just in case, you better do it.”
She pursed her lips, playful.
She was about to know he was not playing.
He pressed his lips to hers, not hard like he wanted but with just the slightest of pressure, and kissed her. To his surprise, she softened against his mouth. She kissed him back! Yes, there was no question. Her lips moved, mimicking the flutter of the confetti that tickled his ear. He lingered at her mouth, lost. My God, she tasted of champagne. Another stanza of music passed. Still, he could not let go. He slipped one arm around her waist. She kept her arms at her sides but allowed him to pull her small-boned frame against his broad chest. Overwhelmed by the scent of her perfume and her hair, he kissed her harder. A spark of light exploded behind his eyes. An engine rumbled through his stomach.
She pulled away, flushed and breathing hard. “What was that?” she whispered.
“A kiss.”
“Why did you do that?” She splayed her fingers against the base of her neck, as if a collar choked her.
“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
She looked down and rearranged the bangles on her arm. “It’s fine. Just a kiss between friends.”
Suspicions confirmed. He was a sick man. Not with a physical ailment, by the grace of God, but with a mental malady he’d named after himself. The Lance Syndrome. Men who fall for women who are either married, gay, emotionally unavailable, or not interested due to lack of physical attraction.
“I want to go,” she said.
His heart no longer fluttered at her words. Once again, he’d blown it.
A few minutes later, he pulled out of Honor and Zane’s driveway and headed down the hill toward town. Mary sat beside him, stiff and quiet. He’d frightened her with his unwanted kiss. He could kick himself. Here it was the first day of the new year and he had nothing but the same mistakes stretched out in front of him like a road map to his own personal hell. New year. Same mistakes. New woman with which to make same mistakes.
Nice. Tori Hawthorne, the woman who’d wrecked his life, had once called him vanilla melba toast during a fight. He was the guy you called when you needed a warm smile, genuine encouragement, or to kill a spider. Not the guy who pressed you against the wall and kissed away all reason.
Everyone knew nice got you nowhere in life.
His father had always said a man’s greatest strength was also his greatest weakness. Lance was a good man, a compassionate person. He was sick to death of himself. Sure, it was great to be empathetic and nonjudgmental, but it made life more complicated. Seeing beyond a person’s public face made almost everyone understandable, even lovable. He could see a person’s innate character, the person they’d been before life whittled away at their trust and courage.
It was as if he stood on a glass floor and could see what lay below when others saw only a shiny reflection of themselves. One couldn’t truly see another if they looked exclusively with their eyes. Only a heart could see through glass.
He saw Mary with his heart. Behind her reticence and aloofness, those layers of porcelain, was a woman who had suffered great losses yet continued onward, fighting the darkness that wanted to pull her under. To him, this was the true definition of character. She was strong and brave. His friends didn’t understand. They couldn’t see beyond her cracked glass floor.
Make small talk. Get through the awkwardness. Back to friend zone.
“What’s the famous medical manual? You know, the one on my mother’s desk?” Mary knew every book ever published. She was a walking database of books.
“The Merck Manual,” she said.
Lance snapped his fingers. “Right, that’s it.”
He imagined The Lance Syndrome listed in the Merck Manual. Along with the description of the syndrome, photographs of the women he’d once loved displayed as exhibits A though F. His last conquest, Exhibit F, Tori Thayne Hawthorne, best described as married. A footnote at the bottom of the page would include details such as, the boss’s daughter who subsequently got him fired from his upwardly mobile job as a hedge fund manager in one of the most prestigious firms in New York City.
Never one to fail quietly, no, not Lance Mullen. He went out with a splash big enough to empty his famous brother’s swimming pool. Lost the girl and the job and his eye twitch and everything else he’d built over the past eight years of eighty-hour work weeks by falling in love with his boss’s married daughter.
His brother, Brody, had convinced him to come to Cliffside Bay. Start fresh.
So, he had. He began again in Cliffside Bay. He’d had a beautiful house built on the corner of Brody’s property. The Dogs and their wives had welcomed him back into the fold, delighted he had finally moved to town. He thought he’d made the right decision for his life. However, one couldn’t shake fundamental flaws just because one moved across the country and constructed a beach house.
Wherever he went, there he was.
Exhibit G was his current work in progress. Mary Hansen. She might be his finest disaster to date. Mary fell under two categories. She was emotionally unavailable and put him squarely in the friend zone. Only his most self-destructive work contained women who fell into more than one category.
She shifted in her seat, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. Damn that clingy blue dress coupled with the pair of nude sandals that showed off her long legs. Mary Hansen was one sexy librarian.
He should never have asked her to be his date. Not when he knew his feelings were so far out of the friend zone it was practically another planet.
Mary looked over at him. Her eyes sparkled in the lights of a passing car. “I don’t want to go home.”
“You don’t?” If only she meant, I want you to take me home and rip off my clothes.
“No, it’s just a little after midnight. Now that half your friends are pregnant or have small children, that was a tame New Years’ Eve celebration.”
“Everything’s changed.” He’d felt it keenly all evening. He was going to be alone the rest of his life, thanks to The Lance Syndrome.
“Let’s buy a bottle of tequila and make margaritas,” she said.
“You drink margaritas?”
“I used to. I used to be fun, believe it or not.”
“I think you’re fun now,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Lance said. More than you know.
“I want to be fun again. I want to have fun. Do you know how long it’s been since I cut loose?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
She laughed. “Yes. I don’t want to go home to my empty house. Not tonight. I hate New Year’s Eve. I just want to forget my life for a few hours.”
“I have tequila at my house.”
He turned onto the road that took them out of town and up the hillside toward the Mullen property.
“I feel like drinking too much and dancing in my underwear,” Mary said.
He coughed. “What?”
“You are awake,” she said.
He was awake now. The thought of her dancing in her panties was enough to keep him from sleeping for weeks.
“You’ve never danced in your underwear,” he said. “No way.”
“Once. In college. After too many tequila shots.”
“I can’t picture it.” Maybe you could demonstrate later.
“Librarians know how to party,” she said.
He laughed. “That’s a party I’d love to go to.”
“Seriously, the country song’s true. Tequila does make your clothes fall off. And other things.” The last part was said under her breath.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Never mind.” She punched his shoulder. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
They turned into the Mullen property. The head of Brody’s security team, Rafael, was off for the night, but Taylor, the night guy waved them through.
“I’d hate to be as famous as Brody. Well, famous at all,” Mary said.
“It’s the price he had to pay to play football.” In the past tense. Brody would never play again. A neck injury had forced him into retirement at age thirty-one.
He drove by Brody’s house, then past the driveway that led to Mary’s dad’s place. Her father had married the Mullens’ longtime housekeeper, Flora, essentially their second mother, and built a cottage where they planned to stay part of the year. Currently, they were in Oregon at their other house and wouldn’t be back until next month. Mary was staying at their place while they were gone.
“Any luck finding a house?” he asked.
“Nothing’s for sale or rent. I’ve got to find something before Dad and Flora come back. I cramp their style.”
“I still think we should make the rooms above the store into an apartment. Like Zane’s apartment above The Oar.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Something about living above a bookstore in that tiny space reiterates the fact that I’m doomed to a life of cats and spinsterhood.”
You don’t have to be.
He turned into the third driveway. His house wasn’t far from the cliff, but not so close it would fall into the ocean. He’d made sure of that. Like trading stocks, one had to measure the risks versus the rewards.
They walked up his stone pathway to the front door. He’d left the yard lights on, but the stones were craggy and uneven. Perfect excuse to take Mary’s arm. How she walked in those heels was as intriguing as the woman herself.
He kept hold of her as they ambled up the stairs to the front door of his Cape Cod–style home. Once inside, he turned on a few lamps with a command on his phone.
“Oh, Lance, it’s gorgeous.”
His designer, Trey Mattson, had put the finishing touches on his house that afternoon. The white couch was now adorned with blue pillows that mimicked the color of the ocean on a summer day. Paintings of the Italian seaside hung on the walls.
The living room and kitchen were one great room, strategically designed to face the ocean. Tonight, the giant windows acted as mirrors, catching their reflections. During daylight, however, they looked directly out to the ocean. Wide-planed, distressed hardwood floors throughout contrasted with white walls and light furniture with pops of blue in pillows, bowls, and vases. At the kitchen island were five stools for five Dogs.
“Did the table for the dining room come?” she asked.
“Yes, finally.” He pointed toward the closed door to the dining room, next to the stairs that led up to the second floor. “You can look at it later.” He’d bought an enormous table with enough seating for all of his friends and family. Someday, he would host a holiday meal. A vision of the two of them together with a couple of kids flashed before his eyes. How he wished it could be true.
“Oh, Lance, the view from this window is unbelievable.” She stepped out of her sandals and placed them neatly by the door to the patio.
“I’ll never tire of it,” he said. The window was in fact a door, much like a garage. During warm months, the entire door rolled upward and disappeared, making the living room and deck into one space.
“I love the high beams and light walls. Everything seems so clean and fresh.” She swept her hand over the back of his white couch. “And the bits of blue are lovely. My favorite color.”
“Mine too. Anyway, we can thank Trey for all of this. I can barely pick out a pair of shoes let alone decorate an entire house.”
Lance had asked Trey for the ultimate seaside escape—a sanctuary from the world. He hadn’t said it out loud, but he wanted a place where he could feel at peace. A home where he could forget what happened in New York and let all the expectations he’d had for his life drift away in the ocean breeze. This house should grant him peace. Something had to.
“I love the floors,” she said.
“Brody said they’re manly but also pretty, like me.”
“That’s not nice.”
“It’s fine. Just brotherly ribbing.”
“You’re handsome, not pretty,” she said.
“I guess so.” Embarrassed, his ears burned. For years the Dogs had teased him about being too pretty for a guy. Secretly, it offended him. He’d grown a short beard just to counteract the prettiness. It did nothing to disguise his delicate features. “Now, about that drink.”
“Yes, let’s get this party started.”
He laughed at how awkward those words sounded coming out of her mouth. In all the months they’d spent together, he’d never known her to have more than a glass of wine. At the shop, she drank apple cinnamon herbal tea all day long. “I’m always cold,” she’d told him one time when he’d teased her about her tea addiction.
In the kitchen he found a bottle of tequila in the pantry. “I don’t have margarita mix, but I have lemonade. Will that do?”
“That’ll do just fine.” She sat, rather primly, on the oversized chair by the fireplace. That dress. That dress needed to come off.
“You want to borrow a shirt and a pair of my boxer shorts?” he asked.
“You read my mind.” She crossed the room in her bare feet over to where he had opened the bottle of tequila and the lemonade carton. “Here, I’ll do this while you fetch me something to wear. This dress is like a cobra around my middle.”
“I can imagine.” He’d like to be a cobra around her middle.
When he returned with a soft t-shirt and a pair of his boxer shorts, two glasses of the lemonade tequila concoction waited on the coffee table. She excused herself to change in the downstairs bathroom. Do not think of her naked.
She returned a few minutes later with her dress over one arm and placed it on the back of a chair. “I just thought of something. You won’t be able to drive me home if we have too many drinks.”
“It’s too far to walk in the dark. You can sleep in the guest room. No one’s stayed there yet. I figured it would be Kyle’s room, but now he’s married, and I’ll probably never see him again.” He spoke casually, oh so cool, like there was no agenda.
“Especially with another baby on the way.”
He looked at her closely. Had her voice quivered when she’d mentioned a baby?
She grabbed her drink. “I need a straw. Do you have straws?”
“I do. For when Dakota and Jubie come over. Kids love straws.”
“I love straws,” she said.
“I never knew that.”
“We’ve never had drinks before.”
He left his drink on the coffee table and went into the kitchen to get her a straw. He grabbed only one. Men didn’t drink from straws. Even nice men.
She thanked him and stuck it into her drink, then took a long suck as he sank into the corner of his L-shaped couch. “I have something to say.” Her eyes shone in the light from the fireplace. Now that he thought about it, she might have been a little drunk at the party. “Thanks for hiring me to manage the bookstore. I have a purpose I wouldn’t have if not for your generosity.” She cut herself off and raised her glass. “Anyway, to the new year.”
“To the new year.”
She curled up in the oversized chair looking comfortable, not to mention sexy as hell, in his shirt.
“Speaking of the store,” he said. “I closed the books this morning. We made a profit our first month. It’s much better than I expected.”
“The holidays helped. Next month might be terrible.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist,” he said. “Having trivia night and book clubs and all the other stuff you thought of will bring people in during slower months. Plus, customers love how you help them find just the right book for them.” Every time a new customer had come in looking for a gift, she’d rattled off a few questions and then presented them with several books sure to please.
“I love finding people the right book.” She was talking faster than her usual measured pace. He worried over how quickly she was downing her drink, but there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “I looked at my stock account today. How are you making me all this money?”
“I’ve been pleased,” he said. More than pleased. Over the past few months, he’d increased her wealth by ten thousand dollars. She didn’t have much to start out with, unlike his former clients who invested millions. “I watch the market closely, that’s all.”
“Not all. You’re a genius.”
“That’s what my boss used to say.” Back when he was a rising star at the firm. Before he was summarily fired.
Her glass was almost empty. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was in the mood to have a few drinks.
He moved to stand by the fire. Her hazel eyes glittered with energy when she met his gaze. And her cheeks were flushed a bright pink. This was not self-contained Mary. Tonight, she was all sexy librarian Mary.
“How about another?” She uncurled her long legs and got up from the chair, then crossed over to the kitchen. “I made a pitcher.”
“I’m good for now.” He might have to look after her later. Best to stay sober.
Moments later, she was back in her spot, guzzling her drink.
“Be careful,” he said gently. “You’re not much of a drinker, are you?”
“Not really. But do you ever just get sick of being who you are?”
“Almost every day.” Definitely today.
“What would you change?” she asked.
He rattled the ice around his nearly empty glass. “I’d like to be more like Kyle and Zane. More of an alpha type guy.”
“You mean because of women?”
“What else reason would there be? It’s always about a woman.”
“A woman? Or women?” She pulled a pin from her hair and her hair cascaded around her shoulders. “It has to be the latter if you’re going to be a romance book alpha male.”
“Do you like that type?” he asked.
“I have no idea. I don’t think about men. I have no interest in ever letting myself get hurt that way again.”
“Are you ever lonely?”
“I didn’t think so.” Indecision played across her features. She was obviously wrestling with what to say next. “Until recently.”
“How recently?”
“Tonight. When you kissed me...” She looked up at the ceiling. Her eyelashes fluttered. “Your kiss unsettled me.”
“Is that good?” Act like it was nothing. He strolled over to the couch and sat with his legs stretched out on the coffee table. Mr. Casual.
“Yes. Our kiss, to be more accurate. I believe I kissed you back, making it ours.” She crossed her legs. “Which is weird.”
“Because it was nice?” he asked, a flare of hope in his chest.
She rested her neck on the back of her chair and stared at the ceiling. “Nice isn’t how I would describe it. More like, hot.”
He swallowed and gripped his glass in both hands, afraid he might drop it onto his new couch. The ice cubes had melted into slivers.
“It surprised me,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think of you that way. You’re my pal. My best pal.”
The friend zone. Damn it all.
“But now I feel a little confused,” she said.
“You do?”
“I do, yes.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Are you?”
“Not in the same way.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I think about you.” How’s that for an understatement?
“You think about me? Like that?”
“It’s impossible not to. Given how gorgeous you are. I mean, seriously, that dress tonight. I’m a man, not a zombie.”
“Oh.” She stared at him for a second, then finished her drink with a noisy slurp and got up for more. Surprisingly, she walked in a straight line all the way to the kitchen. When she returned, she stood near the couch and examined him as if they had come upon each other on the street and she was trying to place where she knew him from. “You’ve surprised me twice tonight. That never happens. People don’t usually surprise me.”
“Most people are much more than they appear on the surface,” he said.
She shook her glass at him. “You’ve taught me that. It’s humbling to hear what you see in others that most people miss. I love that about you.”
“Yeah?” She loved that about him. She’d narrowed in on this trait. She saw him for who he was.
She slapped her left knee. “I’m vowing right here and now to make this a better year. I can’t be sad forever. I mean, it’s been six years since I lost Meme and my mother, and my husband left me for that barista skank.”
Skank. He’d never heard her use that word before. Tequila loosened her tongue.
Mary slurped up her drink. In hindsight, the choice of a straw might not have been wise.
“It was like everything was mine one minute and poof it all disappeared in the next.” She waved her hand in front of her face like she was swatting away mosquitos. “But I have to stop being like this. I have to start living.”
“You suffered a terrible loss. It’s understandable that you withdrew.” What a stupid thing to say. Trite and ridiculous.
“You want to know something?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Reading novels—my old friends—has been the only thing that gets me through the day. I can get lost in a story and forget for a while. Or, sometimes, the story mirrors something in my own life and helps me cry and grieve and feel less alone. But you know what? I’m not really living. Dammit, my mother would be truly disappointed in me.” She placed her empty glass on the coffee table and wandered over to the bank of windows. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had sex?”
He almost choked on his drink.
“The last time was with my husband. Can you believe that? Good old Chad the Cheater.” She giggled as she turned to face him. “Do you know he’s married and has three kids? Three. Can you imagine how that hurts?”
She’d shared this with him before, but he didn’t remind her. He would let her talk for as long as she needed.
“I could, yes,” he said.
“How stupid is it to have an incompetent cervix? I mean, seriously? Of all things. My Meme never had a chance because of my incompetence.”
He had no idea what to say. She’d gone into labor at only twenty-two weeks. The baby wasn’t developed enough. Despite heroic efforts of the hospital staff, tiny Meme had died in Mary’s arms.
She turned back to the window. Her breath steamed up the glass as she spoke. “And wouldn’t you know it, life goes on. Unfortunately. So, you just have to get up every single stupid day and pretend like you’re present in the world when all the time you’re just a ghost floating amongst the living. And in the middle of all the soul-crushing grief, you’re pissed as hell too—witnessing all the lucky ones with their precious families and happy marriages—those adorable babies at the supermarket all fat and pink. It all eats away at you until all that’s left is this angry, bitter shell. You hate yourself for it. Honestly, you do. You want to be gracious and graceful and believe that God is good, but you can’t. You rage against Him. You hate all the happy people.”
Lance joined her by the windows. Her reflection in the glass appeared ghostlike and eerie. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, comfort her, but remained at a distance.
“Now you know. I’m an awful person,” she said.
“No. Not awful. Hurting.”
“Damn, Lance, how are you so good all the time? How do you always know what to say so that I feel understood instead of judged?”
“I’m not good all the time. You know how I wrecked my life. No one to blame but myself.”
“I blame the boss’s daughter.” She rested the side of her head against his shoulder. “I could never blame you for anything. You’re too good for this world.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
Mary jerked away. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m not ruining our fun night. This is the beginning of a new year. We’re going for broke.” She scurried across to the kitchen and grabbed the pitcher of drinks. “You’ve got to catch up. It’s terrible manners to let a lady get drunk while you remain sensible and sober.”
“Sensible and sober? God, I sound like an old man.” He fetched his drink from the coffee table and finished the dregs. “Here, give me that pitcher. I don’t trust you.”
She laughed. “Because I’m drunk?”
“Yes, and my furniture’s white.” He poured them both a new drink. “I’m worried you’re going to be sick.”
“No way. I ate a huge dinner. I’m fine.” She fell back onto the couch and planted her legs on the coffee table. Her toenails were painted pink and reminded him of perfect seashells. “My mom always made me come up with New Year’s resolutions. Did you guys do those?”
“Sure. My mom was always big on making goals. I mean, not that we stuck to them, but yeah.” He took the chair she’d vacated earlier, afraid if he sat by her he might lose it and pull her onto his lap.
“Do you have any for this year?” Mary asked.
“Read more.” He grinned at her. “Someone suggested that.”
She’d given him a stack of some of her favorite books for a Christmas present.
“What else?” she asked.
“I’d like to find someone. The right someone. I guess that’s not a resolution, but a wish.”
Her voice softened. “Those are different things, yes.” She fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt before she leapt up. “We need music. Something cheery.”
He found his phone and turned on the Bluetooth speakers. A pop song came on, sexy and up-tempo.
“Is this the dancing-on-the-table portion of the evening?” He leaned back in his chair like he was ready to watch a show.
In front of the fireplace, she swayed to the music and flashed him a saucy grin. “What? You think I won’t do it?”
“I know you won’t do it.”
“Really? Well, how about this?” She put aside her drink and stepped onto the coffee table. With her arms stretched out above her head, she moved her hips in a circle one way and then the other. Maybe she was right. Librarians knew how to party.
“Didn’t you say something about underwear?” The comment flew from his mouth without proper evaluation of the consequences.
Her hip gyration commenced. With an evil glint in her eyes, she gazed at him. “You don’t think I’ll do it.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, I’m doing it all right. And you have to watch. No turning away now.”
“There’s no way in hell I’m turning away,” he said gruffly.
Shop the Cliffside Bay series
The Farmhouse: A Hickory Grove Novel
A desperate hairdresser. Her handsome friend. And a farmhouse full of secrets.
When Maggie Devereux is served an unexpected eviction notice, everything falls apart. Out of options, the nearly divorced forty-something stumbles across an unopened letter regarding her late aunt's estate: a ramshackle farmhouse on the outskirts of town. It could be the perfect solution, if it weren't on the verge of collapse and teeming with complicated family secrets.
Property investor Rhett Houston needs a fresh start. So when he bumps into his old friend, Maggie, who's looking for help with a project, he jumps right in. Soon, Rhett finds himself growing close to the hardworking family, and he realizes he's at a crossroads: stay in the city where he's made a life, or move home to Hickory Grove to help Maggie for good. His choice would be easy, if she weren't still married.
Can friends become more under the right circumstances? The Farmhouse is a romantic, small-town women's fiction set in charming Hickory Grove.
one of the best!
It was a good read. Romantic, and warming. Looking forward to the 2nd Book in the series.
Traded: Brody and Kara
“Tess Thompson writes interesting, full-bodied romances, and Traded is no exception. In this book, she introduces you to the charming seaside town of Cliffside, the world of football, and a cast of interesting characters you're sure to love...” —Judith Keim, bestselling author of the Salty Key Inn series.
She’s in hiding. He’s focused on football. When giving in to desire is risky, will they choose to play for love?
Nurse Kara Boggs lost everything because she stood up for what’s right. After turning state’s evidence against her mobster father, she’s forced to go underground with an assumed name. But taking a job for a handsome celebrity quarterback could shine a very dangerous public spotlight.
After leading his team to a Super Bowl win, Brody Mullen should be on top of the world. But he’s shocked when his quiet seaside homecoming reveals his mother in a cast, and her housekeeper dying from a brain tumor. Frantic to get the best care for the women he adores, he hires a gorgeous nurse… despite her strange request to stay publicly invisible.
As Kara’s attraction to the charming jock grows, she becomes trapped by her own high-stakes secrets and the constant threat of exposure. And Brody’s famously strict “no women” rule means falling hard for the beautiful woman could ruin his career.
Will they be sidelined by their own rules, or will they complete a pass to passion?
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More Reviews:
“This story has so much going on, but it intertwines within itself. You get second chance, lost loves, and new love. I could not put this book down! I am excited to start this series and have love for this little Bayside town that I am now fond of!” —Crystal's Book World
“A fabulous start to this new series, with characters and a storyline that sunk their claws in and quite simply refused to let go.” —Books Laid Bare
“This was a sweet love story that was filled with a bit of suspense and the sexual tension between Brody and Kara was off the charts…This book was way more than a sports romance. It was a book about family and belonging despite having to trade your life… You felt what the characters were going through. It's one of those ‘I got to know what happens next’ books. So intriguing you won't want to put it down.” —Lena Loves Books
Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1: Kara
They came for her on a Sunday. It was third quarter with two minutes left on the clock in a savage battle between football rivals San Francisco Sharks and Kansas City Rockets when the sounds that would change her life forever broke through the ordinary chirps of the television announcers. The three hard knocks followed by two taps on the front door yanked her attention away from quarterback Brody Mullen’s Houdini-like antics on the field. This was the code. Her scalp tingled. Heat surged through her body and out to her numb limbs. The pulse at her neck hammered. Her clock had run out of time.
Kara Boggs jerked to her feet. The popcorn bowl flew from her lap and rained the white, buttery clouds onto her rug. Minnie mewed and sprang from her position in the crack between the couch cushions to the coffee table and watched the door with wide, frightened eyes.
Sweat dampened the back of her neck. Black dots danced before her eyes, blinding her. She spoke silent instructions to herself, like she had when she’d first started her nursing career in the trauma unit. Think. Be calm. Breathe.
Kara flipped on an extra lamp. Shadows of the oak tree outside her front window moved in ghostlike shudders. She was ready. Like expectant travelers, her suitcases and Minnie’s carrier waited in the entryway. She stumbled to the front door and opened it a crack. Two United States Marshals, dressed in khakis and shiny black jackets, stood at attention. Shotguns strapped to their massive chests gleamed under the hallway light. She opened the door. Without a sound, she stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. They filed in, making no eye contact until she had shut the door behind them. The taller of the two marshals spoke first, his voice deep and without emotion. They showed badges as they introduced themselves. Inspector Green. U.S. Marshal Hill.
Perspiration dampened her back as she envisioned her home from their perspective. Located in a wealthy suburb of Philadelphia, it was furnished like the display window of the finest department store in shades of cream with splashes of red and blue accents. Every detail had been planned with care, including the arrangements of vases and bowls, books and magazines. Walnut tables and chests gleamed under the soft lighting. Prints of landscapes framed in black hung in attractive clusters on the eggshell walls. She wondered if the deputies assumed her beautiful home had been financed by her father. Silly as it was, she fought the urge to tell them how hard she’d worked to become a nurse practitioner. Yes, it was true that her father had helped with the down payment for the condo and her college tuition, but the rest she’d earned.
Yet, it all came back to one thing. She could not have gone to school without her father’s help, and she would never have been able to go to graduate school without accruing massive amounts of debt. Her father had financed her expensive education at Penn State. After graduation, he had not pleaded with her to come home to Upstate New York but had happily written her a check for a down payment on her condo. None of that had surprised her. The moment her mother had died when she was ten, he’d sent her away to boarding school. He didn’t want her.
She’d always assumed his generosity was rooted in guilt. Now, she knew the truth. It was not guilt that fueled him, but self-protection. He was a criminal. Her life had been financed with blood money.
None of it mattered now. These were the last minutes of what would be a former life. The next life, whatever it was, would be her penance. Her retribution for living with contented blinders to the truth.
“Nice to meet you.” Her voice cracked. Be brave. She tried to conjure her mother’s face, but no image came tonight.
“It’s time. The car’s waiting.” Cold blue eyes bored through her, carving out what was left of her heart. He’s on my side. Don’t be afraid. “Are these your bags?”
“Yes. Yes.” She looked down at her loose jeans and sweatshirt, suddenly humiliated. These were her “stay at home and watch football” clothes. With her long brown hair in a ponytail and her face scrubbed of makeup, she probably looked younger than her twenty-nine years.
The game. Playoff season. San Francisco versus Kansas City. She’d forgotten football was playing on the television. The soothing sound of the announcers’ voices drifted into her consciousness. “Brody Mullen, inarguably, is the best quarterback in the league.”
“That’s right,” said the other announcer. “Looking at statistics alone—without even bringing up his stellar character and leadership of his San Francisco Sharks, this young man is the AFL’s greatest quarterback. And, regardless of how you dissect it, he’s had the best season of his career.”
Football would remain, regardless of where they sent her. She could watch her Philadelphia Raptors from wherever she lived. She could still mock handsome, arrogant Brody Mullen—one of her favorite past times. He was the best quarterback in the league. The bastard. She disliked him immensely. More accurately, she hated him. It wasn’t because her Raptor’s quarterback was not the best in the league or because they hadn’t made the playoffs since the eighties. No, it was just him. Him and his stupid dimple in the middle of his stupid chin. Brody Mullen and his insufferable San Francisco Sharks were most likely headed to the Super Bowl this year, and it made her mad.
Why did good things always happen to the wrong people? Sure, Mullen made a good show of being the quintessential all-American boy next door with his weekly visits to the children’s hospital and all that money he donated to underprivileged communities. But that’s all he was—a show. His appearance and supposed good deeds deceived and distracted from his true character. That chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and honey-blond hair kissed by the California sun gave the impression of a wholesome boy you would want to bring home to your mother. However, Kara could see beyond his beauty, unlike the rest of the women of America. The guy was obviously full of himself, born into football royalty with every privilege, and advised by a team of public relations phonies into appearing otherwise.
What was she doing? Concentrate on the task at hand. Football could distract her when she was all alone in a hotel room, not now when she needed to pull every ounce of her honed focusing ability to the surface. Get through one task at a time, like she’d done for months now. Collapse when it’s all over.
She scurried to the coffee table and found the remote. Her hands shook so violently, she mistakenly turned up the volume.
The smaller of the two deputies took the controller from her. “We understand you have a cat. Go get her. The faster we get you out of here, the better.”
The cat. Her sweet Minnie. Where was she? The hammering at the door must have scared her. She would be under the bed, with green eyes wide and frightened. Kara sprinted to the bedroom. Minnie was on the bed, staring at her. Instead of frightened, she looked angry. Kara scooped her up and held her close. “It’s all right now, baby. We’re just going for a little ride.” A sob escaped. She buried her face into the tuxedo cat’s fur. Minnie purred.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Was this really her with the frightened brown eyes and blotched skin? The months of strain had damaged her appearance. Dark smudges under her eyes paired with hollow cheekbones hinted at countless sleepless nights and a lack of appetite. She was tall and muscular from years of dance and cheerleading when she was younger, but her shoulders curled forward like a person embarrassed by her mere existence. This was new. She’d always been so proud, so sure of herself.
Was this the right choice? To leave everyone and everything she loved? To give up her position at the hospital? To abandon her beautiful home and all the possessions? The answer was the same as it had been for months. She must. Justice was more important than her own comfort. When she chose to testify against her father, the Witness Protection Program became her only option—her only chance to live. Despite the shock of the truth about her father, she wanted to live. She would begin again.
Kara squared her shoulders and took in a deep breath. Her mother had not taught her to cower or hide.
Yes, she must go. They offered her a new life. She would take it.
Behind her, she sensed one of the marshals in the doorway of the bedroom. With Minnie still in her arms, she turned. He had the carrier in his hand. “Don’t lose courage now, Miss Boggs. You’ve come this far.” He set the carrier on the bed where she would no longer sleep under a downy comforter and memory foam pillows. Would her pillow still remember her when she was no longer Kara Boggs?
“This is Minnie.” The tears almost escaped. She swallowed and gave herself a direct order. Do not break down until you’re alone. “I can still bring her, right?”
“Yes, of course. Do you need help getting her in the carrier?” Sympathy flickered in the marshal’s eyes.
“No, I’ll do it.” She coaxed Minnie into the carrier with treats she’d kept in a bag on the bureau for just this purpose.
She took one more look at her bedroom. How naïve she’d been two years ago when she’d chosen fabrics and paint colors. My starter home, she’d smugly called it. My bachelorette pad.
It was time.
She followed the marshal to the front door. “Where to now?”
“We have you booked in a hotel near the courthouse. You’ll have twenty-four-hour protection during the trial. We’ll escort you to and from the courtroom.”
“And then?”
“We’ll send you to your new location.”
“Where is it?” she asked.
“We don’t know,” Green said. “But, it’ll be somewhere nice. The boss has a soft spot for you. It’s not every day we get someone willing to give up their life to do the right thing.”
“Someone innocent,” Hill added.
Most in the Witness Protection Program were criminals. They’d told her this during the first interviews when they’d still suspected she might be privy to the dirty underworld of her father’s life. After a time, however, they’d come to understand she knew nothing. She was not a criminal, merely a participant in a plush life. A princess, protected from the dangerous life of a money launderer.
“Please try and remember during your adjustment period that you’re bringing down an entire branch of the Colombian drug cartel. Most people never have the chance to do something this important. If they do, they shy away.”
“Like cowards. You didn’t,” Green said, his voice gruff. “Our boss thinks you’re the bravest person he’s ever met.”
That was kind. But she knew the truth. Her complacency made her guilty. How many clues were there over the years that she’d dismissed, made excuses for, refused to see? At night when she could not sleep she remembered, and remembered, and remembered until the pieces of the puzzle collided with the force of magnets. The completed puzzle broke her heart. Daddy, say it isn’t so.
But it was.
Despite her naïve complicity in a life of privilege, she had stepped forward to do the just thing. Perhaps too late? How many lives had been ruined? She was a nurse! A nurse who witnessed the ravages of drugs every single day in the emergency room where she worked. Drugs were cunning. They ruined families and damaged babies and snuffed out lives.
Too late or not, she had done it. She had colluded with her father’s enemy. As if she’d channeled the finest actress on Broadway, she’d slipped into her role of whistleblower. She’d planted wiretaps and bugs in his office. She’d played to his ego, his desire for her to know how powerful he was, how influential—the trust these dangerous men had in him.
“I came from nothing, Kara, and look at the life I’ve made for us.”
“Have another drink, Dad. Tell me more. Who are these people you work for? How did you become involved?”
Her alliance with the FBI had brought their family crashing to the ground like a house made of the finest sand. With the tapes and her testimony, her father would be sentenced to prison for the rest his life, as would several of the most dangerous Colombian drug lords in organized crime. From prison, they would order her death. Unless she disappeared.
She grabbed the photograph of her mother from the bedside table and stuffed it into her purse.
“I’m ready.”
Chapter 2: Brody
With three seconds left on the clock, the American Football League’s San Francisco quarterback, Brody Mullen, huddled with his offense for the last play of the Super Bowl. His San Francisco Sharks were down by five. One touchdown against the New England Rebels could make them Super Bowl champions. But they were sixty yards from the end zone. It was a long, high pass or nothing. They had to go for broke. Brody locked eyes with his wide receiver, Trevor Beeson, and called the play. Beeson’s long arms were their only chance. If Brody could throw the pass just right, and Beeson caught it, they would go home winners.
Please God, don’t let me blow this.
The center snapped the football. Brody caught it and scanned downfield for Beeson. Around him, his offensive line secured him with the force of their bodies. Brody hurled the football toward the end zone. Beeson, anticipating the location of the ball, sprinted into the far-left corner.
Beeson had one of New England’s defense in front of him and another behind him. Three sets of arms reached for the ball, but Beeson’s were the longest. He plucked the football from the air like a frog’s tongue snatched a fly.
Touchdown!
Brody fell to his knees. I did it. Finally. This is for you, Dad. Memories flooded his consciousness: hours in the backyard throwing the football with his dad; the day his high school team won the state championship; the news that he’d been awarded the Heisman Trophy when he was at USC; the day of the AFL draft. Every moment, he’d shared with his dad. If only he could see this moment.
When he stood, blinded by tears, his teammates pounced on him. Beeson almost knocked him over with the force of his hug. “Enough sacks for today, Frog,” he said.
“You’re the boss, man,” Beeson said.
“No, Frog. You’re the boss.”
Brody searched the crowd for his family and friends. They’d watched from a box above. He knew they’d waste no time getting down here.
Moments later, he saw his mother plowing through the crowds to get to him. Following her were his brother and their three best friends. His assistant, Honor, trailed behind the pack. Where was Flora?
Brody didn’t have time to ask because everyone hugged him at once. His friends pounded his back. Lance lingered just beyond the fringe of their group. They locked eyes. His baby brother had tears in his eyes. He knew his thoughts as well as his own—if only Dad were here for this.
Along with his brother, Zane, Jackson, and Kyle were his pack. His tribe. They’d all been friends since their days at USC. Lance had nicknamed them the Dogs after the famous painting of dogs playing poker.
“Brody.” A high-pitched shout rose above the chaos. Honor had been lost amid the crowd, her petite stature enveloped in the throngs of people. He knelt to hug her, but she pushed him away with her hands. “I don’t want your stinky sweat all over my clothes.” She shouted this but followed with a softer proclamation in his ear. “You did good.”
“Don’t start mentioning anything about endorsements until tomorrow,” he said. “I want to enjoy myself for the rest of the night.”
Honor tossed her long blond hair behind her shoulders. “Lance already made me promise.” Her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes belied her sharp intelligence. She ran his business affairs with precision and merciless attention to details. He loved and trusted her, like the sister he never had. Which, in his opinion, was a blessing. To fall for Honor Sullivan was the first step to a broken heart. “No time for whiny or needy men,” she always said—right before she kicked another one to the proverbial curb.
“Where’s Flora?” Brody asked. Flora, his family’s longtime housekeeper, was a second mother to him and his brother.
“She had to stay home. She’s a little under the weather,” Lance said.
“We didn’t want to tell you before the game.” His mother, Janet Mullen, brushed blond hair from her cheeks and looked up at him with her penetrating eyes.
Brody’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing to worry about,” his mother said. “Just enjoy your moment.”
He wasn’t sure she was telling the truth, but for now, he chose to take her advice. He’d been waiting for this his entire life.
Chapter 3: Kara
Kara watched the Super Bowl alone in her room at the hotel. She’d given the last of her testimony Friday afternoon. Tomorrow they would tell her where she was to start her new life. For now, there was football, at least, to keep her from careening into the madness of uncertainty.
On fourth down, with seconds left on the clock, Brody Mullen threw a perfect fifty-eight-yard pass to his wide receiver, Beeson, in the end zone. The ball might have been a few inches too high for almost any other player, but the tall and lanky Beeson caught it in his giant hands with seemingly little effort. The referee called it a touchdown. Mullen fell to his knees.
Minnie jumped onto the bed and curled up beside her. As much as Kara loved the feline beauty, Minnie was a poor substitute for the Super Bowl party she’d thrown last year. Twenty people had crammed into the living room of her two-thousand-square-foot condo. They’d spilled chips and screamed at the television and laughed at commercials. Her best friend, Jessica, had collected bets on the winner and the scores. Kara won.
Now, the sound of the game and the announcers, Roger King and Tom Coleman, softened the sharp edges of her sorrow. Wherever she went, she’d still have football to watch.
“Brody Mullen turned thirty last month. There’s continued speculation that he will retire after this season, but in an interview last week he assured fans that he had no plans to give up any time soon.”
“Given the way he played tonight, Tom, he’s nowhere near done with what has been a spectacular career.”
Brody Mullen. Her football nemesis. She was sick to death of hearing about him the past few weeks. All the sports channels could talk about was his wonderful character and leadership and his football royalty family. If she saw one more advertisement with him hawking that new luxury car, she might vomit. What a jerk, on and off the field. Obviously, women found him attractive, but he reminded her of a hawk with intense, angry green eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a hard mouth. He had this way of running his hands through his cropped hair during interviews that was so obviously meant to make him look vulnerable and approachable, nervous even. So ridiculous. Men like Brody Mullen were never nervous.
Seriously, off the field, he was everywhere: print ads, television spots, charity functions. He had recently pledged a million dollars to build a center for underprivileged youth in one of the Bay Area’s poorest communities. She had to give him some points for that, although she was disgusted by how often he posted his picture on Instagram with a sick child. Her mother had told her that good deeds only counted if no one knew about them. Brody Mullen made sure the world knew about everything he did. She focused her attention back on the television.
The camera stayed on Mullen as the field flooded with people. He stood and tore his helmet off. His teammates mobbed him. Seconds later, he held out his arms and an older woman embraced him.
Roger King and Tom Coleman continued to commentate.
“Brody Mullen hugging his mother there. What an emotional night it must be for them. His father, our colleague here at NCS Sports, was his biggest supporter.”
“That’s right, Tom. Just last week he broke down when he spoke about his father and how much he wanted this win for him. It’s a shame Simon isn’t here to share this great night with him.”
“Hard to believe it’s been two years since we lost him,” Roger said.
“One of football’s greats, no doubt about it.”
Kara shut off the television. She didn’t want to hear anyone else’s sad story tonight.
Kara’s love of football came from her mother. Before she died when Kara was ten, they’d watched every Philadelphia game together. If they’d won or lost, her mother had reveled in the pure joy of the sport. Over the years, Kara had calmly defended her love of football to friends who thought the game was either boring or a waste of time—and quite possibly misogynistic and dangerous. No, she argued, look beneath the surface. Football was the human story. Football, with all the twists and turns, was like life. One never knew what would happen next. Sometimes the clock brought unexpected triumphs. Other times, it brought disaster. Often, and this was the best part, the clock brought an upset, a last minute play so surprising and heroic that no one in their wildest imagination would have thought it possible. That was the magic of the game and the human experience. Just when one thought all was lost—redemption.
God knew, Kara had not seen this twist in her life coming. At last year’s Super Bowl party, she was still naïve, never questioning the surface story of her family. But now, she knew the truth, and there was no looking back. She would pay for her father’s sins for the rest of her life.
Today, she could not imagine redemption. Today, she was a reluctant hero.
one of the best!
It was a good read. Romantic, and warming. Looking forward to the 2nd Book in the series.
Riversnow
This small-town romance is ripped from the headlines A famous actress goes against one of America's most powerful politicians in this socially relevant romance about a brave woman who dares to name her abuser publicly.
Genevieve Banks is one of Hollywood's most successful actresses. While on set in the small Oregon town of River Valley, she forms a deep friendship with her handsome male co-star. He wants more, but trauma deep in Genevieve's past holds her back.
When her closely guarded secret is revealed, Genevieve must make a painful choice: stay silent and let others suffer at the hand of the man who victimized her or confront the violence in her past and hold her abuser accountable.
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.”
Riverstar
A sassy, damaged make-up artist falls in love with a charming executive accused of murder in this small town romantic mystery by USA Today bestselling author Tess Thompson.
Bella Webber is reeling from the end of the most toxic relationship of her life. In an effort to regroup, she ventures to the small town of River Valley to work on a movie filming there. A chance encounter with a strikingly handsome business executive has her falling instantly and unexpectedly in love.
But the object of Bella's affection soon finds himself at the center of a murder investigation, accused of the crime and under arrest. Convinced of his innocence and hopelessly in love, Bella bands together with friends to find the real killer, facing her biggest fear to ensure the truth is revealed.
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.”
The Nantucket Inn
**Now a USA Today Bestseller **
Lisa Hodges needs to make a decision fast. Thanks to her dead husband's gambling addiction, their savings is almost gone. In her early fifties with a large, waterfront home on Nantucket to support, Lisa hasn't worked in over thirty years, has no in-demand skills and is virtually unemployable. Her only options are to sell the house and move off-island, or, she could use her cooking and entertaining skills and turn her home into a bed and breakfast. She desperately needs it to succeed because she has four grown children with problems of their own and wants to stay close to them. Her oldest daughter, Kate, has a fabulous career in Boston--working as a writer for a popular fashion magazine and engaged to a dangerously handsome photographer, who none of them have met. Kate's twin, local artist, Kristen, has been reasonably content with her on-again off-again relationship with an older, separated businessman. Her son, Chase, runs his own construction business and is carefree, happily dating here and there but nothing serious. Youngest daughter, Abby, is happily married to her high school sweetheart, and they've been trying to have a baby. But it hasn't happened yet, and Abby wonders if it's a sign that maybe their marriage isn't as perfect as everyone thinks. Come visit Nantucket and see how Lisa's new bed and breakfast has an impact on almost everyone in her family. It's the first book in a new series that will follow the Hodges family, friends, and visitors to Nantucket's Beach Plum Cove Inn.About the Author
Kelley, Pamela M.: - Pamela M. Kelley lives in the historic seaside town of Plymouth, MA near Cape Cod and just south of Boston. She has always been a book worm and still reads often and widely, romance, mysteries, thrillers and cook books. She writes women's fiction, small town romance and suspense and you'll probably see food featured and possibly a recipe or two. She is owned by a cute little rescue kitty, Bella.
Don't Say a Word
“Powerful and absorbing … Sheer hold-your-breath suspense.” —NY Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly bestselling author, Karen Robards
12 weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List!
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Barbara Freethy comes an award winning tale of romance and suspense.
Everything she's been told about her past is a lie...
Julie De Marco is planning a perfect San Francisco wedding when she comes face-to-face with a famous photograph, the startling image of a little girl behind the iron gate of a foreign orphanage—a girl who looks exactly like her. But Julia isn't an orphan. She isn't adopted. And she's never been out of the country. She knows who she is—or does she?
Haunted by uncertainty, Julia sets off on a dangerous search for her true identity—her only clues a swan necklace and an old Russian doll, her only ally daring, sexy photographer Alex Manning. Suddenly nothing is as it seems. The people Julia loved and trusted become suspicious strangers. The relationships she believed in—with her mother, her sister, and her fiancé—are shaken by new revelations. The only person she can trust is Alex, but he has secrets of his own. Each step brings her closer to a mysterious past that began a world away—a past that still has the power to threaten her life...and change her future forever.
More Reviews:
"A page-turner that engages your mind while it tugs at your heartstrings...Don't Say a Word had made me a Barbara Freethy fan for life!" —NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Diane Chamberlain
"An absorbing story of two people determined to unravel the secrets, betrayals, and questions about their past. The story builds to an explosive conclusion that will leave readers eagerly awaiting Barbara Freethy's next book." —NY Times bestselling author Carla Neggars
"Dark, hidden secrets and stunning betrayal boil together in a potent and moving suspense. Freethy's story-telling ability is top-notch." —Romantic Times Magazine Top Pick of the Month
“What drew me to Don't Say a Word was the fear of the unknown. Everybody has questions about who they are and where they came from,, but to come face to face with the answers is scary. Ms. Freethy created a world full of suspense that is as thrilling as it is tragic. Julie serves as a beacon that from some of life's darkest moment can rise many of the brightest.” —I Love Romance Blog
Author Bio:
Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home.
Happy I read them in the correct order so I wasn’t confused. I liked each character in the big Barnes family, and was happy to finally get out of the long, cold winter and hear about the Colorado Spring-time! (Ordered large print, and did not need my glasses!)
Just received Tess Thompson’s book titled “TRADED.” Thank you!
Very good writer.
The book is excellent and very entertaining.
Very good book!
Good book. Hard to put down
Great read. The writing style was fascinating.
The Spinster
“A story worthy of more than 5 Stars.” —Wild Sage Book Blog
The wholesome second book in USA Today bestselling author Tess Thompson's Emerson Pass Historicals historical romance series.
Her love died on a battlefield. He carries a torch for a woman he’s never met. Can the tragic death of a soldier entwine the souls of two strangers?
Colorado, 1920. Josephine Barnes wrote every day to her beloved fiancé battling in the trenches of the Great War. Devastated when he’s killed in action, she vows never to marry and buries her grief in the construction of the town’s first library. But she’s left breathless when she receives a request from a gracious gentleman to visit and return the letters containing her declarations of desire.
Philip Baker survived the war but returned home burdened with a distressing secret. Though he knows it’s wrong, he can’t stop reading through the beautiful sentiments left among his slain comrade’s possessions. Plagued by guilt, he’s unable to resist connecting with the extraordinary woman who captured his heart with her words.
When Josephine invites Philip to join her gregarious family for the holidays, she’s torn by her loyalty to a ghost and her growing feelings for the gallant man. And as Philip prepares to risk everything by telling her the truth about her dead fiancé, he fears he could crush Josephine’s blossoming happiness forever.
Will they break free from their painful pasts to embrace a passion meant to be?
SCROLL FOR SAMPLE!
Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1: Josephine
The letter from Phillip Baker came on paper as thin as our pond’s ice after a first autumn freeze. Perhaps that delicate paper should have been a clue as to what was to come. How my life would change. One could not skate on ice that thin. How right I was.
I read his correspondence twice, thinking through his offer. With a lightness in my steps that did not match my heavy heart, I walked to the window of my parents’ sitting room. A first snowfall had blanketed the valley where my father’s estate dwelt between two Colorado mountains. Our winter wonderland had come late this year. A brilliant, sunny, crisp fall had gone on for months. Given all that the last few years had bestowed upon us, we gratefully enjoyed every moment.
We’d survived the days and days of worry over my twin brothers fighting in France and the threat of the Spanish flu to the troops. Then, a second wave—the deadliest wave—of the Spanish flu had plundered the world. A third in the fall, threatening us once more. Emerson Pass had managed to remain isolated enough that we’d been spared.
Finally, though, it seemed as if the world would return to our lives before the war. Papa and Mama had seemed to be able to breathe again for the first time since the boys had enlisted, not yet seventeen, having lied about their age. Our dear friend Isak Olofsson had also survived. All three were home now. Not quite the same, but physically intact.
Not all of our boys returned to Emerson Pass. We’d lost Francis Lane. I hadn’t known him well, but he was part of us. A soul lost. Buried in a cemetery across the seas. A young man who would never know what it was like to marry, have children, grow old.
And I’d lost Walter Green. He was not one of us. No one but I mourned him here. I had enough grief for a whole town.
The first letter from Phillip Baker had come in the fall of 1918. I could remember every word.
My name is Phillip Baker. I’m not sure if Walter ever mentioned me in his letters, but we knew each other for a brief time when we were children and then, by coincidence, were assigned to the same unit for basic training and sent to France together. I’m writing to tell you that Walter was killed in action last week. I was aware of your correspondence with him and that you would want to know. I’m sorry. He died bravely and without any suffering.
Just a month before the end, he’d been killed in action. The promise of our future together snuffed out before it began. I’d had only two weeks with him. Two weeks of bliss. Now I had only the memories. They would have to sustain me for the rest of my life. I would be a spinster. A librarian spinster and auntie to my six siblings’ children.
I touched my fingertips to the cold glass. Snow fell steadily outside the windows. In Colorado, we had at least a dozen words to describe snowflakes. Today it was a dry, fat flake. Good for skiing, according to Flynn and Theo. A new sport they’d fallen in love with after their time in Europe. They’d come home determined to bring skiing here to Emerson Pass. The sport of the future, Flynn had declared. A way for our town to continue to grow and flourish. Shops would be built around the visitors. They’d seen it in the Alps. It would work here too, they’d told Papa. He’d agreed to let them use part of their trust for the investment in their future. They were now happily planning away for the new version of our town. They’d cleared trees on the northern mountain for runs and built a lodge from the logs. In the spring, they would complete the rest of the needed details. By next winter, if all went well, skiing would have come to us for good.
I returned to the letter, reading the neat handwriting.
November 20, 1919
Dear Josephine,
I hope this letter will find you well. I’m also hopeful that you’ll remember who I am. If not, I’ll be mortified. Since returning from the war, I’ve been in New York City. Unfortunately, I became very ill last year with the Spanish flu. While convalescing, I remembered your descriptions of Emerson Pass from the letters you wrote to Walter. (He often read passages to me and the other men.)
Your descriptions of the wildflowers, sky, and trees have convinced me to travel west in pursuit of my own place of belonging. I’ve decided to take a leap of faith and come to Colorado, perhaps to settle for good. I’m writing to see if I might visit you and your family? I ended up with your letters and the books you sent. I feel guilty that I haven’t sent them to you before now, as I’m sure you’d like to have them.
My request and trip may sound strange to you, but there’s nothing or no one keeping me here. I grew up in an orphanage and have never truly had a home.
We all looked forward to your letters, as Walter shared many stories of you and your family with the rest of us lonely boys who, sadly, had no one writing to us. From your stories, I feel as if I know you all. I’d be honored to bring your letters, novels, and photograph and to meet you and your family.
I’m also hopeful that your father and brothers might have ideas for me in regard to work. Before the war, I apprenticed with a cabinetmaker. If they know of anything, I’d be pleased to hear of it.
If you’re amenable to my visit, I thank you kindly and look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Phillip Baker
His request to visit wasn’t the strange part. I found it odd that he made no mention of Walter, other than to say he’d shared my letters. An image of Walter laughing during one of our picnics flashed before my eyes. His sunny head of hair and light blue eyes had transfixed me from the start. He’d had an infectious smile that made me feel dizzy. I’d met him in Denver while I was attending a librarian conference. He’d been passing through on his way to report for duty. Our meeting had been pure chance. He happened to be out that warm evening while I walked in the park with colleagues. I’d thought at the time it was destiny. I now knew it was the day that led to my broken heart. Did I wish I’d never met him and be spared the pain of losing him? I couldn’t answer that question.
I pressed my forehead against the glass. If only the coolness would numb the rest of me. Even for a few minutes. To feel like my old self instead of a worn-out, dried-up spinster. I would be twenty-three on my next birthday. Most women were married with a child by this age.
“What is it, Jo? Why did you sigh?” Papa asked from behind his newspaper.
I hadn’t realized I’d sighed. Papa knew me too well. After everything we’d been through together, it was no wonder. I turned from the window and stepped nearer to the couch where he and Mama Quinn were having their tea. “It’s a letter from Walter’s friend. The one who wrote to tell me of Walter’s death.”
“Yes, we remember.” Mama’s eyes immediately softened with sympathy. “What does he want?”
“He wants to come out here for a visit and possibly to stay. My letters were a travel brochure, I guess.”
Papa lowered the paper onto his lap. “How interesting.” His English accent, according to my friends, remained as strong today as it had been when he came to America so many years ago. I, however, could not hear it. He sounded only like my beloved Papa.
“Does he have a wife and family?” Mama folded her hands together on her lap. I’d pulled her from reading. The novel, My Ántonia, was face-open on the couch next to her. Her fair hair was arranged in waves pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Younger than my father by fifteen years, she was blessed with delicate, even features and a heart-shaped face.
Just over ten years had passed since she’d arrived to open the first school of Emerson Pass and my father’s heart. Almost immediately she’d become the heart of our family. All five of us thought of her as our mother. Since their marriage, two little sisters had come, bringing our total to seven. Papa called us “The Lucky Seven.”
“He has no family of any kind,” I said. “In fact, he was raised in an orphanage. I have the feeling he’s in need of a fresh start and work. He thought Papa might have ideas for him.”
“How sad. We’ll help him in any way we can.” Mama set her teacup onto its saucer and fixed her kind brown eyes upon me. “Unless there’s a reason you wouldn’t want him to come here?” The anxious way she looked at me lately filled me with guilt. Papa, Mama, and my sisters had been worried about me. I hated knowing I caused them concern. My job was to be the responsible, steady eldest, not the sad, mopey mess I’d become.
“No, not at all,” I said. “Should we invite him to stay with us? Just until he can figure out what to do next?”
“Yes, we’ve room for him if he doesn’t mind bunking with the boys.” Papa drained the last of his tea and set aside his cup. “I’m keen to help any man who fought in that terrible war.”
“He says he trained as a cabinetmaker.” I hugged my middle as I walked over to the fire that roared in the hearth, crackling and snapping. “He says Walter shared the contents of my letters with him and the rest of the boys. I find that…perplexing.”
“Which part?” Mama asked.
“That he shared them. My letters were intimate, meant for only one pair of eyes.” I looked down at my hands to keep from crying.
“Darling, it doesn’t really matter,” Papa said softly. “If your letters brought them some relief, isn’t it an honor?”
“I suppose.” I sat in one of the armchairs and watched the fire. One end of a log looked like the nose of a fox.
Mama smoothed her hands over the top of her day dress made of crimson organza. “Phillip must stay for Christmas.”
“Yes, I agree,” Papa said. “He shouldn’t be alone for the holidays. We’ll take care of him until he can get on his feet. The boys can show him around town, do a little carousing.”
“Alexander, carousing?” Mama raised her eyebrows and looked properly mortified. “Our boys do not carouse.”
Papa didn’t answer, but his eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. My chest ached with both gratitude and sorrow. Their love pleased me. Yet it also brought to light what I’d lost. I’d hoped Walter and I would share a life as they had.
Mama returned her gaze to me. “Jo, what’s troubling you?”
“We don’t know Phillip,” I said. “What if he’s awful?”
“I doubt he will be,” Mama said. “He was so kind to write to you about Walter’s death.”
“That’s true. If he’s Walter’s friend, he must be all right,” I said.
“We didn’t really know Walter,” Papa said.
I sucked in my bottom lip to hold back a retort. Never in my life had there been any discord between my parents and me. However, they hadn’t approved of my whirlwind courtship with Walter. Which was in no way his fault. He hadn’t had time to come home with me and meet my family. “He was here such a short time. There wasn’t an opportunity for him to court me properly. He planned to, when he returned from the war.”
“Yes, of course, darling. We understand,” Mama said in a soothing voice.
“Yes, yes, quite right.” Papa followed up too hastily. No one wanted to upset me these days. I missed when my family treated me normally. Now it felt as if I were a fragile piece of china no one wanted to break.
“May I read the letter?” Mama asked.
I nodded and handed it over the tea set. She unfolded the letter and began to read.
“Sweetheart, have a biscuit,” Papa said to me. “You’re looking much too thin.”
I obeyed, not having the energy to disagree, and put a cookie, which Papa called a biscuit, on a plate. He poured a cup of tea and set it on the table front of me. He believed most problems could be solved after a cup of tea. Given my troubled mother’s death when I was nine, I’d known differently for a long time.
Mama folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She had a strange look on her face, somewhere between puzzled and intrigued. “I think it might be good for you to have him here.”
“You mean to tell me stories about Walter?”
“Not that exactly,” Mama said. “He’s someone of your own age group. Perhaps he will become a new friend?”
Mama and Papa exchanged a glance I couldn’t decipher.
“I don’t need friends. I have Poppy and my sisters.” Poppy and I had grown up together. Their parents had died when Poppy was young and her older brother, Harley, had raised her while acting as groundskeeper and gardener. Poppy had been away for the better part of two years, working as an apprentice to a veterinarian in cattle country. I’d missed her more than I’d thought possible. She had just always been there and now she was off to her own adventures. “Poppy will be back in a few weeks. But I shall be a good hostess, don’t worry.”
“Regardless, we can’t let a hero be alone during what’s supposed to be the merriest time of the year.” Mama had the biggest heart in the world, rivaled only by my sister Fiona, who seemed to think it was her job to look after every single person in the world.
“I’ll write him this evening and ask if he’d like to stay with us,” I said.
All four of my gaggle of sisters rushed into the room. Those who thought only boys were loud had never met my sisters. Harley had taken them into town in the sleigh to ice-skate for the afternoon. The pond in the center of town had frozen solid for the first time this season just last night.
“You won’t believe what Delphia did,” Cymbeline said, without concern over interrupting the adults.
Delphia, in preparation for the admonishment, tore a cap from her mushroom of blond curls and glared at her older sister. “I didn’t do it.”
At sixteen, Cymbeline lorded over the younger ones. Fiona, thirteen, was the protector. Adelaide, or Addie as we called her, was quiet and shy and obedient to bossy Cymbeline’s wishes. Four-year-old Delphia, bless her, had the same fire as Cymbeline. From the time she could talk, she was having none of the dictatorship.
“She challenged a boy twice her age to a race,” Cymbeline said. “And when she didn’t win, she knocked him to the ground.”
Delphia’s bottom lip trembled. “I didn’t.”
“The whole thing was an accident.” Fiona placed her hand on Delphia’s head. “She slid into him because she was going so fast. Anyway, she learned it from you, Cym. You’re always racing boys.”
“That’s different.” Cymbeline’s color heightened, making her even more beautiful than the moment before. God help us all, she was stunning and looked more like a woman than a girl. Mama always said we only had two types in this family. Fair and blond, like her, me, and the two youngest girls. Or dark hair and deep blue eyes, like Papa, the boys, Cymbeline and Fiona.
“Come here, little one,” Papa said to Delphia.
She trudged over to him. He pulled her into his lap. “Tell me what happened.”
She looked up at him with angelic eyes. “It’s what Fiona said. I was going fast, pretending that a monster was chasing me, and then I ran into him.”
“Did you say you were sorry?” Mama asked.
“Yes, that’s not the problem,” Cymbeline said as she grabbed a cookie from the plate. “She said she was sorry and then she planted a kiss on him. On his cheek.”
I had to cover my mouth with my hand to hide my smile.
“His cheeks looked like an apple,” Delphia said. “I just had to kiss one.”
I caught Mama’s eye. She seemed to be trying not to laugh but kept it together enough to say, “Delphia, you mustn’t ever kiss a boy.”
“But why?” Delphia blinked her big blue eyes.
“Because it’s not proper,” Mama said.
I noticed Addie was shivering. “Come here, doll. I’ll warm you up.” I tucked her into the chair next to me and rubbed her cold hands between mine. Addie was quiet and serious like me. I adored her.
“Mama and Papa kiss all the time,” Delphia said.
“They’re married.” Cymbeline plopped into an armchair next to me. “You don’t understand anything about how the world works.”
“Cym, don’t say it like that. She’s just a little girl.” Fiona went to stand in front of the fire with her hands behind her back.
“I’m your baby,” Delphia said as she gazed up at our father. “Right, Papa?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to kiss boys.” Papa put his chin on her head and looked over at me with eyes that danced with humor. Mama always says it was his dancing eyes that drew her to him. I knew exactly what she meant. “You’re my baby, which means you can’t love any boy but me.”
“I won’t do it again.” Delphia let out a long-suffering sigh, as if all the fun in the world was taken from her.
“Besides the unfortunate incident with the apple cheek,” Mama said, “what else happened?”
“That ridiculous Viktor Olofsson was skating with all the girls, one after another.” Cymbeline shook her dark curls. “He had the nerve to ask me.”
“What did you say?” I asked, knowing the answer, but teasing her anyway.
“Jo, don’t be daft,” Cymbeline said. “I would never let that big oaf touch my hand.”
He was a large man but most certainly not an oaf. Although his shoulders were thick and wide like a Colorado mountain, he was a gentle, intelligent soul who I suspected had a deep and long-lasting crush on Cymbeline. “I think he’s like a hero in a storybook. Brave and strong.” I’d once seen him pick up a wagon off a man’s leg when the horse had bucked and broken free, leaving his owner under a wheel. With almost white hair and light green eyes, he looked like the Vikings in one of the history books I had in the library.
Cymbeline’s eyes flashed as she stuck out her plump bottom lip and scowled. Strangely, her sour expression did nothing to disguise her beauty. “He’s such a show-off, doing tricks on the ice.”
“You do tricks on the ice,” Fiona said, not unkindly but more as a fact. “All the same ones Viktor does.”
Her observation was correct. If Viktor learned a trick on the ice, Cymbeline practiced until she’d conquered it.
Mama had confided in me more than once that she was afraid Cymbeline would never be satisfied living in a man’s world as we do. If she’d been old enough, I had no doubt she would have volunteered to be a nurse in the war effort overseas.
“Well, be that as it may,” Mama said, “we have exciting news. Jo’s acquaintance, Phillip Baker, is coming to stay with us for the holidays.”
“The one who wrote to you about Walter?” Fiona asked.
“The same,” I said. “How did you remember?”
Fiona shrugged. “I remember everything about my family. Anyway, it wasn’t like I could ever forget that day.” Her eyes glistened. “I shouldn’t like to ever see you that way again, Jo.”
I held out my hand to her. “Come here, sweet sister.” She sat on the arm of my chair and I patted her knee. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll never give my heart to anyone else. I’m the spinster of the family.”
Chapter 2: Phillip
The train chugged up a slope so steep I was certain we would not stay on the tracks. Across from me, a baby in her mother’s arms cried. To distract myself from my fears of falling into the abyss below me, I pulled out the letter from Josephine. I breathed in the faint smell of her perfume that lingered on the paper. My imagination? Perhaps. Regardless, this one was to me, unlike the stack I’d read too many times to remember. Letters that were not written to me. By a girl who didn’t belong to me.
It’s a terrible thing to hate a dead man.
Yet I knew him for who he truly was. When I’d known him as a child in the orphanage, I’d recognized immediately how he used his charm to get what he wanted. Even the nuns fell for his act. When he ran away at age twelve, I genuinely think their hearts were broken. Women, even ones sworn to love Jesus, couldn’t help but fall for Walter Green.
Hope lurked inside me, goading me into this fool’s errand. After cheating death a second time by recovering from the Spanish flu, I would not rest easy until I came west and told Josephine the truth about the man to whom she’d pledged her eternal love. If not for me, I knew she would love a ghost, possibly forever. Josephine Barnes was a loyal woman. Nothing would deter her unless she understood what kind of man he really was under all that golden-haired, blue-eyed charm. I couldn’t bear the thought of a woman like her spending the rest of her life remembering a man who never really existed. Walter Green was not the man she thought he was. I was the only one left alive to tell her the truth.
He hadn’t loved her. There were other women who wrote to him. All who believed he would marry them when he returned from the war. All targeted for their wealth. Playing the odds, he’d said to me one time. The more he had waiting, the more likely he would marry into money. Those were to secure his future. Countless dalliances with nurses were just for fun.
Yes, I wanted her to know the truth. But it wasn’t for purely altruistic reasons. I wanted her for myself. As I’d convalesced after the flu, I’d read the letters she’d sent to Walter hundreds of times. I’d stared at her photograph until I memorized every detail of her pretty face. The stories of her close family and the beautiful mountains where she lived had moved me more than they should have. In truth, I’d fallen in love with her. Was I lonely? Yes. I’d been lonely all my life. This was something else entirely. In addition to my yearning for a family and my romantic nature, I had this odd sensation of a deep connection between the two of us. The idea of fate, even soul mates, had crossed my mind. Was there a reason beyond mortal comprehension that I’d been the one who ended up with the box of her correspondence?
Could I pinpoint the exact moment I decided to write to her and ask if I might come to visit? Not really. It was more of a gradual thing, an expansion in my mind of what might be possible. Even though I knew her affection toward me was unlikely, I had to try. A man like me didn’t win a rich, beautiful girl like her. I was poor and uneducated. My only skills were those of a cabinetmaker. Yet I had hope. I’d escaped the war and then the flu. I had to take a chance.
I glanced down at the letter, reading it one more time.
Dear Phillip,
My family and I would very much like you to come for a visit. Whether you decide to stay permanently in Emerson Pass or not, we’d be honored if you’d spend the holidays with us.
I hope you won’t find my large and somewhat obnoxious family too overwhelming. I’ve asked them all to be on their best behavior, but that’s not a guarantee. You’ll bunk with my twin brothers. They also served in the war. I’m sure you’ll all become fast friends.
Papa and my brothers will be happy to help you find employment if you decide to stay.
I shall look forward to meeting you soon.
Sincerely,
Josephine Barnes
I folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, then traced the letters of my name, written by her hand.
Walter, I thought, you lucky, conniving bastard. He’d held that hand in his own.
The train had made it to the top of the peak. I looked out the window to snow that sparkled under the sun. Josephine hadn’t exaggerated about the piercing blue hue of the sky.
The baby stopped crying. Her mother, a pretty blonde woman wearing a gray traveling suit and matching hat, apologized to me for the noise. “The altitude hurts her ears.”
“No need to apologize, ma’am. We were all babies once.”
She peered back at me with obvious curiosity. “Do you know someone in Emerson Pass? Most people who head our way either live there or are visiting family or friends.”
“I’m visiting the Barnes family.”
Her face lit up with a bright smile. “The Barneses. They’re very close friends of mine. I’m Martha Neal. I was the second schoolteacher in Emerson Pass, but now I’m married to the town doctor. He was an outsider who moved to town to take over the practice of our last doctor and somehow managed to make me his wife.” She indicated the baby with a dip of her chin. “This one is named Quinn, after our first teacher in Emerson Pass, who is now married to Alexander Barnes. But you know all that, I suppose?”
How much should I say? My natural tendency was to remain taciturn. When one’s lived the kind of life I have, sharing too much led to either pity or fear, as if being an orphan or poor were contagious. “I served in the war with Josephine’s beau, Walter Green. When he died he left a few items that I thought she might like to have. It’s taken a while to get out here. My name’s Phillip Baker.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re a friend of Walter’s?”
Not exactly a friend. “That’s correct. Did you know him?”
“No, no. I’ve only heard about him from Josephine. Those of us who attended school together are quite close. We meet for tea at least twice a month to discuss books and gossip. Oh dear me, where are my manners? I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Baker, and I’m terribly sorry about Walter. We lost one of our boys and the whole town cried for a week. What you must have seen, I can’t imagine.” Martha bounced Quinn on her lap. The baby babbled and chewed on her fist.
“Thank you. He wasn’t a close friend. We served together, that’s all.” The car jerked, causing both Martha and me to sway slightly. I gripped my seat with both hands.
“Our poor Josephine. His death broke her heart. We all hoped she’d move on, but so far she hasn’t.”
“How so?” I couldn’t help but ask. What luck to meet Martha. I’d gather as much information about Josephine as I could. The nuns often told us that the more we knew about a subject, the better we could make a decision or persuade others to our cause.
“She’s sworn herself to spinsterhood and running the library. Which is disappointing to the eligible bachelors in town. Given half a chance, most of them would snatch her up if they could. She’s remarkable. Did you know she brought the library to us with funding from Andrew Carnegie?”
I nodded. She’d written in detail about the building and opening of her library. As if Walter had cared. I’m not sure he’d ever read a book. “Yes, Walter mentioned that to me.”
“May I ask what you’re bringing to her?” Martha adjusted Quinn to the other knee.
“The letters she wrote to him. There are stacks of them, and I thought she might like to have them. I wanted an excuse to come out here, too. I’m thinking of staying.”
“I hope you will.” She smiled at me. “We’re friendly in Emerson Pass. I think you’ll love it as much as the rest of us do. And how kind of you to bring the letters. Jo walked to the post office every Monday and Friday with a letter in her hand. Without fail, even though he almost never sent one in return. Do you know why he wrote back so seldom?”
He was too busy sleeping with nurses to reply to Josephine’s heart-wrenchingly beautiful letters. “I’ve no idea, really. He wasn’t the writing sort, I guess.”
“Have you brought the books she sent, too?” Martha asked.
She knew about the books? “Yes, I wanted to return them to her for the library. They gave me such pleasure during difficult times. I wanted to make sure others could enjoy them.”
“You like books?” Martha watched me with a more serious expression on her face.
“More than anything.”
“And Walter?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did he like books? Martha asked.
“I can’t say that he did, no.” He’d always tossed them over to me the moment he took them from the box Josephine had sent. The candy he’d kept for himself. He’d had a terrible sweet tooth.
Her glaze flickered to the window. “How odd.”
“Ma’am?”
“Josephine told me he’d written to her two times about how much he enjoyed the books, even mentioning specific plots and characters. She was thrilled, of course.”
I flushed. I’d told him what to write in those letters so that she continued to think of him as a scholar. Both times he’d tricked me into describing the plots. I couldn’t help myself but to discuss books with enthusiasm.
Martha peered at me through narrowed eyes. “May I be frank about something?”
“Of course.” Where was she going with this?
“I’ve suspected there might have been others. Women, I mean.”
I bit back a bark of surprise. Martha was no fool. I almost smiled with triumph. “What makes you think this?”
“When my husband was courting me, he was already a busy country doctor, yet he wrote me love letters at least once a week, and we lived in the same town. All he had to do to say hello was walk over to my parents’ store. All of which leads me to believe that Walter’s feelings weren’t what he’d professed them to be. What’s the old saying? Actions speak louder than words.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not for me to say.”
“You shouldn’t play poker.”
“Poker?”
The baby began to fuss. Martha reached into a bag by her side and came out with a hard-looking biscuit and handed it to Quinn. “I can see by the look on your face that there was more to this Walter than Josephine knew.”
I moved my gaze away from her, flustered by this interrogation, and looked out the window. We were now on actual ground, passing through a dense forest of fir and pine trees. If Martha was an example of what I was to face in Emerson Pass, then I better get my story straight.
Given that I was only four when they died of yellow fever, I had only a few memories of my parents. One of them was of my mother scolding me for lying about taking a cookie without asking. Tell the truth, Phillip, even when you know you could get away with a fib.
However, Martha was a stranger to me. I didn’t want Josephine needlessly hurt. If she were to learn Walter’s true character, it should come from me.
“Mr. Baker?”
I returned my gaze to Martha. “Men don’t speak often of matters of the heart.”
“But what about men who face death daily? Don’t they confess their fears? Their loves?”
I was starting to feel rather sorry for Martha’s husband. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“You are sure.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ll be clearer,” she said. “Was he in love with Josephine? Was he planning on marrying her as she thought?”
“Respectfully, Mrs. Neal, I’m not sure I know, even if it were for me to say.”
One eyebrow rose. “I see.”
I was afraid she did.
“May I ask,” I said, drawing the words out long, “if his intentions were not completely pure, what would you advise me to tell Josephine?”
She stared at me for a few seconds. Even the baby had stopped chewing on her cookie to focus on me. “I suppose that depends on your intentions. Have you come to hurt her?”
“Of course not. The opposite.”
She gave me a satisfied smile. “May I take a guess, Mr. Baker, about your actual intentions?”
“Of course.” Despite the chill of the train’s car, my shirt clung to my back.
“You’ve fallen in love with her photograph. And perhaps you’ve read her letters, which made you aware of her intelligence and good heart. You most certainly are the one who told Walter what to write about the books.”
I coughed and returned to the view of the landscape.
“You’ve come to get to know her,” Martha said. “To see if your instincts about her are correct.”
“What if I have? Will you rat on me?” I turned back to my interrogator.
She gave me another satisfied smile. “How fortunate that we were to meet today.”
I swallowed and waited for the blow. Was there any other way for her to interpret my actions? Traipsing across the country because I thought I was in love with a girl I’d never met would not be greeted with approval.
“Josephine is my dear friend whom I love very much. However, I also have excellent instincts about people, and I’ve thought from the beginning that something wasn’t quite right with this Walter character. Josephine has been practical and steady her entire life, but in this particular instance, I think she was taken away by the idea of love.”
“Don’t underestimate his charm,” I said drily. “He’d perfected it over time.”
“How long had you known him?”
I drew in a deep breath. I was in too far now. “I knew him for a brief time when we were children. We were at the same orphanage for a year or so. Until he ran away.”
Both eyebrows raised this time. “Ran away? To where, I wonder?”
“In all truthfulness, I don’t know.” He’d run away at twelve, unable to abide by the nuns’ rules. Even during all the hours we’d spent together during the war, he’d not filled me in on exactly where he went or how he survived during the time before he joined the army. I had a distinct feeling that he’d been involved in criminal activity.
“Were there other women? Is he a charlatan? Did he want her money?” Martha asked. “Please, Mr. Baker, tell me the truth.”
“I believe all those things to be true.”
“Believe or know?”
“Know.”
“And the others?”
“All from wealthy families. He was ensuring his future upon his return.”
She was quiet for a moment. Her cheeks had flushed red and she repeatedly tapped her foot as if she wanted to bore a hole through the floor. Finally, she turned to look at me.
“This is what you’re going to do, Mr. Baker. Give it a few days before you tell her of Walter’s true intentions. I’m afraid it’ll drive her away. Kill the messenger, if you will.”
“Yes.”
“Spend time with her. Maybe use a little charm of your own to thaw her out, perhaps show her how much life there is to live.”
“Being charming’s not really my strength. I’ve nothing to offer, really.”
“But you’ve come anyway?”
“Ever hopeful.”
“You’re handsome. That will help.”
I almost laughed. “I am?”
“Yes. Have you not seen yourself in the mirror? Strong jawline. High cheekbones. Sapphire-colored eyes. Enough hair for three men. My husband will be jealous of that, I can assure you.”
“Walter looked like the god of the sun or the like,” I said. “All golden.”
“Yes, I can imagine the type.” She wiped drool from Quinn’s chin with a handkerchief before looking back at me. “One piece of advice. If you win over her family, that’s half the battle. They’re as tight a clan as they come.”
I nodded. “That much was clear from the letters.”
She made a noise somewhere between a yelp and yap. “You did read them. I knew it.”
“I’m ashamed to admit it, but yes. He’d stored them all in a box. I took them with me after he was killed.”
“Did you not have letters of your own?”
“No. There’s no one. Never has been.”
“There should be.”
It was my turn to study Martha. “What makes you think I’m any different from Walter?”
“My parents own the dry goods store in town. I’ve spent my whole life watching people from behind the counter. I can tell an honest man when I see one.”
I had no idea what I’d done to make her think I was honest, but I didn’t ask. She’d figured out everything else rather quickly.
“Her family invited me to stay for the holidays,” I said. “Which astounded me.”
“Get ready, Mr. Baker. That’s just the beginning. In Emerson Pass no one’s allowed to be a stranger for long. Before you know it, you’ll feel like you’ve been here forever.”
As if the train agreed, it slowed as we approached the station.
“Welcome to Emerson Pass,” Martha said. “Where you can belong if you only ask.”
Happy I read them in the correct order so I wasn’t confused. I liked each character in the big Barnes family, and was happy to finally get out of the long, cold winter and hear about the Colorado Spring-time! (Ordered large print, and did not need my glasses!)
Just received Tess Thompson’s book titled “TRADED.” Thank you!
Very good writer.
The book is excellent and very entertaining.
Very good book!
Good book. Hard to put down
Great read. The writing style was fascinating.